Atsushi “Art” Hayakawa’s low-key bar is a purist’s retreat for Japanese cuisine. Too much cream cheese gimmickry and loud techno blight many of the city’s sushi emporiums. What a relief to sit in a plain room and savor simple dishes like ikura don—salmon roe marinated in homemade soy sauce, gilded with sea urchin, over rice and seaweed—or a plate of sashimi arranged so meticulously you wonder if the staff moonlight as photo stylists. More a fan of cooked food? Try the crunchy fried oysters with a wedge of lime and homemade tartar sauce. And when I say this place is for purists, I don’t mean elitists. Hayakawa, who sports a rolled red headband, gabs playfully with customers whether they’re first timers or habitues. Lightheartedness occasionally slips into the food as well. A recent special of bitter melon and scrambled egg also involved long strips of something that resembled cured pork. “What is this?” I asked the server. “Spam,” she replied. “It’s big in Japan.”