AUTHOR BIO: Eric Barton is editor of The Adventurist and a freelance journalist who has reviewed restaurants for more than two decades. Email him here.
I first met chef Yasu Tanaka a decade ago across a small counter at The Den, the sushi counter that would go on to earn a Michelin Star. He placed pieces of sushi in front of me one by one, each a quiet instruction in temperature, texture, and timing. Sometime that night I realized two things: Tanaka is a master, and this omakase ritual was something special.
Fast-forward to today and a Miami now dotted with omakase counters as if condo cranes started rolling rice. And now Tanaka is tackling something new at Pari Pari, the just-opened Wynwood hand roll spot, where he teams up with three Parisian friends.
I went last night, and while the place is clever and ambitious, I walked out with that conflicted feeling you get when a new friend makes you laugh but also talks a little too much about their crypto portfolio.
The chef’s favorite sake
Pari Pari aims for everyday handrolls with serious craft. It’s a 24-seat counter built on the basics—warm rice, crisp nori, very good fish—and a menu that keeps the barrier to entry low. There are set flights of three ($23), four, or five ($39) handrolls, plus à la carte signatures.
Things kick off with a little hospitality: a complimentary shot of the chef’s go-to sake from Suigei, poured to see where your palate lands. It’s clean, middle-of-the-road, a kind of baseline test—do you want to drift sweeter, lean drier, or chase something more floral or fruity? I liked his pick enough to order a glass, which arrived in a wine glass, as if to remind you this isn’t your neighborhood sushi counter.
We started with a hamachi and jalapeño sashimi, the kind of dish that makes you stop talking for a moment—clean slices, ponzu so balanced it hummed, and just enough heat to remind you the chef knows restraint. From there came The Five, a $39 progression of hand rolls: salmon avocado, akami tuna with cucumber, hamachi chimichurri, toro-taku, and spicy scallop. I tacked on the indulgences—A5 wagyu seared just so, and a roll dotted with uni.
Hamachi jalapeno sashimi
The fish was pristine, the rice warm and seasoned, the sauces calibrated like someone had triple-checked the ratios. But at some point through the progression, it began feeling like the same trick on repeat—different costumes, sure, but always the same burrito-style seaweed-wrapped entrance onto the stage. Just wrapping them cone-shaped or taco-style would help, or perhaps a dish in between, something small like a custard or tamago halfway through, to cut up the sameness.
Salmon avocado roll
A5 wagyu
That said, Pari Pari is a place that wins you over. The place hums with energy, thanks in no small part to a high-end speaker system they brag about as a “listening room,” and honestly, they’re right to. There wasn’t a moment through the night that it felt slowed down or dull.
That’s in part because it just feels like something special in there. It’s all clean lines and blonde woods, the kind of space where bringing a date feels like a smart move, and bringing a friend feels like you’ve pulled off something cooler than they expected. Repetitive rolls or not, it’s still a spot worth walking into.
Akami tuna cucumber roll
Pari Pari is open Wednesday–Sunday, noon to 11 p.m., with limited counter seating. Book on Resy, or roll the dice on a walk-in; expanded hours are coming. In a city crowded with sushi counters, and despite the feeling that one roll isn’t as unique enough from the last one, this is a place that still stands out as something special.
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