There was a time when I wouldn’t go near sushi rolls. The mystery fillings, the spicy mayo, the seaweed — no thank you. But I loved sashimi. Salmon, especially. Clean, simple, unbothered. That was my kind of sushi.

Then I discovered omakase — and everything changed.

A curated, chef-guided tasting? Minimal sauces, no chaos, just incredible ingredients and perfect timing? I was in. And once I started, I couldn’t stop.

I’ve now tried Toronto’s most talked-about omakase spots — from local gems to Michelin legends. I’ve had unforgettable meals, surprising disappointments, and one too many conversations about rice temperature.

So here’s my honest, detailed breakdown — what’s actually worth it, what I wouldn’t go back to, and how each place handled the food, the service, and the vibe.

Okeya Kyujiro — A Cinematic Sushi Experience That Made Me Emotional (Dinner + Brunch)

Dinner: $350 | Brunch: $150
Would I go again? Already have.

Okeya is hands-down the most theatrical omakase experience in Toronto. The lighting dims, a narrator whispers in Japanese, and the chefs move like they’re on a silent stage. I was already hooked by the time they brought out the whole fish, placing it in front of us before breaking it down piece by piece.

The dinner featured over 20 courses — including many small plates, delicately aged bonito, glistening toro, warm rice (yes, that matters), and a smoky torched nigiri that made everyone (aka me and my omakase buddy) at the counter collectively pause. Every movement felt intentional. Every bite was part of a bigger story.

Now, here’s where it got personal: some of the tempura bites had egg, and I’d been told they couldn’t offer substitutes. But when I arrived? The kitchen seamlessly swapped those courses with separate nigiri and cooked bites, no questions asked. My sidekick only eats halal meat, and when the A5 wagyu sukiyaki came out, he was served a torched otoro instead — which, let’s be honest, was probably a blessing. He’s still emotionally attached to that first torched otoro we had at Aburi Tora. We joke that it was his sushi awakening. He didn’t miss the wagyu one bit.

Brunch was a different pace — brighter, less dramatic, but still thoughtful. I brought my parents, who had never done omakase before. Watching their faces light up at every piece? Core memory.

My mom who does not eat anything raw was also forced (by me) to accompany my omakse craze. Luckily Okeya and their team, excellended in their customer service once again. Every bite of nigri for her was torched (making it a little easier for her to be eating “raw”.)

This place made me feel cared for. Allergies, preferences, and all. Okeya doesn’t just deliver a meal — they deliver a full sensory experience that somehow still feels personal.

MSSM — The One I Keep Going Back To

Price: $98–$128
Visits so far? Over 20 (without exaggeration).

MSSM was my first omakase and will forever be my gateway drug. It has this casual coolness — the chefs are chatty, the playlist leans hip-hop, and the whole space feels like you’re in on a secret. But don’t let the laid-back vibe fool you. This place reeks of Michelin influence. Masaki Saito himself trained the team, and you can taste that precision in every bite. It may be affordable, but it’s giving luxury under their Top Hits playlist and bright lights.

Sushi Masaki Saito — Michelin Mastery, But Not My Kind of Magic

Price: $680+
Would I go again? No — but I’m glad I went once.

This meal was free for me, thanks to MSSM’s golden ticket, and I was buzzing. I got dressed up, did my hair, planned my look the night before, and pulled out jewelry I wouldn’t dare to wear out in Toronto. This wasn’t just dinner. This was a moment.

Chef Masaki Saito stood in front of us the entire time, calmly and masterfully preparing each course. His presence alone is magnetic. He showed me a certificate for his premium bluefin tuna, flown in from Japan, and talked about sourcing with genuine pride. Every piece was meticulous. The conch snail was alive moments before we ate it. The monkfish liver made my tongue tingle. The rice? Unmatched.

Yasu — Quietly Luxurious, Shockingly Filling

Price: $185
Would I go again? Absolutely.

Yasu was a surprise. There’s no music. No theatrics. Just pure sushi. The entire omakase felt like a quiet meditation on fish. Minimal seasoning, clean knife work, cool rice, and a slow, confident pace.

It was the first time I tried a few things I’d only read about. I also, unknowingly, tried shirako. I wish I could say I freaked out — but I didnt realise what it was until 6 months later..

By the end of the 20 courses, I was absolutely stuffed. I had to walk it off, twice around the block. But it was well worth it. It’s a place for people who want their food to do all the talking. No distractions. Just thoughtful sushi, start to finish.

Sushi Yūgen — Solid Technique, Little Spark

Price: $98
Would I go again? Probably not.

The hand roll was underwhelming. The atmosphere didn’t invite you in. And when I compare it to MSSM — which is the same price and packs so much more flavor and personality — Yūgen just doesn’t stand out.

Not bad. But not worth a second round.

Kaito — Budget-Friendly and Boldly Underrated

Price: $68
Would I go again? Already planning it.

Kaito is one of the best-kept secrets in Toronto. Tucked into a quiet strip, this no-frills omakase bar is run by a chef who brings his Korean background into every dish. And it works.

Conversations with the chef and fellow customers are encouraged, and we focused on his quick skills behind assembling rather than watching him show off his knife work (which, as any well-trained sushi chef, were up to par). 

This is the kind of place I want to gatekeep, but won’t. Because it deserves love.

Final Thoughts

Not all omakase is created equal. Some make you cry over hand rolls. Some make you whisper for two hours straight. And some remind you why you fell in love with sushi in the first place.

If you’re picky like me, or just want to spend your sushi money wisely, here’s the only omakase ranking you really need:

1. MSSM

For the vibe, the consistency, and that life-changing hand roll. It may be affordable, but it reeks of Michelin-level training (because it is). This is the one I keep going back to — and trust me, I don’t do that often.

2. Okeya Kyujiro

For the drama, the artistry, and the “wow” factor. Think omakase meets performance art. Take someone you want to impress — or just go to feel something again.

3. Yasu

For clean cuts, quiet luxury, and sushi that speaks for itself. No distractions, no theatrics — just 20 courses of pure, focused craft. If you want calm perfection, this is it.

Honourable mention to Sushi Masaki Saito — try it once just to say you did, but make it someone else’s credit card problem. But if you’re chasing warmth, flavor, and a little bit of joy between bites?

You’ll know where to book.

– Noori

Your (not so) picky eater

Not because I didn’t like it. But because it usually meant spending the rest of the day curled up, puking my guts out, with my throat itching and swollen. I grew up with a severe egg allergy, and in Pakistan, that made things a little complicated.
Scratch that — it made things very complicated.

For the longest time, no one really asked. We’d order food for the table and everyone would just dig in, family-style. No one questioned what was in anything — and I wasn’t food literate enough to understand that what I was experiencing, was an actual allergy. I’d eat what everyone else did, then start scratching my throat and trying to explain that something felt very wrong. But it kept happening. Over and over again.

One restaurant in particular still haunts me — Dynasty, a super popular Chinese spot in Karachi that my entire family was obsessed with. But literally everything had egg. And every time we went, I got sick. Eventually, just hearing we were going there would bring instant tears. I’d beg to stay home. I was little, but the trauma felt massive.

So I stopped trying new foods.
It became an unspoken rule — I just wouldn’t eat anything unfamiliar. And it became a thing. A fight, actually — especially with my dad. He was determined to get me to try hummus. Hummus!! I’d refuse every time. And my siblings? They’d sit back and treat it like a game. I swear they had bets going.
“He’s not gonna win. She’ll never try it.”
And they were right. For almost 20 years, I didn’t.

I was that high school senior still bringing a lunchbox — always the same thing: chicken tenders. (To be fair, people would steal them.) But the comments were always there.
“Oh… you still bring a lunchbox?”
And don’t even get me started on my Subway order: just the bread and grilled chicken. No sauce. No cheese. No veggies. Just vibes. My cousin still makes fun of it to this day.

I didn’t have preferences. I had fear.

It wasn’t until 2021 that I got my first allergy test done, confirming how severe it really was. And now, in 2025, I carry a prescribed EpiPen.

Allergy awareness in Pakistan? Basically non-existent. I learned to test how much a server actually knew by asking about common egg-based dishes. One time, I went to this oh-so-trendy pop-up and asked if their “freshly made” pasta had eggs in it. The manager looked at me, smiled, and said, “No, no — look at all this!” while proudly gesturing at the sauce and protein pairings like she was unveiling a magic trick.

Miss. Please. I’m not asking about your creamy Alfredo. I’m asking if the pasta dough is going to try and kill me. (A little dramatic, my bad — but still.)

Eventually, I just started saying no before anyone could even ask. I became “the picky one.” Not because I wanted to be — but because I had to be.

And that sucked. Because I’ve always loved food. And so did everyone around me.

The smell of my mom’s yakhni pulao simmering in the kitchen. Asking my driver to pull over every single time I saw a “bhuttay wala” (pakistani street corn vendor) on the road. The frozen dumplings I could eat by the dozen. Even watching people eat cookies made me want to know what the hype was about. Food was emotional. Comforting. Something I was always around — but never fully allowed to enjoy.

Until I moved to Toronto.

Suddenly, I had access to ingredient labels I could trust. Servers actually knew what was in the food. There were egg-free pasta options. Desserts I never thought I’d get to try. And kitchens where chefs took allergies seriously instead of brushing them off.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t have to be scared of food.

That changed everything.

I started cooking more — not because I had to, but because I wanted to. Between classes. At midnight. Whenever I needed a break. Food became therapy. It made me feel capable. Safe. Curious again.

And somewhere along the way, I realized: I’m not picky anymore.

Now? As long as there’s no egg, I’ll try almost anything.
Foie gras? Bring it.
Uni? Obsessed.
Duck fat potatoes? Don’t even get me started.

What used to feel off-limits… now feels like an invitation.

Learning to love food again didn’t happen overnight. Even now, I sometimes hesitate with a new sauce — even when I know it’s egg-free. It’s taken years of unlearning fear, rebuilding trust, and finally giving myself permission to explore.

And now? I’m not the girl crying at the mention of Dynasty.
I’m the one asking for the tasting menu — just no egg, please.

— Noor

Welcome to my first-ever wing post — yes, me, the girl who still hasn’t eaten a granola bar or a pancake (don’t @ me), is posting about chicken wings. But these aren’t your average game-day Buffalo wings. These are “text me when you get home” kind of wings. These are the “I paid extra for truffle and I’m not sorry” kind of wings.

I got my hands on a bottle of Black Truffle Hot Sauce from Truffles and Circumstances, and let me tell you: life-changing. (Don’t know why I waited to long to put it to use). It’s spicy, earthy, luxurious, and deeply addictive. So obviously, I had to fry up some wings, toss them in this glorious sauce, and call it a recipe worth sharing.

This one’s for the picky eaters who grew up saying “no thanks” to messy wings at parties but are now out here craving crispy, spicy, fancy.

What Makes These Wings So Good?

• Crispy fried, not baked — We’re going for golden, crackly skin that holds up to the glaze.
  
• Black Truffle Hot Sauce glaze — Sweet, buttery, spicy, earthy… she’s got layers.
  
• No eggs involved — As always, safe for my fellow allergy squad.
  
• Bougie but approachable — You don’t need a culinary degree or caviar budget to make these.
  

Now let’s dive straight into the recipe:

 Ingredients:

For the Wings:

• 2 lbs chicken wings
  
• 1 tsp garlic powder
  
• 1 tsp onion powder
  
• 1 tsp salt
  
• ½ tsp black pepper
  
• Oil for frying (canola, peanut, etc.)
  

For the Truffle Glaze:

• 3 tbsp Truffles and Circumstances Black Truffle Hot Sauce
  
• 2 tbsp butter
  
• 1 tbsp honey (or brown sugar)
  
• 1 tsp soy sauce
  
• Squeeze of lemon juice for balance
  

Directions:

1. Season the Wings
   Pat wings very dry. Toss them with garlic powder, onion powder, salt, and pepper. Let them rest uncovered in the fridge for 30 min to help them crisp up during frying (optional, but worth it).
   
2. Fry ‘Em Up
   Heat oil to 350°F in a heavy pot or Dutch oven. Fry wings in batches for 8–10 minutes or until golden, crispy, and cooked through. Don’t overcrowd. Drain on a wire rack or paper towels.
   
3. Make That Glaze
   In a small saucepan, melt the butter. Add truffle hot sauce, honey, soy sauce, and lemon juice . Stir until smooth and just slightly thickened — it’ll smell so good.
   
4. Toss & Serve
   Toss wings in the glaze while they’re still hot. Plate. Garnish with chives, parmesan, or a drizzle of truffle oil if you’re feeling extra.
   

Picky Eater Tip:

If frying is not your thing, you can totally air fry these wings. Just spray them lightly with oil and cook at 400°F for 20–25 minutes, flipping halfway.

Final Thoughts

These wings are the ultimate picky-eater glow-up. A little spicy, a little luxe, and 100% worth the truffle tax. Honestly? I didn’t even need a dip — and that’s saying a lot.

If you make them, tag me @justapickyyeater — I’ll be the one double-tapping your wing pics while pretending I’m not making another batch.

There are some nights when all you need is a single, steamy bowl of comfort—and this Tom Yum Shrimp Wonton Soup is exactly that. It’s fiery, fragrant, and packed with flavor, but comes together in under 20 minutes using pantry staples and frozen shrimp wontons. No fuss. No leftovers. Just good food, made for one.

The first time I had this was while I was visiting a very special relative, and I ended up leaving with nothing left in the pot. YES it was that goood!

Now I love making this after a long day, when I don’t feel like doing much but still want a meal that feels like a warm hug with a kick of chili of course.

Ingredients:

Broth Base

• 1.5 cups (375 ml) chicken or seafood stock
  
• 1 tbsp Tom Yum paste (adjust to taste)
  
• 1–2 kaffir lime leaves, torn (optional)
  
• 1 small stalk lemongrass, smashed
  
• 1 clove garlic, smashed
  
• 2–3 white button mushrooms, sliced (shiitake or enoki also work)
  
• 1 tsp fish sauce
  
• 1/2 tsp sugar
  
• Juice of half a lime
  
• 3–5 frozen shrimp wontons
  

Optional Add-ins

• A handful of baby spinach or bok choy
  
• 1 small Thai chili, sliced (optional for heat)
  
• Garnish: fresh cilantro, green onions, and a lime wedge

Instructions:

1. Build your broth.
   In a small pot, bring your stock to a gentle simmer. Stir in Tom Yum paste, kaffir lime leaves, lemongrass, garlic, and mushrooms. Let it simmer for 5–7 minutes to infuse all that bold, herby flavor.
   
2. Toss in your wontons.
   Add the frozen shrimp wontons and simmer for another 4–6 minutes, or until they float and are fully cooked through.
   
3. Season & taste.
   Add fish sauce, sugar, and lime juice. Taste and adjust—add more lime for brightness, fish sauce for umami, or a bit more chili if you like the heat.
   
4. Wilt your greens.
   Stir in baby spinach or bok choy just until wilted. This only takes about 30 seconds.
   
5. Serve it hot.
   Pour everything into a deep bowl, and garnish with fresh cilantro, green onions, and a lime wedge on the side.
   

Just a Picky Eater Tip:

If you’re short on time, you can skip lemongrass and lime leaves—the Tom Yum paste usually already has them infused. Just simmer the paste with stock and you’re good to go.

Keep a stash of frozen shrimp wontons in your freezer at all times. They quickly turn a simple soup into something satisfying and special.

This solo bowl of Tom Yum Wonton Soup has become one of my go-to late-night comfort meals. It’s warm, spicy, and feels like something you’d get from your favorite noodle spot—but it’s all yours. No sharing required.

Tag me if you try it @justapickyyeater—I’d love to see your cozy bowl!

If pasta could talk, this one would say, “You’re going to love every bite.”

This dish was one of the very first recipes I made in my dorm series, and it quickly became a favorite. The Marry Me Shrimp Rigatoni is everything you want in a bowl of pasta—rich, creamy, and packed with bold flavors that make every forkful unforgettable. Juicy shrimp are seared to perfection, then tossed in a garlicky sun-dried tomato cream sauce that clings beautifully to the rigatoni. A touch of lemon cuts through the richness, adding just the right amount of freshness. It’s comforting, indulgent, and—dare I say—good enough for “the” special occasion. Whether you’re impressing guests or just treating yourself (like I do every week), this pasta is pure love in a bowl.

Perfecting Al Dente Pasta

Bringing your pasta to al dente perfection is a game-changer. If you’ve ever had mushy pasta that falls apart, you know why this matters. Al dente means “to the tooth,” meaning it should have a slight bite to it—firm yet tender. Here’s how to do it right:

• Bring a large pot of salted water to a rolling boil. (It should taste as salty as the sea!)
• Add the rigatoni and cook according to package instructions, but shave off a minute from the recommended time.
• To test, bite into a piece—there should be a thin white core in the middle. If it’s completely cooked through, it’s past al dente.
• Keep in mind, the pasta will continue to cook when you toss it in the sauce, so slightly undercooking it now ensures the perfect texture later.
• Before draining, reserve 1 cup of pasta water—this is liquid gold for adjusting the sauce consistency!
• Drain and toss the pasta with a drizzle of olive oil to prevent sticking.

Ingredients (Serves 2):

• 250g rigatoni
• 1 tbsp (15ml) olive oil + more for pasta
• 1 tbsp (14g) unsalted butter
• 300g shrimp (peeled and deveined)
• 1 tsp salt
• 1 tsp black pepper
• 1 tsp garlic powder
• 1 tsp paprika
• 4 garlic cloves (minced)
• 100g sun-dried tomatoes (chopped and drained)
• 1 tsp Italian seasoning
• 1 tbsp (8g) flour
• 180ml low sodium chicken broth
• 240ml heavy cream
• 1 tbsp tomato paste
• 1 tbsp lemon juice
• 7g fresh basil leaves (chopped)
• 50g grated Parmesan
• Chili flakes (for serving)

Method:

1. Cook the Pasta

• Follow the Perfecting Al Dente Pasta steps above.

2. Prepare the Shrimp

• Pat the shrimp dry with paper towels (moisture is the enemy of a good sear!).
• Season with ½ tsp salt, ½ tsp black pepper, ½ tsp garlic powder, and ½ tsp sweet paprika.
• Heat 1 tbsp olive oil in a large pan over medium-high heat.
• Sear the shrimp in a single layer for about 1-2 minutes per side, until pink and opaque. Remove and set aside.

3. Make the Sauce

• In the same pan, add 1 tbsp butter.
• Add 4 minced garlic cloves and cook for about 30 seconds until fragrant.
• Stir in 100g chopped sun-dried tomatoes and 1 tsp Italian seasoning, cooking for another 1-2 minutes.
• Sprinkle 1 tbsp flour over the mixture and stir continuously for 1 minute to remove the raw flour taste.

4. Build the Creamy Base

• Deglaze the pan with 180ml low sodium chicken broth, stirring constantly to avoid lumps.
• Add 240ml heavy cream and 1 tbsp tomato paste, mixing well.
• Simmer for 3-5 minutes until the sauce thickens slightly.

5. Combine Everything

• Return the cooked shrimp to the pan and stir to coat in the sauce.
• Add 1 tbsp lemon juice and the drained rigatoni, tossing everything together. If needed, loosen the sauce with reserved pasta water, a little at a time.
• Stir in 50g grated Parmesan and ¼ cup chopped basil leaves. Taste and adjust seasoning with the remaining ½ tsp salt and ½ tsp black pepper if needed.

6. Serve & Enjoy

• Plate the pasta and garnish with chili flakes for a hint of heat.
• Serve immediately, topped with extra Parmesan and fresh basil if desired.

This dish is best enjoyed fresh, but if you have leftovers, store them in an airtight container. When reheating, add a splash of broth or cream to bring the sauce back to life.

Now, go ahead—grab a fork and fall in love with every creamy, garlicky bite!