Ichimatsu

Skewer to ember at the counter

A skewer moves a little closer to the charcoal, then back again; Hideto Takeda, chef-owner of Ichimatsu in Osaka, keeps the distance short enough for judgment to stay visible. Yakitori at this counter depends on that range: cook to grill, skewer to ember, guest to decision. Takeda’s work is not built around concealment. Chicken is portioned, seasoned, turned, and served according to the timing each cut asks for, with the pass held close to the fire rather than separated from it.

His route has stayed inside chicken cookery and the discipline of sequence. In Singapore, he appeared as chef for the Ichimatsu Chicken Kaiseki pop-up dinner at Savourworld in 2017, carrying the format outside its Osaka room without loosening its frame. At Ichimatsu, he works as chef and owner inside a counter-seat yakitori restaurant, where repetition is not a soft word. The same action has to be done again without slack: skewering, setting, turning, seasoning, reading doneness, releasing the piece while the heat still belongs to it. Recognition for this address includes one Michelin star for Yakitori Ichimatsu, attached to the counter-seat charcoal format rather than to a separate chapter of his career.

Hinai Jidori through salt, sauce, and smoke

The program centers on Hinai Jidori and a yakitori omakase organized around grilled chicken. That sounds narrow only from a distance. At the bench, the sequence lets different cuts, textures, and seasonings arrive in order, with salt, sauce, smoke, char, and the bird’s own richness doing the work. Straightforward charcoal grilling gives little cover to ornament. Heat has to be placed, not merely applied.

Two dishes make the method plain. Breast meat with soy sauce and wasabi relies on clean heat and direct seasoning, a cut kept legible rather than dressed into another shape. Chicken meatballs grilled on rough-hewn spicebush skewers ask the skewer to carry more than structure; the support becomes part of the cooking, holding the mince over charcoal while lending its own presence to the piece. Around the grilled courses, the chicken-focused set menu can move into pâté, dry-cured ham, soup, and other accompaniments. Curing, simmering, slicing, and pacing sit beside the grill, not outside it. The whole ingredient remains the subject.

The room keeps the fire close

The counter makes the room work at the same pace as the coals. Guests sit near enough to see the small increments: the angle of a skewer, a pause over a hotter patch, a return to gentler heat, a final seasoning before the piece leaves the pass. In Kitashinchi, inside the Dōjima address, Ichimatsu’s setting keeps that exchange compact. The team can explain the cooking as it happens, but the primary language is still movement at the grill.

Yakitori here is lively without needing distance from the craft. Courses progress through the counter, one decision after another, and the room takes its rhythm from charcoal rather than decoration. The close range matters because chicken changes quickly over heat; a breast cut, a meatball, a bowl of soup, and a slice of dry-cured ham each ask for a different hand. Takeda’s station holds them in one frame. At Ichimatsu, a rough-hewn spicebush skewer reaches the counter.