Restaurant logy opened in the middle of November 2018 and received a Michelin star in April 2019. This has to be one of the shortest time between opening and garnering a star in the history of the Michelin Guide. The restaurant is small with only 13 seats at the counter. Since the start of the restaurant it has been very difficult to reserve a seat. How many times did the Michelin inspectors actually eat at the restaurant. Did the Michelin Guide simply award the star because logy closely followed the formula?
The chef of logy, Ryogo Tahara was a sous chef at the two-Michelin-star restaurant Florilège in Tokyo before coming to Taipei. Prior to Tokyo, he worked at a few Michelin-star restaurants in Italy. Restaurant logy is actually Tahara’s first time as the head chef but he certainly has high expectations. When Michelin made the announcement, Tahara told the local newspaper that he was happy, but would preferred to have a second star (“開心，但是再來一顆會更好”). Who doesn't like more stars? I suppose a chef should be confident (or arrogant) about his ability. I am not an expert on psychology. But even the Chef of the Century Joël Robuchon had to earn his stars at Restaurant Jamin one at a time.
Given the formulaic nature of logy, I wasn’t very eager to go the restaurant. The analogy is watching romantic comedy movies. Before one heads to the cinema, one already knows what's going to happen: they get together, they breakup, and they get back together. With a romantic comedy, the experience is a topic of conversation with friends but doesn’t have a profound impact. Nevertheless, just as some romantic comedies are better than others, logy is one of the better formulaic restaurants. By chance my friends had reservations at the restaurant but couldn’t go, so I ended up eating at logy twice but a year apart: one for dinner in March 2019 and the other for lunch in March 2020. Over the course of a year the formula of logy did not change. Only the price of the meal has increased.
Restaurant logy is located in a small alley of Daan district in Taipei, and occupies the ground floor of a nondescript seven-story apartment building. The facade of the restaurant is a light grey textured concrete wall with a floor-height vertical inscription of its name. The wall is devoid of any windows and has only one opening on the left side. Tucked inside the opening and not visible from the street is the front door, which adds to the sense of anticipation. Once inside the feel is the opposite of the exterior: the color is black, and the space is dark, small, and little severe.
The interior is based on the typology of the open kitchen with counter seating. Different from the typical setup, the seating area is raised on a platform allowing the diners to sit on regular chairs rather than bar seats. However, the trade-off is the platform reduces the clear ceiling height and the space feels more cramped. Sitting on a platform also means the diners look down at the cooks in the kitchen. Together with the dark walls and the lack of daylight, the effect is a bit theatrical. But unfortunately, out of the 13 seats, three around the corner of the L-shaped counter has only a partial view of the action due to a large black column. For my lunch I was assigned the seat at the corner of the counter and stared at the column for over two hours. The restaurant makes no apology. And unlike at an old theater, partial view at logy doesn't come with a discounted price.
The interior design of logy is from the genealogy of the two-Michelin-star restaurant Florilège in Tokyo. However, in Tokyo there isn’t any obstruction of the view of the kitchen. The dining room in Tokyo also has daylight coming through the drapes, making the space more comfortable. The restaurant in Taipei is a weak replica of the restaurant in Tokyo.
The counter at logy is made out of concrete and is a bit wider than it needs to be. This makes the space smaller. The walkway behind my chair feels narrow and uncomfortable especially when someone walks pass me to go to the bathroom. The width of the counter also made the server more distant and lessened the intimacy. The chairs at the counter are comfortable but problematic. When one is sitting at a counter, one’s dining companion is on the side rather than the front. Therefore, the chairs at the counter should allow the diners to easily turn to the sides. This can be done with a swivel chair or a chair without armrests. The chairs at logy are simply too heavy and constrictive, prohibiting the diners from turning to each other for a conversation. Perhaps this is done on purpose so the diners can focus on the kitchen and the food rather than on each other.
Another time I sat in the dining alcove. While the space is more ideal for a large party (four to six persons), it is detached from the open kitchen. The space is a little too narrow for comfort. Whenever a server walked behind me, I felt I had to pull my chair inward to avoid contact. Since the table is made of wood instead of concrete, a grey fuzzy round placemat is used to protect the surface. However, it looks like a big mouse pad and doesn’t look clean. There has to be a more elegant and natural placemat that can be used.
The interior design does not pay much attention to otology. All the surfaces of the restaurant are hard without acoustics treatment. For instance the ceiling is a floating plane with down lights that doesn’t absorb but reflect the sound. For my second meal, the dining party of three adjacent to me was so loud that I felt like I was eating at a night market.
Before any food is served, the server explained the terminology of the name. It is not necessary nor useful. The diner is then handed a card in English explaining the concept of the restaurant. In case the diner doesn’t know the meaning of the suffix-logy, three are listed on the card: 1. [from Greek] the science or study of, 2. [from Latin] spoken or written discourse, and 3. [in Japanese] an alley. I like reading and understanding theories, but I don't really need the card. Being told that "logy [sans hyphen] is the word we have chosen to express Asia’s profound dynamism. The cuisine combines elements of our core concepts – nature, climate, people, religion and food culture – but defies categorization" didn't add to my enjoyment of the food nor the experience with my dining companion. Similar to viewing art at a museum, I don’t need to read the labels on the wall before seeing the art. Let me just enjoy the work. And even the labels in the art museum describe the work rather than some concept that has no specificity. I rather just see a menu.
The card is a bit pretentious but not necessarily precise about the concept; more time should have been spent on etymology. In a couple of instances, the restaurant confuses the suffix -logy with the word logy. A suffix is a morpheme added at the end of a word to form a derivative and -logy denotes a subject of study. On the other hand, the definition of the word logy is: dull and heavy in motion or thought; sluggish. While the restaurant wants to position itself as a “point of cultural connection”, eating at logy is not a cultural event. At times the meal doesn’t denote a type of discourse but rather just feels logy.
There’s only one set menu (besides the vegetarian set) for all the diners. The meal starts with an one-bite amuse-bouche. For my first meal it is a ball-shape amuse that makes an analogy to Lu Ruo Fan (Taiwanese braised pork rice). I don’t really like the amuse nor is it hot enough. My second meal starts with a square piece of squid, with celtuce and fermented radish powder served on a spoon. This is more successful, and I prefer the non-associative nature of the dish.
Second course is a horse mackerel. The first time the fish is hidden under a cookie, which I wish is more crisp or not there at all. The second time the mackerel is hidden under edible flower. The slices of fish is layered with horizontally with thin slices of wax apple and served on whey. At both meals the mackerel is excellent with nice texture and flavors. I don’t understand the idea of always hiding the mackerel at the bottom, but the combinations of the ingredients are interesting.
In my first meal at logy the third course is an eel with banana. The dish is interesting in words but a little dull and heavy in taste. In my second meal eel doesn’t make an appearance and is replaced by a dish of abalone, which is well cooked, light, yet flavorful.
The signature dish of the chef seems to be the steamed egg or chawanmushi, which has remained on the menu since the opening. Served in a dark bowl, the dish is not just an oology, but a layered construction of steamed egg, crab meat, and celery ice cream. A hot broth is pour tableside. This dish is an ology in contrast: temperature, textures, and flavors. Instead of resolving the differences, the chef accentuates them. This is a very successful dish and delightful to eat. However, I don’t want to eat this same dish every time I go to logy.
In my second meal the restaurants serves a pigeon leg. The plating is similar to the mackerel with the protein hidden under chips. I am not sure why there is such an interest in topology. The construction is not really architectural either. Nevertheless, the pigeon is cooked very well and delicious.
The dishes build up to the pièce de résistance: a large format roast. For my first meal, the main course is a roast chicken that is first presented without the thighs and the legs, which just looks sad. I feel like someone ate the rest of my chicken. I think the chef kept my favorite part of the chicken, sot-l'y-laisse, for himself. I understand the thighs and breast have different cooking times, but the chicken is presented before the fish course is served. In other words, there is plenty of time for the kitchen to carve, cook, and rest the chicken. I don’t understand the methodology.
For my second meal the roast is a piece of pork. As with the chicken, the meat is presented to us early in the meal. The server says the pig is specially raised listening to the music by Mozart. I don’t know if the server realizes that Mozart died from eating undercooked pork. I don’t know anything about ethology. Does Mozart’s music really help make the pork taste better? Why not the music by Georg Friederich Händel? Or is the breeder trying to exact revenge for Mozart? Maybe the chef wants us to know that he can cook the pork to the right temperature; not too hard with modern technology. Indeed the pork is roasted nicely and served with cabbage. However, instead of Taiwan, I felt like I was in Alsace.
Based on two visits to logy, I find the main courses are nice but dull. The preparation is almost a bit too straightforward. They don’t have much of a wow factor that one expects, and feel a bit like a home-cooked Thanksgiving roast. Furthermore, since the protein is presented in a large format at the beginning of the meal, there’s a disconnect by the time the diner eats it. The grandeur of the large roast is absent from the small portion on the plate.
The desserts at logy are a bit of a disappointment. The restaurant doesn’t seem to have a dedicated pastry chef. Given the size of the restaurant, it probably doesn’t make economic sense to hire a pastry chef. However, desserts are three of the total ten courses. Dessert is an opportunity to bring some magic to end the meal. But at logy, the desserts feel a bit like an afterthought or just dishes to pad the menu. For instance one of the desserts is a soy milk pudding, with rose jelly, and a strawberry consommé. This is served in the same dark bowl as the steamed egg. The chef really likes the idea of soft custard topped with a sauce, and has to have both savory and sweet versions. This dessert is pleasant, but not too technical nor interesting. With just eight courses, does a diner really need two bowls of soft custard?
I wish the chronology of desserts isn't three consecutive cold dishes. Since every diner eats the same dessert, the restaurant can plan for large format desserts or something warm: soufflé, crêpe, tarte tatin. Why not make some desserts à la minute?
The last dessert (more like a mignardise than a course) of my two meals one year apart is the same: fresh aiyu jelly, coconut, and cocoa juice. It is a refreshing end to the meal, but doesn’t feel special enough. I certainly don’t expect a year after my first meal I would be eating the same thing again. Aiyu is a jelly made from the gel of the seeds of the awkeotsang creeping fig found in Taiwan. The server makes a big deal about the jelly and even shows the fruit on the side in case the the diners haven’t see it before. This is all part of the formula with the idea of the foreign chef discovering and promoting Taiwanese ingredients. Maybe a tourist would find the fruit more interesting. I don’t need the superficial pomology which felt less educational and more patronizing.
I am not sure what is the ideology of logy besides using Taiwanese ingredients to create French-Japanese food. The cooking is precise but some of the dishes are not as flavorful as I imagined. The savory dishes beside the large format roast are the best parts of the meal. They offer some interesting combination of flavors and textures. The chef seems to be more adept and have more ideas with preparing seafood than meats.
When logy first opened the dinner was priced NT$3,500 plus 10% service charge. In my most recent meal, the price has risen to NT$3,750 plus 10% service charge. While there are more expensive restaurants in Taipei, the pricing is not cheap, especially considering the so called ten-course menu is really eight courses with an amuse-bouche and a mignardise. The portion of each dish is small and without many expensive ingredients. In comparison, a meal at the Michelin-one-star Impromptu by Paul Lee, with a similar menu format, is NT$2,580 plus 10% service charge. Is the experience at logy worth fifty percent more than at Impromptu? Not for me.
Restaurant logy is a place with a young chef and a younger staff, cooking for a young crowd. The restaurant is also well suited for tourists seeking a western dining experience with local ingredients. Furthermore, the restaurant is ideally positioned for social media with dishes that are sometimes more photogenic than delicious. Given the limited seating and the local's love for Japanese chefs, a reservation at logy will probably continue to be hard to come by for the foreseeable future. I am not in the demographics for logy and don’t need to go back soon.
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