Sushi, Nirigi, and Omakase perfection prepared at Glass Box Del Mar located at Skydeck Del Mar.
Sushi, Nirigi, and Omakase perfection prepared at Glass Box Del Mar located at Skydeck Del Mar.
You know that moment when a place grabs you by the throat and whispers, “Pay attention, asshole”? That’s what happened to me at Glass Box Del Mar, sitting in what amounts to a fishbowl for food voyeurs, watching Chef Ethan Yang work his particular brand of culinary magic.
San Diego’s sushi scene is a beautiful clusterfuck of ambition and authenticity. You’ve got your usual suspects—Wrench & Rodent playing the modernist card, Soichi keeping things traditionally tight, Azuki doing their thing. It’s a town where everyone’s chasing the next Instagram moment while secretly hoping someone, somewhere, still gives a damn about the actual fish.
Then there’s Glass Box, tucked inside the gleaming retail purgatory of Skydeck Del Mar, surrounded by the kind of dining destinations that make you question whether we’ve completely lost the plot. But here’s the thing about Yang’s operation: it’s the real deal wrapped in transparency—literally and figuratively.
Yang isn’t some culinary school pretty boy with daddy’s money and a dream. This is a grinder, a chef’s chef who’s paid his dues in the casino trenches and local joints where you learn to move fast, cut clean, and leave your ego at the door. Watching him expo every plate with the precision of a Swiss watchmaker, you understand this isn’t performance—it’s devotion.
The concept is deceptively simple: traditional Japanese technique meets coastal California soul, all happening inside a glass box where diners can witness the ballet of service. No flashy rolls stuffed with cream cheese and topped with eel sauce. Just fish, rice, knife, and decades of muscle memory made manifest.
I found myself staring down a selection of Japanese whiskeys, and suddenly I was back in time—drunk off my ass at Morimoto’s with my chef and the rest of the line, cursing like the beautiful degenerates we were, toasting to the only thing that mattered: the moment when everything comes together on a plate.
That’s what Yang has created here. Those rare, crystalline moments where memory meets sensation, where the fish tastes like the ocean’s autobiography, where the rice has the perfect temperature and tension that speaks to years of practice and an almost religious dedication to craft.
The Hibiki whiskey in my glass was smooth as silk, and every piece of sashimi was a small miracle of timing, temperature, and respect for the ingredient. This isn’t just dinner—it’s a masterclass in what happens when someone gives enough of a damn to do it right, even when no one’s watching.
Glass Box Del Mar isn’t just another sushi spot in a town lousy with them. It’s what happens when a chef stops chasing trends and starts chasing perfection. If you love food—really love it, not just the idea of it—you owe yourself a seat at Yang’s glass altar.
Because sometimes, in this world of food porn and manufactured experiences, you stumble onto something fucking magical. Something that reminds you why you fell in love with this beautiful, brutal business in the first place.
Glass Box Del Mar
Del Mar Highlands Town Center
12841 El Camino Real Suite 203, San Diego, CA 92130
(858) 289-4800
glassboxsd.com
Make Reservations HERE
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