Akai Sushi-Ya & Izakaya
Words by Anna Kinder / Photos by Shea Alan
Inside Akai Sushi-Ya & Izakaya, a new upscale restaurant in the Wheeler District, gold cracks bisect the bathroom floors like lightning bolts—an homage to kintsugi, the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by not hiding its breakage, but highlighting it with gold lacquer. When you open an Oklahoma sushi joint after running a Minneapolis tennis academy for decades like Akai’s owner, Viet Pham, some cracks are inevitable—but they’re no match for his unbreakable spirit.
Viet doesn’t shy away from his culinary inexperience, which is refreshing. “I’ve never even worked at a McDonald’s,” he tells me, but he does know a thing or two about building tight-knit teams and getting the best out of his players—skills that go far in a restaurant. I admire his awareness of his own ignorance. And because he’s willing to illuminate his knowledge gaps, he can fill them with the right experts. “When Chef came into town, he asked about an RO system, and I was like, ‘R-O what?’” he shares, nodding over to Chef Yukio. “He meant reverse osmosis, and when he told me that the water affects his sushi rice, I knew he was just the guy I needed.”
Viet spent three weeks touring Tokyo’s fish markets and shoyu breweries before opening Akai—an effort that shines through in everything from the 500 sake cups he arranged on the wall by hand to the marbling on the A5 Wagyu steak he flaunts like a kid at show and tell. He’s the type who will give you his last piece of Salmon K-Pop, whether you're sitting beside him at the sushi bar or working behind it. He’ll even teach you how to eat it if that’s what the situation calls for.
I knew my odds of picking up a sliver of salmon tataki without dumping microgreens and almonds into my lap were as slim as me winning a teddy bear from a claw machine, so I hesitated at first, which sent Viet right into coaching mode. “So, if you hold one end like this, and fold it upon itself like this, you won’t lose any toppings,” he says, which works like a charm. “There you go!” he exclaims, as if I’d just balanced a tuna tower on my head—but without an ounce of condescension.
Viet has mastered the art of positive reinforcement. “A good coach recognizes what a player does well and then helps them develop those skills,” he tells me. While this approach is par for the course in sports and education, it’s an anomaly in restaurants, which Akai’s general manager Lana understands firsthand. He talked her into returning to the industry after swearing off it years ago, after all. “Viet gave me a reason to come back. He let us create a culture without the stress and tension of most restaurants,” Lana says. “From day one, we wanted Akai to be an escape for us, too, but my biggest concern was, ‘Can we pull that off?’”
It’s a fair question given the state of the industry, but Lana’s face lights up when she looks over at Viet. “But when you’ve got this guy running around the dining room, you can't help but be electric, right?” He’s quick to reciprocate the praise. On my first visit, Viet not only gushed about Lana but insisted I come back to meet her, and I’m glad I did. The duo reminds me of a postcard my mom has that reads: The best marriage happens when both partners believe they got the better end of the deal. If you swap in “business” for “marriage,” it encapsulates their dynamic perfectly.
In fact, the entire team seems suspiciously happy. “Don’t sleep on the slaw, okay? The fat and sauce seep into it, which is awesome,” Chef Luke advises while setting down a plate of Shinjidai Chicken Skin Skewers I can’t figure out how to describe beyond “elevated pork rinds marinated in the nectar of the gods.” He knows how good they are, too, so he sticks around to watch my reaction—a sign of a chef who hasn’t lost his spark.
Akai’s bar manager, Aaron, is hyped to hear I no longer imbibe because he needs a taste-tester for his zero-proof cocktail menu. The White Lotus is my favorite, with its subtly sweet vanilla rice cream soda and notes of toasted sesame. Even my sashimi comes with an anatomy lesson. “Chutoro,” Chef Yukio tells me, pointing to one pile of bluefin tuna, and then, his own upper back. “And otoro,” he adds, playfully squeezing his belly.
The more I get to know Viet, the more I understand why he opened his restaurant here of all places. At first, I assumed it was motivated by market gaps or operating costs, but it’s deeper than that. Although he’s not from Oklahoma, he’s an Oklahoman at heart. He makes friends everywhere he goes, for one, and he views the other Wheeler District businesses as neighbors—not competitors. In fact, you’ll find their logos on Akai’s water glasses, which originally read “Friendly” because they were a gift from the brewery’s founders when he first arrived.
As happy as Viet may seem today, opening Akai was a long, hard journey filled with twists, turns, and tears. “See that snake plant? I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve cried sitting there,” he admits at one point, and my mind returns to kintsugi, which translates to “golden joinery.” More than a repair technique or trendy aesthetic, it’s a philosophy encouraging us to embrace our flaws and hardships as not only parts of our story, but opportunities to form beautiful connections with the folks around us as well.
Akai Sushi-Ya & Izakaya, 1801 Wheeler St. Suite 130, Oklahoma City, (405) 673-7629, akaisushi.us
