I arrive at The Office of Mr Moto and Chef Kenji is already in silence.
The room holds to one sound: water rinsing rice.
On the counter, fish from Japan, just in, the Mr Moto way.
Back of house turns, briefly, into a private room: a knife on a clean towel.
The pass still empty. The door not yet open. Hours before the first order, before the first pair of eyes.























