As a fellow patissier I can say this was a wonderful and eye opening experience. Loved it from the start to finish. Very clean and flawless vibe, modern with old school techniques. Every plate carefully prepared and it was a crescendo experience where the current plate is topped by the next. Delicious. And the tea pairing was a plus and fitting to each moment. My partner and I were delighted and will comeback in the future to try new inventions (seasonal menu). A shout-out to the plate number 7, 8 and 10 (photos) especially as they will forever be engraved in my memory. Congratulations! What a concept!

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Very classy but futuristic, dessert course with Green tea and Japanese tea twist, very new, must-experience in Kagurazaka Tokyo, all good for vegans and vegetarians! English menu available!

This experience will live rent-free in my head for a very long time. Genuinely enjoyable in every way. Thank you!

Today, I went to VERT. The first thing that captured my heart was the yokan. Hassaku yokan. Thinly peeled hassaku rind is mixed into the yokan, finished with powdered dried peel and just a little salt. The flavor is not sweet, but “rises quietly.” The hassaku yokan I took home as a souvenir was beautiful right through its aftertaste. The other dishes also offer entirely new experiences. Kohlrabi with the aroma of pear. Further-ripened melon from 宮古島 and fennel-leaf sorbet, paired with tea, are designed to become muscat in your mouth. It feels more like shifting perception than “adding” flavor. I felt this was less a shop for “sweets without sugar” and more a place that rebuilds the definition of sweetness. Sugar is used for fermentation, but not as much as 20% as in ordinary fermented sweets. During fermentation, sweetness is converted into acids and other elements, leaving no cloying sweetness at all. Every dish has an element of fermentation, and always includes “bitterness.” That is why the aftertaste lasts, with bitterness that quietly cancels out only the excess sweetness. It extends quietly. The whole experience takes around 2 hours. Rather than a meal, it feels like “entrusting your time to a single experience.” Honestly, it is not suitable on a day when you are in a hurry. The price is also high if you think of it as sweets. But as an experience, it strangely makes sense. I think this is a place where you pay less for “what you ate” and more for “what kind of thinking you took home.” It suits people who like restrained sweetness and an emphasis on ingredients. People who want to enjoy food as an experience rather than entertainment. People who find value in fermentation, bitterness, and aftertaste. Conversely, people seeking obvious sweetness or instant happiness, or those who prioritize generous portions, may find it unsuitable. Rather than being photogenic, it is entirely the kind of experience that stays in your memory. It prioritizes lived experience over social media. Apparently, the menu changes every month, and the chef is so thorough that he always goes to meet the farmers supplying his ingredients in person. Including that attitude, there is a level of refinement that makes you think “this place alone is enough,” yet its evolution never stops. At the end, we were shown to a separate tea room and finished with matcha. The owner-chef was born in the first year of 平成. I thought he was a genius. This is not sweets. It is an edited “philosophy of food.” A place to come and taste a different way of thinking each month. So before leaving, I booked the next 2 months on the spot. What moved me the most—unexpectedly—was the yokan. A hassaku citrus yokan. Thinly peeled hassaku rind is folded into the jelly, finished with powdered dried peel and a touch of salt. It wasn’t “sweet” in the usual sense. The flavor rose quietly and stayed. Other dishes kept shifting perception rather than adding flavor. Kohlrabi that tasted like pear. A sorbet made from fully ripened Miyakojima melon and fennel leaves, paired with tea—somehow turning into muscat grape in the mouth. It felt less like eating and more like recalibrating taste. This is not a place that simply avoids sugar. It redefines sweetness. Sugar is used in fermentation, but far less than conventional recipes. The sweetness is transformed into acidity and depth, leaving no cloying finish behind. Every dish contains an element of fermentation, and every course includes bitterness. That bitterness stretches the aftertaste, making it linger calmly. The experience takes about two hours. It’s not a quick meal—it’s time you intentionally give to the experience. If you’re in a hurry, this isn’t the place. It is expensive if you think of it as dessert. But as an experience, it makes sense. You’re not paying for what you eat— you’re paying for how your thinking changes. This place is for people who appreciate subtle sweetness, who value ingredients over spectacle, and who enjoy fermentation, bitterness, and long finishes. If you’re looking for obvious sweetness, instant pleasure, or generous portions, this may not be for you. It’s not about photos. It’s about memory. The menu changes monthly, and the chef personally visits every farmer he works with. That dedication shows—not just in the food, but in the feeling that this place keeps evolving. The experience ends in a separate tea room with matcha. The owner-chef was born in 1989. Honestly, he feels like a prodigy. This isn’t dessert. It’s an edited philosophy of food. A place you return to, not for the same taste, but for a new way of thinking.

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I was incredibly moved. More than sweets, this was a food experience, and I am truly grateful that I could come here. I was deeply impressed by the hospitality of every staff member, including the chef, their desire to delight customers, and their passion and sense of responsibility toward their work✨ It is a place that makes me want to visit again, once, twice, and every season. I am glad I happened to discover it. Thank you.

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