Shiki is the kind of sushi restaurant where you should only utter one word: omakase. Bait shrimp are pulled from the tank and served live, the tail still wriggling on your plate (while the head is in back being deep-fried). And chef Ken Yamamoto is one of only eight sushi chefs in the U.S. licensed to prepare fugu (the infamous puffer fish that if improperly sliced can kill you).

If you utter another word, it should be shabu shabu; the traditional Japanese hot pot is the best non-sushi option, with thinly sliced Wagyu beef, udon noodles, and vegetables, which you boil yourself in a simmering cauldron of stock.

Although omakase is a great value here, if you’re on a budget, you won’t be disappointed by the nigiri sushi: glassy crimson slabs of maguro, buttery supple salmon, and creamy albacore. The puffer fish, available December through April, is the opposite of value: $100+ gets you a fish with no more complexity than fluke plus a bowl of soup made from the fish’s bones.

Shiki feels like a typical downmarket sushi restaurant: there are curtains everywhere, and Japanese calligraphy hangs from the walls. None of this is able to cover up the fact that Shiki is inside a typically dingy building in lower Queen Anne. But how could you hold that against them?