You arrive at 108 Pasteur in the evening — past the big street-level signboard, through the door that opens with the PIN given at booking, up the stairs. Then the room goes dark: one long light-wood counter, black chairs, a bonsai alcove glowing faintly. There is no menu to choose from. The chef decides.
The work is old-school: bluefish finished over binchotan in a breath of smoke, shirako cooked low and slow, sashimi cut thick and clean, and nigiri formed by hand with warm, loosely packed rice. What arrives at your seat is the chef's judgment, course by course.
Dinner is the only service — one evening, 17:30 to 22:30, Monday and Wednesday through Sunday. On Tuesday the room goes dark entirely. Book ahead; the door only opens with your code.