San Francisco is suddenly flush with beef Wellingtons, the elaborate tenderloin-in-a-pastry that’s one of the most finicky, laborious classics in the British culinary repertoire. But the statement dish at Lower Nob Hill’s newest Japanese restaurant may have snatched the title from the motherland.

The entree in question is the tuna Wellington at TBD (opens in new tab), a stunning, $60 slab of bigeye encased in concentric layers of nori, baby bok choi, and shiitake-negi duxelles, wrapped in delicate puff pastry with wasabi butter. It’s not even a pescavore-friendly alternative to the classic, as it sits atop a pool of rich, umami-forward beef tare and beside a pickled carrot in the shape of a Star Destroyer.  

The genesis of the dish, chef and owner Ray Lee says, was a kitchen collision during the restaurant’s research and development phase. He and partner Tommy Cleary wanted to feature beef tare — a soy glaze used to flavor yakitori skewers — in a grander way. They settled on an Asian-inspired riff on the Wellington, a dish so old-school it evokes victory over Napoleon.

Cat Wang, a member of the kitchen team who Lee describes as a “Jedi chef,” took the initiative to create one. “She fucking nailed it on her first try,” Lee adds. “I was like, ‘We have to put it on the menu now!’ People are loving it.”

The Wellington exemplifies TBD’s stealthy ambition. The restaurant seamlessly unites various elements of Japanese cooking — the art of grilling over Binchotan charcoal, the skill of dry-aging sashimi — and goes full-send on eye-popping presentations while keeping the mood low-key. All energy is on the plate. 

Otherwise, TBD exudes an air of secrecy; the name is coy, the front door is signless, there’s no website, and the dim rear room feels tucked away, with an old, forbidding door set inside an exposed brick wall. It occupies the former home of Akikos, the pioneering sushi restaurant Lee’s parents opened almost 40 years ago, known for offering one of San Francisco’s first omakase menus. Lee relocated the family business to SoMa before joining up with Cleary, who closed his restaurant, Hina Yakitori, in 2023.

That chef’s counter is still there, although Lee emphasizes that patrons get the same experience when seated at a table. Wherever you dine, you’re likely to be confronted with some impressive dishes, such as a heaping scoop of lobster-and-tarragon potato salad that’s light on mayo and bedecked with strips of dried parsnip.

However, the more adventurous you are, the higher the reward. Diners could play it safe with sashimi, crudo, and okonomiyaki, the savory pancakes that this kitchen serves with king crab, sauerkraut, and smoked trout roe. But an openness to organ meats will allow you to embrace TBD on its own terms. 

Though Cleary built his reputation on yakitori skewers, none appear on this menu. Instead, it lists its avant-garde delights as “yakimono,” an umbrella category of grilled dishes of which yakitori is but one type. Cleary wants to showcase the quality of the birds, which are Rhode Island Reds. He considers the pasture-raised heritage breed gamier and more flavorful than many cross-breeds, which are prized for their juiciness. 

The “offal set” is a trio of bites, presented in a box with two pieces each of chicken liver with soy sauce and balsamic vinegar on milkbread, heart with yuzu marmalade, and gizzard with tarragon and vinegar. While the gizzard is earthy, with a touch of acidic tang, the liver is a wonder, deeply smoky and almost creamy.

The “assorted set” picks up where the offal set leaves off, offering a rotating selection of cuts that on my visit included thigh meat with tare and spicy sansho leaves, a wing drumette with shiitake, and, best of all, negima. Instead of the traditional preparation — a skewer of grilled onions alternating with pieces of thigh — it’s a crisped chicken breast wrapped around a segment of Japanese scallion. Conceptually clever, it’s also intensely flavorful. 

My favorite item by far was the chicken karaage, which is a far cry from the marinated chunks of deep-fried meat found at the average Japanese pub. TBD goes all in on the claw, with yuzu hot sauce and a chile-butter glaze, a presentation similar to Arquet’s hot-honey chicken and Quince’s signature squab. Sesame-nori furikake adds texture to an already shatteringly crunchy batter, and patrons slice and serve this spicy bird themselves.

This aggressively plated chicken was so popular right out of the gate that the kitchen struggled to meet demand. “We found a way to keep the inventory,” Lee says. “We have enough without running out by 7 p.m.”

That issue has been resolved, but TBD may face another challenge: a mismatch between the loftiness of the cuisine and the cadence of the meal. Plenty of ink has been spilled about San Francisco’s occasionally interminable, 20-course tasting menus, but dinner at TBD operates at a blistering pace. My companion and I ordered a $100 bottle of jumai ginjo plus seven dishes from all categories of the menu, yet we were out the door less than an hour after we sat. Other parties appeared to come and go at the same tempo. 

• ‘We don’t want to thrive on hype’: The East Bay’s pizza darling lands on Clement Street

• At The Big Four, the food is fine. But the escapism is everything

• This is the most fun you can have eating a smashburger in San Francisco

At a more traditional, casual izakaya, we’d likely have called for more sake and another round or two of plates. But when the three-bite presentations run to $16 or $20, a little gluttonous lingering becomes less feasible. Plus, we’d eaten through much of the menu already.

Despite its tucked-away feel, TBD isn’t a particularly romantic place — carving up an eldritch bird claw is hardly an aphrodisiac move — but it is unquestionably moving San Francisco’s dining scene forward. Your biggest regret may be wishing you could stay longer.