Joint Seafood

Whether you’re aware of it or not, if you’ve had dry-aged fish in Los Angeles, there’s a good chance it’s passed through the hands of Liwei Liao, owner of Joint Seafood. The fishmonger-turned-chef who many refer to as L.A.’s dry-aged-fish-guy supplies a roster of 30-plus restaurants—including some of the city’s top Michelin-Starred establishments like Somni, Kato and Providence. Joint Seafood first opened in Sherman Oaks in 2018 as a fish market, casual restaurant and coffee shop, and now moves somewhere between 4,000 and 5,000 pounds of fish per week. In 2023, Liao added Uoichiba Temaki Bar inside Joint Seafood as a built-in safety net to keep fish moving: He can order more than his restaurant clients need, knowing that whatever they don’t take has somewhere to go. Even so, supply couldn’t keep up with demand, which is why this April, Joint Seafood opened a second, bigger and more modern location in DTLA, with the capacity to process 15,000 pounds of fish per week. 

It’s all in line with Liao’s master plan to make dry-aging the way we keep and eat fish. Not only does properly aged fish stay consistent for about a week (so it doesn’t have to be sold within hours or tossed), it also tastes better. Blood is what makes fish fishy. Dry-aging solves that problem: Each fish hangs in a digitally controlled chamber held at an average of 0.8°C (as close to freezing as possible without anything freezing), and gravity drains the blood. No salt or preservatives are used, and the protein isn’t altered. The result is cleaner and sweeter. In bluefin, for example, the sour, iron-y edge of fresh tuna—a byproduct of all that hemoglobin—turns to sweetness. I learned all this and then some at the Butcher’s Counter, a wildly unique and illuminating 11-course tasting menu that Liao spearheads himself (pun intended) at the DTLA location on Fridays and Saturdays at 7pm ($280 per person).

Liao is passionate, kind and incredibly knowledgeable. Born in Taiwan and raised in Queens, he learned to gut and clean fish from his father. He conditioned his first tuna at 11.  

The vibe: Like the Sherman Oaks location, Joint Seafood DTLA has a fish market, cafe and Uoichiba Temaki Bar under one roof. But push through the employees-only swinging half doors behind the glass cases of fish for sale, and that quartz counter where fish is broken down all week? Yep, that’s the tablesetting for the Butcher’s Counter experience. You’ll be in the good company of seven others (the counter sits up to eight) who love food and fish as much as you do, ask really good questions like how you catch a fish without it knowing it’s being caught, and are happy to share their sake with you. Insistent, actually. 

The food: Things open with a Kusshi oyster from British Columbia, topped with battera kombu two ways (marinated in yuzu kosho and fried for crunch), shallot mignonette, marigold and coconut granita. Then, Liao lays down the first and only rule of the night, designed to make sure no one leaves hungry: Every course is plated with one extra (sometimes two), called a “replay,” and whoever speaks up first gets it. So, don’t be shy, or polite. Every course is an excuse for Liao to put fish on a pedestal, starting with uni atop a French omelet on house-made Hokkaido milk bread, served with a quick lesson in why Japanese uni costs so much (supply is highly volatile, so the price of a single tray can double in a week). Because Joint has outlets for the rest of the fish, the counter only gets the best cuts. Case in point, the New Zealand king salmon belly goes from fish to straight-up sashimi in under five minutes, meaning Liao slices the piece he needs from the whole salmon in the cooler behind him, right before your eyes, and dresses it with nothing more than salt, shiso, julienned myoga and a Japanese olive oil infused with wasabi leaves. Other standouts included a “salad” of aged Spanish bluefin, sliced pristinely thin, tossed with Japanese pickles, ponzu and fresh yuzu, meant to be eaten like a taco. There was also a showstopping miso soup: Alaskan gindara, aged about two weeks, in a red-and-white miso dashi topped with herbs until a tableside pour of stock—made entirely from dry-aged fish bones—brings it all together. Because the bones have been purged of blood, the broth is remarkably clear and clean. Kinki (channel rockfish), prized in Japan and sometimes called the wagyu of the sea, follows, grilled over charcoal and served on broccolini warmed by the heat of the plate. 

If you have a tuna kink, you’ll certainly get off on Liao breaking down bluefin in front of you, cutting the prime akami of otoro—just two pounds per side from a roughly 500-pound fish. What’s so special about this section? Like a tenderloin, it’s the only part of this massive fish that doesn’t move while the muscles around it flex during swimming. It’s dark on the outside and ruby red inside. You’ll taste a slice with just salt before the rest goes into five-year-aged soy. Meanwhile, rare Yukitsubaki rice from Niigata, started in cast iron as you sat down, cooks with wagyu fat to keep the notoriously sticky grain separate. Commence the hand roll section! 

Each of the four rolls is made individually, à la minute, and the nori is toasted over the same Japanese charcoal used to cook the fish. On my visit, rolls included smoked squash blossoms stuffed with Japanese scallops; the same tuna that was marinating in soy, finished with wasabi for a classic flavor profile; and Liao’s favorite: dry-aged Westholme Australian Wagyu (grade 8+) tartare mixed with uni risotto. My favorite, though, was a week-aged iwashi (sardines), Liao’s fresh take on tinned fish, seared with a welder’s MAPP torch, which burns hotter and cleaner than butane. Sardines’ dark blood is what makes them taste fishy. Aging does away with that, brings out their oily richness, and puts them closer to what you’d expect of mackerel. It was also over sardines that Liao dropped his most surprising take of the night: wild-caught isn’t necessarily better. A fish that fought on the line is stressed, and stress hurts how it ages. Most of Joint’s fish comes from quick, stress-free harvests where the fish don’t struggle or even know they’re being killed. Ranched bluefin, for instance, is guided into a corner of its pen, stunned (think taser), then ikejime’d, bled and gutted, all within 30 to 60 seconds. As far as he’s concerned, it’s more humane, and what makes a fish worth aging.

Even dessert keeps fish on a pedestal, or at least its eggs: an Astrea caviar, yuzu sorbet and cream cheese sandwich, served with butterfly pea flower tea and a marigold blossom. And yes, caviar bumps are on offer if you’d rather end on a high—and strictly salty—note.

The drink: It’s a BYOB situation for the moment, hence our generous neighbors who have a 400-bottle wine collection at home and kept sharing their very good sake. Expect that to change once Joint Seafood gets its liquor license, hopefully by the end of the year. In the meantime, there’s a lovely palate cleanser: a crisp Taiwanese oolong kombucha (0.5% ABV) brewed in L.A.

Time Out tip: Before you leave, take some fish home, or a container of that fish bone stock, sold unseasoned so you can salt it to taste. And if you want the Butcher’s Counter to yourself, it is available for full buyouts (up to eight guests) any night besides Friday and Saturday, with a week’s notice.