Meet the "Uncle of Meat": A Review of Kakunoshin Roppongi

The marbled meat sizzles on the iron mesh, seared on the outside. As the knife glides through the center to reveal an evenly rare mid-section, I can't help but think: I do like meat.

It’s just that I don’t love it.

Don’t get me wrong; if someone snagged a reservation at one of those tabehoudai all-you-can-eat yakiniku joints (particularly, Yakiniku King), I’d be there. But the feverish, frenzied obsession that grips people at the mere mention of the wagyu beef? That’s lost on me.

The hard truth is, I see the revered Japanese cattle — rightfully sensationalized for their pampered existence, complete with massages and tailored diets — as just what they are: meat.

But then, I found myself at Wagyu Yakiniku Kakunoshin Roppongi, tucked away in a nondescript, three-story building in Roppongi. It’s piloted by wagyu maestro Chiba Masuo, an Iwate native who impressively ushers a set of formulas that tip the balance of wagyu just a little further away from the stereotypical luxury item.

I stepped inside with lukewarm expectations and, to be honest, left without much to say. I was too full to think.

For a man who handles one of Japan’s most conventional prized commodities, the Niku Ojisan — real name Chiba Masuo — had a pretty unconventional journey. He grew up in Ichinoseki, the second most populated town in Iwate Prefecture, and used to work as a salesman.

In 1999, at just 27 years old, he opened his first store in his hometown. The cow was sourced from Chiba’s family ranch, raised by his older brother. The menu was simple: meat, kimchi and rice.

A few years later, when his former elementary school was set to close down, Chiba made a bid to purchase the land. He converted it into a hamburger meat factory. By 2024, he was operating eight Kakunoshin stores nationwide.

For the first course, the kitchen arranges a trio of nibble-sized wagyu: cut cold steak, two thin layers of kombu-cured slices and dried meat. I glance at Chiba. His entire outfit is iconic, a mirror to his buoyant personality. He dons a colorful patterned vest over an clashing shirt. 

Two suspenders with a vintage Americana stamp pattern hold up high-waisted trousers. Around his neck, a quirky scarf. On his head, a fedora hat — he seems to have an entire collection, as every picture of him features a different one.

When asked which one to try first, Chiba looks briefly and declares, “You should go from right to left.”

So we do, starting with the cold cut as he shares the stories behind each creation. The flavor of wagyu and its texture hit first — Chiba believes that serving wagyu cold allows you to taste the meat as it is, without the distraction of heat. It’s backed by the practice of resting the steak, where the first few minutes are crucial for locking in flavor and juice.

The kombu-cured wagyu slice isn’t as punchy as you might expect; the meaty flavor sings a rustic undertone of the seaweed. The salt-dried wagyu, I suspect, might be inspired by his visit to Italy (which included visiting a 300-year-old butcher shop in Chianti). I expect the hard-to-pull, rubbery texture of jerky but am pleasantly surprised by its buttery, melt-in-your-mouth quality. 

“Japan is more accustomed to curing pork. I wanted to see what it was like to do it with wagyu,” Chiba chimes in.

I rest my chopsticks on the bull-shaped holder. Moments later, a server approaches with a plate of unmistakable wagyu sushi, an impressive sight: two pieces of gunkan-style sushi where, instead of nori, wagyu envelops the rice. 

Topped with two crowning jewels — uni sea urchin and crab from Hokkaido — they are garnished with a delicate stem of budding purple flowers.

Toda Akiko, the store’s proprietress, steps in. “It’s the flower of the shiso plant,” she explains. “You pluck the bud and place it on top of the sushi. It adds flavor.” So we do. The flower lends a distinct freshness and a whisper of spice.  

The dish burst with layers of flavor and texture: the grains of rice, the tender bite of the wagyu and the creamy richness of the uni.

Toda, a sake connoisseur, wears her passion on her sleeve. Midway through the meal, a spherical copper dish arrives , prompting us to guess what was inside (I guess soup). Toda places two small cups before us and pours a warm sake.

The copper plate held a chilled chawanmushi, made of sifted eggs from Iwate Prefecture. The custard is so soft it appears pale yellow, and the finely chopped mushrooms from the same region are so small they resemble grains.

Toda explains that sipping the warm sake right after a spoonful of the cool chawanmushi evokes the feeling of being on an onsen by a snow-capped mountain — cool at first, then enveloped in warmth. 

Of course, no proper wagyu feast is complete without tableside grilling. For this, we left it in Chiba’s capable hands. Until now, he had been quite chirpy, but as the tray of assorted wagyu cuts arrived, his demeanor shifts — serious, focused, a man deep in his craft. 

There might not be, arguably, a man more serious about wagyu than Chiba. When he’s not overseeing one of his eight restaurants, he’s deeply immersed in meat R&D (he even maintains an online column detailing his latest findings) and is brimming with ideas about aging and grilling methods.

Take, for instance, the Jersey cows, typically used for dairy, or male cows, often overlooked by most ranchers. Chiba has experimented with aging these underappreciated cattle and was struck by their potential.

Female cattle graded three or four — not the highest grade in the wagyu ranking system — are fattened for up to 22 months, with the last six months spent on a millet diet to sweeten the meat. This is how Kakunoshin produces its regulated Kanzaki-aged beef.

Then there’s Chiba’s self-developed cooking method, which he calls the “Pool Grilling Theory.” He starts by arranging six slices of 1-centimeter-thick meat in a donut shape on the iron grill. The meat is seared on high heat to seal the outer layer, locking in the juices. 

Then comes the twist: the meat slices are stacked on top of each other, and using tongs, Chiba grills them together, cooking the sides. This method, he explains, blocks the escape route for the meat juices. Even if the meat isn’t fully cooked through, the heat from the bottom slices continues to cook the stack, resulting in a crisped bottom and a juicier top.

As Chiba explains all this, I watch in awe — and, to be honest, with a bit of dread. He had been flipping a thick cut of steak (the shoulder blade, as he clarifies) for several minutes in the open grill. Surely, I think, it must be overcooked by now. The surface is browned, almost crisp.

It’s easy to imagine how this could all go wrong — overdone wagyu, charred iron mesh, thousands of yen wasted. But perhaps the larger lesson at Yakiniku Wagyu Kakunoshin Roppongi is to let go of your expectations. Chiba slices open the steak with a narrow knife, and voila — the wagyu shoulder blade is evenly pink, just shy of rare.

I usually stop eating a steak after a few bites because it starts to bore me with its generic meatiness, but Kakunoshin manages to make a compelling case in wagyu. Even better is the final cut of meat: a giant pocket of wagyu encasing a large oyster.

This dish, though simply prepared, demands great technique and delivers a head-spinning bite. It’s a grand balancing act between seafood and protein — the oriental take, according to Chiba, on American surf and turf.

These days, Kakunoshin manages to push the envelope on the ambitious wagyu front, but it’s not all about breaking new ground. It’s a textbook case where something straightforward, under the right hands, can be elevated from good to excellent.

Turns out, I do love wagyu. I just haven’t been loving it correctly.

The opinions expressed in this food review are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of this platform. The review is intended for informational purposes only.

Wagyu Yakiniku Kakunoshin Roppongi is located in Roppongi. It is a 1-minute walk from Roppongi Station, a 12-minute walk from Roppongi-itchome Station (Exit 1) or a 16-minute walk from Azabu-juban Station (Exit 7).

Chiba Masuo is the owner of the Kakunoshin brand and wagyu store. He is born and raised in Iwate Prefecture.

“Water Balloon Theory” is a grilling method developed by Chiba Masuo, where the meat is seared on all sides on high heat first to seal it. This traps the meat juices inside as the steak cooks, causing the meat to puff up like a “water balloon,” ensuring the juices stay locked in.

The "Pool Grilling Method" is a way to grill meat where you first cook slices of meat in a circle on the grill, like a donut. This sears the outside to lock in the juices.

Then, you stack the slices on top of each other to cook the sides. By grilling them together, the meat stays juicy, with a unique crisped layer on the bottom side.

Wagyu is a type of Japanese beef known for its rich marbling, which refers to the fat that is evenly distributed throughout the meat. This marbling gives wagyu its signature tenderness, juiciness, and intense flavor. The term wagyu literally means "Japanese cow" (wa means Japanese and gyu means cow).