There’s a hidden hum that lives just above the energy of Umi, Atlanta’s beloved sushi temple where every table feels like the city’s power seat. But ascend one dark quiet staircase that seemingly leads to nowhere and the atmosphere changes completely. Behind a discreet door lies M @ Umi, an omakase experience that feels less like dining out and more like being invited into someone’s home.
Well, if that home happened to belong to a perfectionist chef, a world-class sommelier, and a private server who understands the art of anticipating every want or need. (In that way it almost sounds like the house of a Southern grandma. Only way more high end.)
This isn’t a meal you stumble upon. With only eight seats and one seating per night on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday only, M @ Umi is an exercise in intentionality. It’s a whisper above the crowd, a private performance orchestrated by owner Farshid Arshid, who spent decades in the high-end fashion industry and close to Atlanta’s music industry A-listers before curating this new kind of stage. When Farshid invited my husband and I to experience it for ourselves, he promised something unique. He wasn’t exaggerating.
Setting the Stage
The snug 250-square-foot dining room glows softly, all white wood and white light. Designed with Tom Dixon’s Design Research Studio and Gareth Payne Studios, it feels like a Japanese poem translated through modern architecture. It’s pared down, pure, serene. Globe pendants hang like moons over a maple counter, and artist Todd Murphy’s painting adds a quiet gravity. The room seems to inhale and exhale with each course.
While Umi below hums with conversation and Champagne corks, up here the only soundtrack is Farshid’s playlist. It’s a subtle, soul-soaked rhythm of ’80s and ‘90s hits that reveals his music background. Each track seems to build and resolve with the pace of the meal, underscoring the artistry of every bite. At first, the eight diners (along with us) were eerily quiet and introverted. That would change as the sushi and sake started to flow.
Omotenashi, the Southern Way
From the moment we sat down, the team enveloped us in something beyond service. It was that rare blend of omotenashi, Japan’s deeply anticipatory hospitality, and true Southern warmth.
Chef Yoshida, who commands the counter with quiet grace (and uber hip pink hair!), doesn’t perform so much as converse through food. His smile comes easily; his knife glides like a conductor’s baton. Sommelier Joon Lim, a Level III expert, wasn’t there that night, but his mentee S.J. spoke about sake with the reverence of a poet but the ease of a neighbor offering you a glass of sweet tea on a porch swing. And our server, Joy, gentle and precise, seemed to appear every time we realized we needed something… never before.
It was the kind of care that reminded me of the South, where hospitality isn’t a profession, it’s a calling.
The Otsumami Prelude
The meal began with otsumami, small plates meant to awaken the palate and meant to be served with alcohol. Each one was a tiny masterpiece:
Borito salad, which was light and layered with delicate textures, arrived like an overture. Then came the uni risotto, a creamy, ocean-kissed revelation that I’m still thinking about days later. The next dish tasted like the sea. It was silky, briny, and salty with gelatin and seaweed. I think it was off-menu so I don’t have the name for it but it seemed like a chef signature. And then butter-poached lobster, so tender it almost melted mid-sentence.
These first courses set the tone: balance, beauty, restraint. Each bite reminded me that luxury, when done right, isn’t about excess. It’s about precision.
The Nigiri Crescendo
Then the sushi course began, and it was as if the curtain lifted on Act Two.
The room filled with chatter. We were all talking with chef and sous chef. We moved through shima-aji (striped jack) and zuke akami (marinated lean tuna), each piece brushed with just enough soy or torched to feel intentional but never overdone. The golden-eye red snapper shimmered in the light, followed by a buttery king salmon, and a pristine scallop so indulgent it could’ve doubled as dessert.
Next came aji (mackerel), chutoro (medium fatty tuna), kamasu (barracuda), and a smoky bonito and chopped toro combination that defied logic. It was both earthy and ethereal.
But the real showstoppers were the indulgences: madai with osetra caviar and a wagyu hand roll crowned with caviar once more, each as extravagant as they sound. I found myself laughing at the audacity of it. The kind of joy that comes from realizing you’re being completely spoiled and the only proper response is true gratitude.
The Finale
Chef Yoshida closed the show with his famed Kazuo tamago, a layered egg that tasted impossibly like sweet sponge cake. It’s a trick of texture and temperature that borders on magic. I heard whispers it’s what sealed the deal for Farshid to hire him away from New York City. Then came miso soup, which was simple, restorative and unexpected at the end. It was warm and cozy and a far cry from the watery versions everywhere else. It was thick and almost like a Louisiana roux.
And finally, a hibiscus sorbet, floral and tart, that had artful purple designs and felt like an applause in dessert form.
The twenty courses moved like a well-composed album: distinct tracks that somehow form a perfect whole. And just like a favorite record, you leave humming it long after it’s over.
When we finally stood, I realized hours had passed without a single glance at a text or social media platform. The world had fallen away. That’s the thing about M @ Umi. It’s not just dinner; it’s immersion. You surrender to it.
What happens at M @ Umi is a conversation in many forms: between chef and guest, sound and silence, precision and warmth. It’s as intimate as a jazz set in a dim room, but with the polish of a Michelin dream.
For me, it was the perfect Two-Sided Southern night. Equal parts refinement and heart. A reminder that true luxury isn’t about flash or fanfare. It’s about being seen, fed, and remembered.
As we walked back down into Umi’s lively dining room, I caught one last glimpse of the quiet glow upstairs. It felt like a secret you almost don’t want to share… almost. But good hospitality, like good music, is meant to be passed on.
At M @ Umi, they’ve composed something rare: an experience so artful it transcends cuisine, and so human it could only happen in the South.