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In the New York sushi jungle—where docile supermarket counters and wild underground fish clubs frolic side by side—lives a populous species: the East Midtowner. These restaurants, identifiable by their blond wood, clean lines, and mixed Japanese and gaijin clientele, can be hard to judge from a distance. Are they purveyors of stale salmon or holy temples of toro? The only way to know is to head straight for the sushi bar. If the chef facing you slices through the language barrier as through a slab of yellowtail, you’re in a temple. If the sashimi sampler he prepares lines up delicacies like Japanese mackerel and jumbo raw shrimp, you’re in a temple. If the salarymen linger over deftly-wrapped hand rolls, and if the after-work girls mute their sake-fueled boisterousness with torched fatty tuna, and if you can find this warm inviting atmosphere day after day—then you're not only in a temple, you're probably in Sushi-Ann, an East Side Notre Dame of raw fish, and your days of fruitless wandering have come to an end. — Matt Gross

contingent on location

Omakase sushi and sashimi combination, $85-95