Everything is good at this “1920s Japanese cocktail bar,” including the drinks; actually, the drinks are fantastic. And the bar snacks, like fried fingerlings with housemade ketchup, and a zingy potato salad mingled with mustard and Berkshire-pork sausage, are as addictive as tater tots. But the indisputable scene-stealer on the 12-item yoshoku (or Japanized Western cooking) menu is the omurice: a Goodyear Blimp of an omelette perched atop a bed of chicken-fried rice. It arrives at your table along with two grinning fellows dressed in chef’s jackets, both of them apparently delighted to have been granted a furlough from the kitchen and given a chance to greet their public. One carries the egg zeppelin on a plate and a gravy boat, the other wields a ten-inch chef’s knife. Like a Scotsman unleashing the haggis on Burns Night, the guy with the gyuto runs the tip of the saber lengthwise across the top of the omelette, revealing its molten insides. Then his cohort drizzles the plate with demi-glace from the boat. One bite, then another, and you think to yourself: Chalk up another one for fusion cuisine.