Asher on Aspen: The sushi spot locals don’t want you to know about — inside Kenichi Aspen

My first introduction to Kenichi came courtesy of my Aunt Gunilla — a local legend and one of the restaurant’s most loyal regulars. She carried something called “Kenichi Bucks,” a kind of insider currency she wielded like a VIP backstage pass to Aspen’s sushi underworld. She loved the place — the energy, the people, the pulsing vibe that never seemed to sleep. One night, she invited a rowdy crew of friends, and we crammed into a long table for what became a four-hour blur of sake shots, belly laughs, and overambitious chopstick work. I stumbled out warm, tipsy, and fully hooked.

That first night stuck with me — not just because of the sushi but because of the energy, the chaos, and the strange elegance of it all. So, when Jett’s parents rolled into town from Dallas looking for a memorable dinner, we knew exactly where to take them.

Kenichi — the moody, magnetic sushi den known for its unforgettable bites and low-lit allure — has been holding court in Aspen since 1991. In a town where turnover is constant and big money often replaces local charm, Kenichi has remained in the same spot since day one. It’s one of the last true locals’ joints. Inside, we settled into a cozy corner booth with a sleek lazy Susan at the center, ready to be filled with sashimi, rolls, and whatever else the night had in store.

Enter David, our server for the evening and, frankly, the kind of guy who instantly makes a meal feel like an experience. Dressed in all black with a knit beanie snug on his head, he moved through the restaurant with a quiet confidence. He had a laid-back charm and an intuitive read on the table — the kind of presence that makes you relax before the first course even hits.

“Sushi is personal,” he said with a grin, setting down our first round of apps.

We kicked things off with the Yellowtail Serrano: thin, delicate slices of fish topped with serrano peppers and a bright basil yuzu soy. Next came the Alaskan red king crab, drenched in warm truffle ponzu butter — rich, decadent, and far too good to share without side-eyeing whoever takes the last piece.

The Dynamite Shrimp came in hot, crispy, golden, and dripping in a spicy tangle of sriracha aioli and eel sauce. This popular app delivered a fiery crunch that demanded a follow-up sip of my Dragon Lady cocktail. That drink, by the way? Fruity, smooth, and just the right amount of trouble.

Around the lazy Susan, the dishes kept coming like a psychedelic carousel of umami. The pineapple express roll, a plant-based dream of tempura asparagus, pineapple, and avocado, was a standout, dripping with honey yuzu. Between that, the eggplant dengaku lacquered in sweet miso, and a classic spicy tuna roll with avocado and cucumber, the table was in constant motion.

Then came the wagyu hot rock: A5 Miyazaki beef that was so rich and so marbled, it should have come with a warning label. The rock came to the table heated to 1,000 degrees, and we sizzled our own meat like savages at a hibachi altar. It was primal. It was sexy. It was steak as performance art.

For dessert, a perfectly-fried shell of tempura ice cream gave way to a cold, creamy center. The lava cake followed, oozing warm chocolate like a volcanic eruption in slow motion. By then, the table had gone quiet with full bellies, happy sighs, and a faint sense that we had just lived a very specific kind of high-caliber Aspen fantasy.

Kenichi isn’t just a sushi restaurant; it’s a full-sensory experience: A little bit of theater, a little bit of ritual, and a bold collision of hot stones, cool fish, moody lighting, and fearless flavor. What began in Aspen has expanded into a small-but-mighty trio, with outposts in Snowmass and Carbondale — each one carrying the same energy, charm, and culinary swagger. It’s the kind of place where you could bring a date, your coworkers, or even your best friend’s parents from Texas — and impress every single one.