At Rodeo Room, Monday Means Omakase

Monday nights are not known for being particularly special across the board. Not a date night nor a party night. Probably not a “late night.” 

But the opening night of the week now has a special mark on my calendar.

At Rodeo Room on West Montecito Street — a debonair cocktail bar tucked behind an unassuming facade near the train tracks — Monday night is omakase night.

At the far end of the bar, beneath a bright work light that cuts through the room’s dark aesthetic, sushi chef Kevin Slemmons leans over a low table, carving into a fillet of fish with gentle precision — surgical, bordering on artistic. Guests sit just above him at the bar, watching as each slice is measured, each grain of rice shaped by hand.

Then, one by one, the courses arrive.

Every Monday night, Rodeo Room hosts a 14-course omakase — the Japanese dining tradition in which guests place themselves in the chef’s hands. Two seatings are offered, at 5 p.m. and 7:30 p.m. sharp, with just 10 seats available at each.

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The format is intimate. Each course is fewer than three bites, placed carefully on a small wooden board in front of the diner. A server circles the bar, explaining the ingredients, while cocktails inspired by Japanese spirits follow close behind.

Rodeo Room’s kitchen remains open until 10 p.m., and the bar pours until midnight most nights — stretching to 1 a.m. on Fridays and Saturdays — another late-night nosh, anyone? But on Mondays, the focus shifts to Slemmons and the choreography unfolding around the bar.

For Slemmons, cooking has been a lifelong trade.

“I started cooking for a living when I was 15,” he said. “I worked at a Chinese restaurant, and I did tile work during the day. And my body was like, ‘Let’s not do tile work anymore.’”

He stuck with kitchens.

Over the years, Slemmons worked in restaurants across Santa Barbara before becoming a sushi chef at Arigato, one of the city’s defining sushi counters. During the pandemic, he pivoted again, hosting small private omakase dinners — gatherings that allowed guests to watch the preparation unfold up close.

The Rodeo Room series grew out of those experiences.

“We had been pals a lot of years,” Slemmons said of the bar’s owners. “We used to do house parties. That’s how the in-house sushi started — house parties during COVID.”

The restaurant’s busiest nights fall later in the week, so Monday became a natural slot.

What follows is a progression of carefully calibrated bites — beginning light on the palate and gradually growing richer and more savory.

The menu shifts depending on the fishermen’s weekly catch.

“Menu depends on the season,” Slemmons said. “I get the weekly order sheet from the fishermen. Depending on what’s good, in season, I’ll pick.”

Some selections, though, have become regular favorites.

“Some of them are just kind of my favorite — the hits,” he said. “The kanpachi. The shiitake.”

The evening begins with a Hokkaido scallop — delicate and clean, topped with tiny bursts of savory red roe. Next comes kanpachi dressed with yuzu kosho, bright and citrusy with a slight kick.

The sequence of nigiri continues with local vermillion rock cod, Japanese sea bream, striped bass, and Spanish mackerel. Each piece is placed individually before the diner, the rice shaped in Slemmons’s palm beneath slices of fish that glisten under the bar’s low light.

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Slemmons works inches away from the guests, shaping rice before laying the fish across it with quick, practiced movements.

Later comes albacore tataki, marinated in koji rice to draw out moisture and tenderness, dusted with togarashi, and lightly grilled before being finished with yuzu mayonnaise.

A deeply savory shiitake mushroom follows — one of Slemmons’s personal favorites. The recipe?

“Don’t tell anybody,” he says with a grin.

Somehow, he manages to turn a mushroom into something that tastes almost meaty, sweet, and savory, atop rice.

Toward the end of the meal, the courses grow richer and culminate with a surprise: a miniature Wagyu burger slider, cooked medium rare and deeply savory — a final course that ensures no one leaves hungry.

Then comes dessert.

A delicate yuzu egg tart — creamy and lightly tart — topped with crushed dehydrated raspberries that add a bright acidity and gentle crunch.

Between courses, our server — and cocktail mastermind — Harley circles the bar, explaining each dish. Of one nigiri with a thin strip of scales remaining, he notes: “A little silver skin on — we let the fish shine.” Drinks follow close behind, built around Japanese spirits, from citrus-forward sours to umami-laced Old Fashioneds.

Each bite disappears almost as quickly as it arrives.

“It’s more fun to see the product getting enjoyed,” Slemmons said. “In the kitchen, it’s more a task, more forgotten. But when you interact, it sticks a little more.”

The setting helps.

Rodeo Room is not a hushed sushi temple. It is a cocktail bar — dark, lively, and restricted to patrons 21 and older. Conversations hum through the room while Slemmons works under his light, shaping rice and slicing fish.

Still, he describes the craft in humble terms.

“A trade,” he said. “Like carpentry or something. A focus and attention to detail. You got to want to do it well.”

Yet watching the steady hands, the careful cuts, and the small pieces of fish transformed into something, a fleeting and precise bite, it feels closer to art.

It reminded me of a line often attributed to Saint Francis of Assisi:

“He who works with his hands is a laborer.
He who works with his hands and his head is a craftsman.
He who works with his hands and his head and his heart is an artist.”

Fourteen courses later, I was convinced that Slemmons is not only a craftsman.

On Monday nights at Rodeo Room, he might just be all three.