Serious sushi. Honest prices.
Twenty years at the knife, brought home to Kronstad. At the counter, or through the side door.
A seat in front of the chef. The catch of the day, cut by cut, decided by Abbe and the sea.
The same fish, the same hands, boxed to go. Order ahead and collect from the side entrance.
The name is deliberate. It asks for a kind of respect: for the blade, for the discipline, and above all for the fish that gives itself to the plate.
Every whole fish that comes through our door is broken down by hand, nothing discarded that can be honoured. The cut is the entire craft. Those who know, know.
This building has understood that for nearly a hundred years. A master butcher worked these same rooms from 1932. We simply changed the fish.
Abbe spent two decades in some of Scandinavia's most demanding sushi kitchens, a few of them Michelin-starred. What stayed with him wasn't the prestige. It was a quiet conviction: that this kind of care shouldn't only belong to people who can pay tasting-menu prices.
HARAKIRI is that conviction made real: the same care, priced for a Tuesday in Kronstad.