Sushi as enjoyed in this country has long been an a la carte, all-American, personal choice proposition, but a sushi revolution is underway on Oahu.

Maru Sushi — which introduced itself via a series of teaser pop-up dinners in October — just opened on Kalakaua Avenue, the latest of several Japanese imports touting omakase-only menus.

Omakase had always been an option, but only the bravest chose to put themselves at a chef’s mercy. Those who clung to the basics of maguro, hamachi, salmon and lacquered unagi found even snapper unpleasant, not to mention the pungent mackerel and sea urchin certain to be on an omakase menu.

The popular practice is to order to our heart’s — and stomach’s — content, stopping when we feel full or low on cash. The custom is so ingrained that when Sushi Sasabune chose to focus on its chef’s-choice omakase dinners about two decades ago, the concept was so radical that it earned its chef the moniker of “Sushi Nazi” that has stuck ever since. (The move coincided with “Seinfeld’s” 1995 “Soup Nazi” episode.)

But tastes mature. Any foodie worthy of the title embraces a challenge, so the timing is perfect for the authenticity of traditional Japanese sushi, itself enjoying a renaissance as chefs explore Edo-era sushi, as served during the Tokugawa shogunate of the 17th to 19th centuries.

At the helm of Maru Sushi is chef Takeshi Kawasaki, who honed his skills at the renowned Sushi Zen in Susukino, Sapporo, for a decade before launching the original Maru Sushi in 1987. His combination of premium ingredients and technique earned him a Michelin star in 2011. Recently retired but not content to stay idle, he’s started over in Hawaii while his son runs his restaurant back home.

Inside the Honolulu restaurant, you’ll have an intimate audience with the chef in a 647-square-foot space with an L-shaped counter that seats nine. Two seatings are held per night for omakase dinners. For $180, expect about six appetizers and about 14 pieces of nigiri. For $220 you’ll have more cooked dishes and more of the fattiest cuts of bluefin ahi.

The omakase dinners highlight the best of what’s available to the chef. Expect to see delicacies from the waters of Hokkaido, including sweet sea urchin, amaebi and some of the earliest types of sushi seafood eaten in Japan, such as nakazumi (small kohada) and hamaguri (cherrystone clam). When Kawasaki was forced to substitute amaebi from Canada, he apologized, but make no mistake, the shrimp was so sweet and succulent, none of the diners thought they were missing anything.

What made me laugh and feel a little cheated was the fact that, in traditional style, Kawasaki matches the morsels to one’s mouth size, so that each piece can be devoured in one bite. Honestly, I like to take up to three bites to thoroughly enjoy delicious pieces of chutoro and otoro. It’s hard to savor food when you’re gulping things down. But, given my small mouth size — no indicator of the size of my appetite — I couldn’t help but notice I was getting smaller pieces of lobster and fish than my companions. Hey, not fair, given our all-American demand for equality.

A recent dinner started with what was described as ika somen. Just as I was about to ask, “Where’s the somen?” I found that what appeared to be a single slice of squid broke apart into several noodlelike slices.

Next came sashimi of lush chutoro (bluefin tuna), amaebi (sweet shrimp) and hirame (flounder), followed by steamed Kona abalone with a glistening soy sauce reduction. Finely grated yuzu zest delivered a subtle taste of citrus.

The next appetizer was a Maine lobster fritter accompanied by fine and mellow Okinawan sea salt with the texture of powder, for salting to taste.

More slices of fresh abalone followed, this time served in salt water infused with kombu to mimic the ocean. Lemon and finger limes added to the fresh ambience.

Purple Murasaki uni was served salt-cured, with all its liquid removed, something I’d never seen locally. It had the texture of a velvety cheese with the uni flavor intact.

Throughout the meal the room was flooded with emotion, moments of quiet reverie interrupted by moans and gasps of delight, such as when contemplating the elegance of chawanmushi with ginkgo, mushroom, chicken and shrimp, topped with mitsuba and bafun uni.

At this point we arrived at the nigiri portion of the meal, which started with watching the chef chop Hokkaido crab roe to make a rich, bright orange sauce to flavor the ika nigiri.

Just when we thought buttery bluefin chutoro was the best thing we’d ever tasted, the chef busted out a block of otoro nearly white with fat. This was one of those moments when I wished we could repeat a course many times over.

At Maru Sushi I saw things I’d never seen before. In addition to the preserved uni, we were presented with mackerel nigiri topped with a mince of ginger and green onion, then blanketed with thin-sliced kombu to lock in the aroma. This mixture was created to mimic the bouquet of garlic, an ingredient typically not used in sushi bars because its smell would linger on chefs’ hands.

Next came nigiri of snapper and needlefish, followed by dried shishamo (smelt) for a change of pace. The dried fish is best enjoyed with sake.

Eyes lit up with the luxe presentations of bafun uni and ikura nigiri, followed by a little history lesson with a single piece of aji (horse mackerel) nigiri that was then cut in half. In ancient Edo, sushi was topped with a half side of fish, which made it longer than today’s made-for-the-mouth renditions. To make the sushi bite-size, chefs cut it in half, which evolved into today’s practice of serving two pieces per order.

The arrival of dashi-filled egg and miso soup with sweet lobster miso signaled the meal was nearing an end. We parted with another homage to sushi’s roots, nigiri of hamaguri clam, one of the first types depicted in ancient scrolls.

Alas, this trip to the romanticized past ended as we were whisked back to contemporary times with the arrival of guests for the second seating.

Nadine Kam’s restaurant reviews are conducted anonymously and paid for by the Star-Advertiser. Reach her at nkam@staradvertiser.com.