Isamu Kubota took one look at the location of a small and awkward space on the mezzanine level of Waikïkï's Beach Walk promenade, and knew it was perfect. Here, on a revitalized Lewers Street, he would stage the ideal complement to his debut Honolulu restaurant, Kai, which opened nearly three years ago. It would be the yin to his yang. Where Kai was large and hip, fusing both cuisine and aesthetics with Japanese and Hawaiian styling, this new locale—dubbed Kaiwa—would be strictly Japanese.
   
"This place is a conversation between East and West, traditional and contemporary, Japan and Hawai'i," says Kubota. "As well as the active and the still. It is a symphony to engage the senses."
   
It was this philosophy that Kubota imposed upon Tokyo-based designer Ken Numatani who, like nearly every design element visible in Kaiwa, had to be imported from Japan.
   
To say inspiration flowed through Kubota and Numatani would be an appropriate metaphor; the theme of water and its fluid movement seeps into every aspect of the eatery—and not always in the most obvious manner. A flush stepping-stone path draws visitors inside, as if they've crossed a secret tributary that flows from Waikïkï Beach, a few hundred feet away.
   
The first "movement" one is drawn to are tiny streams of water that cascade in perfect lines down a wall running the length of the restaurant, behind a row of inviting banquettes. "You would not believe how hard it was to get the water to follow the strings," Kubota admits, adding that the water in this feature is meant to signify both cleansing, as well as the relaxation the sound offers to the ear.
   
Above is a banner of traditional kimono print, folded as if caught on a wisp of wind, yet meant to signify the waves of the sea.
   
"The kimono on the ceiling is meant to represent healing, the way the fabric leaps off the ceiling and softens the flat lines of a roof," says Kubota, demonstrating the precision in which his vision was executed.
   
A half-dozen leather banquettes are book-ended with low-backed leather chairs, straight and simple. Yet at the far end of the establishment, the stage is set a few inches higher; guests who wish to sit at the six-seat teppanyaki bar will need to rise to the occasion. Upon approaching the bar, we notice perhaps the most unique element of Kaiwa. The "stage" that holds six custom designed, leather swivel chairs for observing the teppan preparations seems to hover. A glassed-in sandbox spans the width of the restaurant—a giant version of the Japanese sand and rake found in many Buddhist temples—complete with golden sand raked to perfection. Stamped in the center is the Kaiwa logo, a Hokusai-like etching of an ominous wave. Reinforced glass panels make this the most calming floor we've seen to date, while the perimeter of the box is lined with soft river stones.
   
"As a young man, I would spend a lot of time meditating at a beautiful temple in Kyoto called Ryu An Ji," said Kubota. "Much of the woodwork, flooring and even this sandbox were inspired by that place." Kubota reminds us that the sandbox is a traditional method of relaxation for Japanese. "It reminds us that we need to take our time to eat, to enjoy our food," adds Kubota.
   
Kubota is also quick to point out that the lines of the custom chairs at the teppan bar echo the flow of the ceiling kimono. It should be said at this point that Kaiwa's specialty is the teppanyaki preparation of Japanese cooking. Teppan is a single table-top stove kept at a very high temperature that flash-cooks everything put on top of it, drawing intense flavor out of food items—fast—and with minimal manipulation.
   
"It's all about quality. Guests sitting at the bar can see all the ingredients that go into the teppan dishes. They are all the best vegetables, meat and fish attainable. Nothing that isn't perfection will touch the grill. Even the simplest dishes have to be exemplary," says Kubota.
   
Moving away from the teppan bar guests may notice the 12-spigot wine cuvee—only one of two of its size in Hawai'i—that is curtained behind recessed lighting that rotates in color. Bold blues, crimson, orange, violet and green slowly evolve from one to the other.
   
Behind the cuvee, what appears to be a server's quarters is actually a pair of semi-hidden dining nooks. First, a compact, six-seat sushi bar (where guests can interact with the chefs, according to Kubota), and an adjacent, traditional Zashiki dining room. After removing one's shoes, strands of glowing, plastic string (which mimic the changing lights above the cuvee) are peeled away and guests shimmy to their position at a kneeling table. Again, the recessed ceiling over the tatami-matted floor is from an original kimono print, this time a pink and gray repeating floral pattern.

  
"My goal was, in such a small space, to create four different atmospheres so that people could return four different times each week and still have a new experience each time," says Kubota.
   
Indeed he did.