Higher prices, higher stakes: Can Pyro live up to its own expectations?

If new Japanese restaurants are your thing, your wallet is in my thoughts and prayers.

The past 12 months have been brutal on the budget. First came Hai Noon, the latest incarnation of Nobuo Fukuda’s contemporary Japan-Arizona izakaya at Sonder The Mariposa. Next up, Japanese steakhouse Donabe took over the space vacated by Sushi Roku at the W Scottsdale. Suddenly, chef Shinji Kurita left ShinBay, paving the way for his replacement, Ken Tanaka, to retool the $250 omakase-only menu. James Beard heavyweight Tyson Cole dropped Uchi’s seventh location on downtown Scottsdale in January, and popular family-run Shimogamo launched the gleaming, spacious new Shimogamo 2.0 in Gilbert this March.

That is one ponderous glut of shiny new upscale Japanese joints.

And we haven’t even gotten to Pyro yet.

In the middle of that scrum, Pyro bolted out of the gate as one of the hottest tables in town, serving expensive charred beef and Japanese-inspired nibbles to a trendy, well-heeled clientele in photo-friendly surroundings.

Nearly six months later, prime tables are still at a premium, and unless you plan a month ahead, dining on a Friday or a Saturday means embracing senior citizen or vampire hours. If you were counting on a spendy menu to keep the crowds at bay, you’re going to be disappointed.

Heck, to some, the price tag might even be a selling point.

Swanky environs

Pyro’s creator, Omaha-based Flagship Restaurant Group, first entered the Phoenix market in 2022 with Palma, Ghost Donkey and Châm Pang Lanes. Here’s an outfit that radiates neon-tinged trendoid pheromones and prowls the waters of social media like a streamlined shark — and this apex predator seems to have nabbed its prey.

Fighting your way through a long valet parking line and throngs of selfie-snappers out front will bring you to Pyro's dining room which is, admittedly, one hell of a space.

Pyro fronts like an opulent supper club — dark velvet, tile and wood with brass accents lit by warm chandeliers and just a touch of that trademark neon glow. The bar works in some throwback floral prints, and the patio — more indoors than out — is downright lush, draped in billowing canvas and surrounded by greenery. Add some misters, a little summer heat and a tasty libation, and you'll have yourself an escapist tropical paradise.


A calamansi margarita boasts a brilliant Thai chile sting that lingers for 10 minutes, but a boatload of sugar obliterates the citrus, and the drink plays like a fiery glucose challenge. The matcha espresso, despite its coffee-forward composition, somehow tastes like chocolate milk. I take refuge in a quintessentially Japanese whiskey soda and an expertly balanced Roku gin martini. The menu design may be lacking, but the barhands are skilled when you get them off-book.

This is typical of the cocktail lists at Flagship's other ventures, where signature creations range from passable to undrinkable. Crack the food menu, however, and Pyro lays bare the true scope of its ambition. Discontent to sling inexpensive fare to the boozy brunch crowd, Flagship is aiming for a higher culinary echelon with Pyro, both in terms of sophistication and price.

There’s plenty to nosh. Those seeking a nibble to pair with a drink will find plenty of small plates to sample. But the small plates are often double the price of full-blown entrees at your neighborhood Japanese restaurant. The mains coming off the grill mostly hover just under the triple-digit mark.

To be clear, the prices aren’t inappropriate. Flagship is dipping its toes in ritzier waters, restaurants are expensive to operate these days, and I can only assume the rent in this location is staggering. But with higher prices come higher stakes, and therein lies the rub.

Japanese or Japanese-ish?

When dinner is a full-blown investment, setting expectations can be a tricky task.

Pyro self-identifies as “[walking] a fine line between Japanese Izakaya and American Bistro,” which isn’t entirely inapt, but at times it feels less like a description and more like a preemptive defense against sometimes clumsy takes on Japanese fare.

Restaurants at the vanguard of progressive cuisine have resurrected the old dreaded “fusion” food, but those that find success do it in ways that are elegant, thoughtful and display a deep knowledge of the cultures they’re drawing from.

Pyro is not that restaurant.

I think it’s important to establish that this is not Japanese food. Japanese-inspired, perhaps. Japanese-adjacent? Let’s go with “Japanese-ish” — content to name-check and exhibit the trappings and flavors of Japanese cuisine without delving too deeply into its cultural underpinnings.

There’s nothing wrong with that, per se, and there’s lots here to like. But it’s an approach that tends to produce uneven results. Going in, I’d heard from folks who thought the food at Pyro was delicious and crisply executed, and folks who thought it was an ill-conceived mess.

Turns out both camps were right.

Cold dishes are hot and cold

Tiles of tuna tataki, seared and carefully arranged like stepping stones across a puddle of ponzu and garlic oil, have a low degree of difficulty, but the dish hits the mark. Pyro’s spicy tuna, meanwhile, is a predictable house riff on the obligatory tuna and avocado tower, but it’s sharply presented with a nip of hot sauce, crispy onions and a little herbal lift from minced shiso. My favorite seafood starter, though, probably is the thin curtains of fluke crudo, flecked with black lime and smoked chile and hit with a healthy glug of lusty olive oil.

The yellowtail sashimi, on the other hand, deserves more finesse than it receives. It’s messy and indistinct, with the fish lost in a sloppy lake of sauce with thick slices of orange. Taco-shaped hand rolls may be all the rage, but when heavily dressed American-style, the beautiful crisp nori devolves into a soggy, inedible mess. And beef tartare — something that ought to be a layup at a place like this — takes quality beef and drowns it with so much viscous, overpowering aioli that I’m not sure the nature of the protein even matters anymore.

Pyro's "tonkotsu," beneath the chile garlic noodles, doesn’t resemble any I’ve ever tried. But it’s a flavorful broth, the noodles are a pleasant, nubby variety, and they bear an aggressive shot of chile crisp for those who haven’t yet tired of the hot sauce of the moment. Curry beef noodles, on the other hand, were an unmitigated disaster — a Gordian knot so tangled and clumped you won’t even notice that its sticky coconut sauce bears almost no resemblance to Japanese curry.

I channeled Alexander and cut it with a knife. I don’t feel great about it.

Hot dishes are mostly hot

As an upscale Japanese restaurant, Pyro is maddeningly half-baked. Take it as a steakhouse, though, and there’s a lot more to love.

Small skewers that come off the grill are smoky and charred, and while I’ve caught a couple of lackluster specimens,  they’re usually quite good. The short rib is first braised and then dressed and seared, lending a sizzling crust that’s just delightful. Bits of skin on the chicken thigh skewer render, crisp and sing, particularly when dipped in a bit of raw egg yolk, even if the accompanying kimchi is a painfully salty miss.

Steaks, however, are the menu’s centerpiece.

The basics are all accounted for. There’s a filet, a New York strip and a bit of American Wagyu, and they’re all well prepared with predictable accompaniments. But I’m going to cut right to the chase: The most expensive steak on the menu is the one that deserves your attention.

Pyro’s house signature ribeye is dynamite. Not just by their standards but by any standard.

Dry-aged in-house for 40 days, it’s a hefty bone-in beauty the kitchen cooks over live coals. I’ve had it twice, and it slayed me both times, boasting a smoky, carbon-flecked crust that yields to a succulent, perfectly cooked core with the telltale unctuous depth of flavor that only time can produce. Served with nothing more than a splash of light jus and an assortment of Japanese pickles, it is — ironically — the closest Pyro gets to the respectful, restrained minimalism of the cuisine from which it draws inspiration.

Save up, though. Weighing in at $5.50 per ounce, the ribeye starts around $130 and escalates from there, depending on the day’s supply. But even at that price, it’s arguably the best value on the menu — an expensive dish that earns its price tag.

Another strong candidate is a massive plate of meaty lamb chops, nicely seasoned and beautifully cooked, though I wish a little more of the fire had worked its way into the exterior.

Hidden on the meat-heavy grill menu, Pyro’s branzino is a sleeper. Completely deboned, splayed out and roasted over the same fire, it emerges with delicate, smoky flesh and crisp blistered skin perked up with pickled ginger and a bright, citrusy vinaigrette.

Some wins, some frustrations

Sides and desserts return to a familiar hit-and-miss pattern.

Curried spinach arrives watery and brutally oversalted, while a brick of potato gratin big enough to serve a Thanksgiving table is tender and creamy with a heady whiff of miso and a blistered, crackling cap.

And the koji rice is lush and creamy with a splash of funky black garlic jus. It’s so close to perfect it leaves me frustrated — a bit more salt, a hint of acid, just a touch of contrast to cut through that monotone richness would make it a stunner.

Ube panna cotta will disappoint if you’re a stickler for a classic jiggly texture, but when strewn with tapioca and topped with mango lassi froyo and candied sesame, it’s a playful delight to eat. And yet, a slab of stone fruit tart feels like a cheat. It’s stunning to behold, but its gummy crust and thick, nutty substrate is topped with razor-thin slivers of fruit that are barely enough to taste. What a tease.

And herein lies Pyro’s essential problem.

Greater cost, greater expectations

An interesting, if overlooked, effect of rising prices is that they have pushed some restaurants — reluctantly, I expect — to a price point that carries higher expectations. Don’t count me among the disgruntled diners. I firmly believe those price increases are absolutely justified. But I also think diners are right to expect more in return.

Fine dining restaurants don’t get to make mistakes, and part of that calculus is the price tag. When you’re dropping the cost of a shiny, expensive piece of consumer electronics on an ephemeral meal, it had better be a great one.

Pyro isn’t quite in that category yet, but $90 for an 8-ounce strip is getting awfully close. Inconsistency is one thing when you’re ordering nachos, fried chicken and omelets for $15 a plate. It’s another thing entirely when that $15 barely covers the tax on your meal.

I’d love to frame the conversation purely in culinary terms, as a question of potential — what is Pyro and what could it be? But at this price point, the more salient question, perhaps, is what does Pyro need to be?

Put bluntly, Pyro often can be good. But it needs to be better.

Pyro

4300 E. Camelback Road
602-755-0049
pyrophx.com
11 a.m.-close every day.
Small plates $15-$36; Hearth mains $39-$200; Sides $16-$22; Desserts $11-$16.