All-you-can-eat wagyu at Ardmore’s Ogyu proves there can be too much of a good thing

I’m not saying the world’s most coveted beef is an international marketing conspiracy to compel us all to pay more for steak. I have eaten genuine A5 Wagyu fresh off a grill in Tokyo, and the unique sensation of biting into that cube of quivering-hot meat laced with molten fat and feeling it dissolve into buttery richness is unforgettable. Japan’s famously pampered breed of cattle — whose expense results from an intense feeding regimen over a longer duration than conventional beef — can be very special. Especially in small quantities.

Back here on the frontlines of all-you-can-eat wagyu feasting at Ogyu in Ardmore, however, I could not escape the feeling I was in for an experience long on flash — sizzling tabletop grills, swirling plumes of dry ice smoke, digital sparks flying across the room’s giant LED screens — and short on satisfying flavors.

I was prepped for a 90-minute sprint of carnivorous endurance, limited only by my ability to navigate a DIY iPad menu, forced timing breaks, and the need for a maximalist ordering strategy for Ogyu’s tiered packages, ranging from $39 to $99 per person. Should my appetite stumble? A potential 20% “wasting fee” loomed. (Diners are potentially charged extra if they don’t eat what they order.)

I didn’t want to let our server James down after he successfully upsold us into one of the more expensive packages, whose overlapping lists of meat perks, which gradually increase in quality, reminded me of sussing through the various mysterious options available at a car wash. Sure, my car will be clean no matter which hot wax I select, just as I’ll be full no matter which all-you-can-eat menu I go for. But will I emerge with that ruddy Wagyu shine of beefy bliss?

Definitely not with the entry-level “Silver” ($39) or “Gold” ($59) options, which James wordlessly dispatched as unworthy by comically sticking out his tongue in disdain and slashing his throat with his fingers: “The ‘Diamond’ tier is our most amazing experience,” he counseled.

We settled on the second-most extravagant option, the $79 “Platinum,” in which some genuine Japanese Wagyu is made available along with prime-grade beef and less-marbled American wagyu from the lower levels of the menu.

As a newcomer to the all-you-can-eat universe, I immediately fumbled the challenge of prioritizing our orders properly. Diners are limited to ordering a maximum of 10 items every 10 minutes, and we foolishly crowded our limited table space with mundane belly-fillers like wagyu dumplings (raggedy), handrolls (mushy with too much panko filler), spring rolls (so greasy), and pencil-sized wands of tempura-fried crustacean so thickly breaded they were unrecognizable as lobster tail. The truffled wagyu stir-fried rice was burnt.

I did appreciate the slow-steeped richness of the bone marrow soup. We also enjoyed the thick-cut bluefin tuna sashimi, as well as a toro tartare with avocado and ponzu. (Ogyu’s owner, Sam Li, says several regulars come here to get their money’s worth exclusively in bottomless sashimi.)

But we were here for the beef. James finally took pity on us, commandeered our iPad, scrolled down to multiple menu panels I’d missed, and began punching up orders for the maximum amount of the A5 Wagyu cuts allowed from Miyazaki Prefecture. I was impressed with the dramatic presentation of the fat-marbled Wagyu rib cap that arrived to our table in branded wooden boxes fuming with smoke — until a server tipped the box too far and the cold water that activated the dry ice smoke streamed right out onto my guest’s lap.

Ogyu (pronounced “Oh-Gee-You”) is a snazzy space. Li, a chef and sushi entrepreneur who also owns three Osushis (in Ardmore, Wayne, Marlton) as well as Newtown Square’s Hiramasa, spent $3 million transforming the former Iron Hill into a 300-seat meat palace with sleek black fixtures, marble accents, and illuminated walls. The all-you-can-eat format, a national trend in luxury foods, has been a smart move for this three-month-old restaurant, which grills 1,000 pounds of beef each week, 75% of which is wagyu, roughly 20% of which is from Japan. (A la carte options are launching soon.)

But the overall details do not add up to the luxury experience the $120 check average should command, from the cruise ship-level tropical drink program to the tiny plastic plates our servers never bothered to clear between courses until I asked. (Nonetheless, our server pre-selected a 22% gratuity as the default tip on Ogyu’s mobile payment machine.)

Habitués of all-you-can-eat may understand their task, target, and the rules of the game. Unlike flavorful, marinade-boosted Korean barbecue, this beef is presented relatively unseasoned, in the Japanese yakiniku tradition, to “focus on the quality of the meat itself,” says Li. I only wish someone had bothered to show us the temperature controls on the side of our tabletop grill, which wasn’t set nearly hot enough to properly sear the beef. The A5 Wagyu rib cap itself was legitimately tender and glossed with fatty richness. But served in less-than-prime circumstances, with customers in charge of their own grilling — usually overcooking the meat while simultaneously trying to socialize — it fell flat for me.

A $79 fee, or even $99, is technically a fair deal for a big meal spun around an ingredient that, at its highest quality, sells locally at Barclay Prime for $210 or more for a half-pound portion. But I don’t enjoy Japanese Wagyu in that kind of portion. It’s rich and tender to the point of being mushy. A little goes a long way. But the wider world’s growing appetite for wagyu as a prestige label synonymous with the good life (the global market is projected to grow from $29 to $49 billion between 2025 and 2034) leaves me skeptical.

Is wagyu really the lifestyle upgrade we need — not just for occasional splurges, but our everyday burgers and cheesesteaks, too? I don’t think so. It’s just the latest in a long line of token bites of privilege — truffles, caviar, uni — that lose their luster once the industrial food complex latches on for maximum profit, even as standard beef prices hit all-time highs. There is some excellent American wagyu available now, but there’s also enough fake wagyu on the market, let alone less-marbled hybrid versions raised in both America and Australia, to make one question all of it.

Personally, I’d rather sink my teeth into a thick, dry-aged porterhouse that delivers the beefy texture and complex savor of carefully handled meat, not just the fat that gives it richness. I’ll take a well-marinated Korean galbi with all the ssam and banchan fixings at Kim’s, a perfectly cured slice of brisket pastrami (hello, Radin’s deli!), or a grass-fed Brazilian cut roasted over live coals at Picanha over the soft pads of a fatty wagyu splurge.

But the competitive nature in me chafed to learn from James, when I asked him after our meal, that my table of four’s consumption of 32 savory dishes was “below average” for Ogyu. Li later confirmed that his regulars typically order 50 to 60 dishes.

I became determined to run it back for another visit, this time at Diamond-level indulgence, with a disciplined game plan to start with beef and order, order, order at every 10-minute interval. We started at the peak, quite literally, with “Wagyu Mt. Fuji”, a pylon-shaped prong wrapped in American-raised wagyu blade steak whose snow-effect decoration of grated Parmesan had the unfortunate effect of sticking to the grill and causing the beef to shred into worthless flakes whenever we tried to pry it off. Our server whisked away the grill plate before we’d even eaten half.

I tried the black pepper-marinated eye-of-round to sample a non-Wagyu cut, but these prime-grade strips quickly roasted into unpleasantly twiney ropes that prompted my own impression of James’ pantomimed nixing. It would be almost all Wagyu from here on in as we cycled through multiple 3.3-ounce portions of truffled chuck rib, short rib, strip loin, and thin-cut tongue (too crunchy for my crowd). Piles of empty service trays cluttered our table as the staff arrived with waves of more meat. But few cuts really wowed me, except for the tender New Zealand lamb chops, which I highly recommend.

Among the best menu items was the “Meet Wagyu” nigiri, a sheer strip of beef draped over a nub of rice, topped with a nugget of your choice — uni, caviar, truffles, or foie gras — then briefly torched in the kitchen. It was a composed one-bite delight that highlighted Wagyu’s signature virtues. The one knockout cut that impressed on its own was the A5 ribeye from Miyazaki, a succulent pad of velvety soft beef that our server snipped into glistening morsels.

After 3 pounds of grilled meat between us, I could have kept going. But my tallow-saturated guests could not. Despite my best efforts, we’d only managed a small bump over the previous visit: just 37 plates. We’d maxed out our quotient on the premium Japanese Wagyu, but as plate volume went, we were still way “below average.”

Once the dry-ice smoke settled, I needed a caffeine boost — only to find that Ogyu won’t even brew a simple pot of tea (lest you linger beyond your 90-minute welcome). At least there’s refreshing green tea-flavored ice cream extruded into strands of “matcha snow ice.” Li says they mix their own ice cream base and pair it with red beans to temper the sweetness. After a meal of such unbridled beefy excess, the final restrained note was perfect.

60 Greenfield Ave., Ardmore; 484-412-8889; ogyubbq.com

Lunch served 11:30 a.m. to 3 pm. Monday through Friday; dinner 3 to 10 p.m. Monday through Thursday, until 11 p.m. Friday, and 11:30 a.m. to 11 p.m. Saturday and Sunday

All you can eat packages through four tiers from $39 to $99.

Wheelchair accessible.

About 70% of the menu (including most meats) are gluten-free or can be modified.

Menu highlights: As much of the A5 Japanese Wagyu as your package allowed. Also, the Wagyu nigiri combos, the lamb chops, bone marrow soup, and matcha snow ice.

Drinks: The tropical cocktails are fine and on-theme but not memorable. There’s plenty of sake and Japanese whisky for big spenders. Otherwise, stick with a draft of Sapporo or Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA.