How We Found the Perfect Space for AKAMARU SCOTTSDALE

We knew we wanted to open a restaurant.

But what kind of restaurant? What kind of menu? Where, exactly? And what would it feel like when someone walked through the door?

These weren’t small questions. So while we continued working our day jobs and saving money, we used every single vacation day we had — not to relax, but to research. To hunt, really.

This was the season of bench-marking.

We flew to New York. Then California. Then Hawaii. Then Japan — Tokyo, Kyoto, and the udon capital of Kagawa.

Everywhere we went, we ate. We studied. We paid attention. Not like tourists anymore — but like future owners.

Before, we ate for pleasure. Now, we ate for answers.

In Kagawa, we didn’t just eat udon — we studied it.

We seriously considered importing Sanuki noodle machines and turning AKAMARU into a handmade udon bar. We wanted to understand everything: the dough, the kneading process, the cutting, the broth, the perfect tempura for udon or soba.

So we spent a full week with a local master — receiving private lessons on how to make real, traditional noodles. He didn’t just show us how to cook. He showed us how to think like a craftsman.

By the end of that trip, we didn’t just love udon. We respected it.

But love alone isn’t enough.

If we were going to build something lasting, it couldn’t just be based on our preferences. We had to think beyond what we liked, and get honest about what others love.

So we started watching everything.

• What dishes made people’s faces light up?
• What made them take photos?
• Which spaces felt welcoming, and which felt sterile?
• What kind of lighting made people stay longer?
• How were menus structured? Service flows? Seating?

Every meal became a case study. We took notes. We whispered observations. We constantly asked each other: “If this were our place… what would we do differently?”

Meanwhile, we were hunting for a space.

We checked BizBuySell almost every day. Restaurants for sale. Lease transfers. Quiet closures. Anything that might fit.

We didn’t want to build from scratch if we didn’t have to. The smart plan, we thought, was to find a space with existing infrastructure — a hood, grease trap, basic kitchen layout — and simply renovate the vibe. Change the atmosphere. Save thousands.

We met agents. We visited dozens of spaces. Some were too big. Some were too far. Some just didn’t feel right.

You can’t fake that part. You know it when you feel it.

And then, we found it.

Tucked into a shopping center called Sonora Village, there was a former Duck Donuts space. Not flashy. Not on the main corner. You wouldn’t see it driving by unless you knew where to look.

But we stepped inside, and we knew. This was it.

The layout was exactly what we imagined:

• A cozy L-shaped bar perfect for open-kitchen service
• Enough space for real cooking, but not so big we’d get lost in it
• A hood, a grease trap, gas lines — we’d still have to do some work, but nothing overwhelming
• The kind of place where guests could sit at the counter and talk to the chef

Sure, it wasn’t a high-visibility corner unit. But we didn’t care.

We believed that if we made the food good enough, people would find us. They’d seek us out. They’d tell their friends.

We weren’t building a “convenient restaurant.” We were building a destination.

We didn’t hesitate. We signed the lease.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was perfect for us.

We didn’t choose AKAMARU’s location based on foot traffic or demographics alone. We chose it because we saw what it could become.

We chose it because it had the bones to support our vision — and the flexibility to evolve with us.

If you’re reading this because you’re dreaming of opening something of your own — Don’t just look at spaces. Look for potential. Look for alignment between who you are and what that space wants to be.

That’s how we found ours.

AKAMARU Japanese restaurant opens this October. And that once-empty donut shop? It’s about to become a Japanese kitchen built from craft, clarity, and love.

Follow us here on Medium for the behind-the-scenes of building AKAMARU SCOTTSDALE, one decision at a time.