Daigoro
1924 Riverside Dr.
In the not-so-distant past, the only “food trucks” in Tulsa were random taco trailers or the tiny-but-mighty fleet of hot dog carts posted near downtown bars. Then came Lone Wolf Banh Mi led by Philip and Danielle Phillips, rogue operators peddling kimchi fries at 1:00 a.m. back when anything fermented raised eyebrows. Lone Wolf’s banh mi—stuffed with kung pao pork, punched up with bold aioli, and served alongside kimchi cheese fries (topped with a fried egg for true sophisticates)—wasn’t quite a banh mi. In Philip Phillips’ hands, it was a non-traditional take on traditional Asian fare that felt right at home in Oklahoma.
The truck built a cult following, grew into a downtown brick-and-mortar, and eventually spawned Chicken and the Wolf, a fried chicken concept with spice levels calibrated for sissies or the clinically fearless, now with locations across town. Years later, Philip Phillips has finally opened the first full-service restaurant in his collection: Daigoro on Riverside Drive. Think of it as Lone Wolf’s more mature, sultrier sibling—still inventive, still unafraid of flavor, and self-assured in its compositions.
The space Daigoro now inhabits has seen its share of turnover from restaurants that tried to strike a balance between destination dining and public-park practicality but couldn’t quite find the sweet spot. The bones are good—a river view, an open patio, and high foot traffic—but translating that into something sustainable takes more than a good menu. It takes vision, adaptability. Daigoro seems up for the challenge.
The building’s design is minimalist but grounded—clean-lined and wood-wrapped, with a quiet elegance that feels purpose-built for the river. It’s not trying to be a boathouse, but it understands the rhythm of water. A glowing red neon dragon coils overhead, a wink to the fantastical that doesn’t feel kitschy. Reservations are highly recommended for dining room seating, where the lighting is low, the vibe dialed-in, the views immaculate. The bar is first-come, first-served, as is the patio with its mix of high tops and cushioned lounge seating. Daytime at Daigoro is more serene; nighttime is magnetic.
The wine list is thoughtful and globally minded, and the cocktails are equally considered. I opted for the house Negroni ($12), made with Roku gin and the requisite Campari but spiked with ume plum liqueur and a splash of sake. It’s still spirit-forward, but the exotic additions lend a subtle roundness. Cocktail in hand, I clinked glasses with my friends who came equipped with adventurous appetites and zero fear of over-ordering, and we developed our game plan: Say yes to everything.
This menu is built for it. Plates are meant to be shared, mixed, and matched—like pairing the citrusy, bright crudo with something sizzling from the wok, alongside a few hits from the smoker out back. Dishes like the Filet and Foie ($75)—an eight-ounce butter-basted filet topped with seared foie gras and finished with miso/kosho butter—comfortably share space with an $8 Pork Belly Skewer that eats like grab-n-go street food (but maybe don’t jog with it). Kung pao and udon make an appearance, familiar favorites given just enough elevation to feel fresh. And even the vegetables—like wok-charred zucchini and caramel-glossed carrots—bring the drama and can be made vegan if you ask nicely.
At Daigoro, dishes show up when they’re ready—no ceremony, no coursing, just a steady rhythm from the kitchen. Before long, our table looked like a well-curated buffet.
photos by Angela Evans
Among the appetizers, the Cucumber Salad ($8) is a new summertime must-have. It’s a small bowl that punches above its weight: Cool cukes, crushed peanuts, and pickled onion in a miso-spiked vinaigrette that’s funky, tart, and electric with well-timed heat, while peanuts and radish bring crunch and earthiness. It recalls Korean banchan in spirit but with its own identity.
The Smoked Corn Fritters ($10) are a sly take on the Southern staple, less hush puppy, more falafel—crispy on the outside, but velvety inside. Salty and slightly sweet, they have just enough heat to keep them interesting. This isn’t an ordinary filler appetizer; it’s a scene-stealer.
A nice segue from the apps was the Ahi Crispy Rice ($16), cubes of sticky rice seared on all sides until golden and crisp. Geometric, sculptural, utterly sexy, each cube holds together just long enough to surrender in layers: crunch, chew, then pillowy softness. Topped with silken ahi tuna, serrano, and tobiko, with yuzu ponzu on the plate, it’s a gorgeous composition. The server let us know that the rice squares can be ordered sans sushi as a side to sop up all those sauces—perhaps more civilized than licking the plate, though that’s what you’ll want to do.
The Baby Back Ribs (half rack $25) are a hulking, black-lacquered affair—post-oak smoked, glazed in strawberry gochujang, then topped with peanuts, kaffir lime, serrano, and herbs. The spice and bitter char overwhelmed my palate, which isn’t usually averse to heat, and only grew more intense with each bite. I may have drawn the rogue rib of the rack because my pals, all sauce-smeared and smiling, devoured theirs without issue. Our server, who was fantastic, let me know they can accommodate spice levels; just ask.
The wildcard dish of the night was the Cereal Shrimp ($24), a Singaporean-inspired standout featuring Thai chili, curry leaf, and Nestum cereal—a fine, toasty grain that acts like panko’s more elegant cousin. These shrimp are stunning. I’d wager they’re gently poached before being cloaked in the thinnest possible coating, followed by a quick flash-fry in the wok. The subtle sweetness of the shrimp is preserved, the texture divine—crispy in the most restrained way. Imagine coconut shrimp stripped of its garish blazer and re-dressed in something tailored and regal.
Baby Back Ribs (L) and Cereal Shrimp (R) | photos by Angela Evans
The Fried Rice with Smoked Brisket ($18) delivers on flavor—the smoke is a smart addition—but the portion felt lean for the price, especially compared to the other generously shareable plates. It’s good, just not transcendent for this self-proclaimed fried rice connoisseur.
I’m not typically a dessert gal, but I couldn’t resist the Yuzu Donuts ($10): four globes filled with a bright, yuzu-spiked gel that borders on medicinal in the most fascinating way. Sharp, almost bracing, it sliced through the richness like a sword. The donut, still warm with a vivid citrus center, collided with a cool, languid custard beneath, creating a hot-cold, sharp-soft, sugar-fat symphony that was downright indecent. I needed a cigarette afterward, and I don’t even smoke.
Daigoro walks a fine line: casual enough to pop in after a jog or bike ride, elevated enough for date night, fancy but not fussy. Lunch service is coming soon, as is a reinvention of The Yard, the adjoining patio and concession stand that’s never quite found its identity. There will be high-end snacks and sips for cyclists and strollers, community events and entertainment, all with the goal of creating a new footprint on the north end of the river.
Daigoro is one of the most exciting parts of Tulsa’s Riverside glow-up, and it’s the first concept in this odd little corner that feels like it belongs here. If it keeps this up, it just might be the one that lasts.
