I'm sorry if this feels like the wrong tone, but how familiar are you with Japanese aesthetics and philosophy? I am only slightly familiar, but my understanding is that kaiseki ryori is not about "tasty" but a form of philosophical statement by the chef (for example, seasonal touches referring to the impermanence of life), and also a means of linking with nature. For example, the rough, asymmetrical, and "used-looking" look of the tableware, in contrast to say the impeccable and ornate perfection of the Chinese equivalent, references wabi-sabi and is meant to both complement the seasonal and natural feel of the ingredients, and make you think about the bittersweet nature of ephemeral life. There might even be cultural references. In many cases you're supposed to get out still feeling slightly hungry. Each dish evokes a different feeling and the succession of feelings and the way in which they are executed are what a meal like Kikunoi is about. (dear Japanese readers please correct me)
It's like "no" theatre (not kabuki!): a highly formalized, stylized art form where the audience is expected to be familiar with everything already and is appreciating only the "how" not the "what" of the play. A no performance uses archaic language modern Japanese audiences don't even understand, but all the attendees know the words already. It would feel tremendously boring to an outsider (guilty!), with not much visually happening, whilst your Japanese host gets excited about the masterly way in which bending the head a couple of degrees down has utterly changed the implied feeling of the actor.
When I first travelled to Japan, I was frustrated by the lack of intensity present in, well, everything, from architecture to food (except fast food) and even fashion. My relatively frequent trips to Japan improved a lot after I took the time to read books to try and understand the local mindset, at least of Kamakura to Edo period Japan (when the warriors took over from the overly sophisticated aristocracy that ran the country from Kyoto in the Heian period). It is this refinement within the constraints of simplicity (with the tea ceremony the most extreme example) that makes Japanese arts so sophisticated. We sort of have it in the West too; Mozart is not impressive aurally in the way that, say, Rachmaninov or Liszt might be, but playing Mozart well (or something like Liszt's Pilgrimage Years) requires a lifetime of study and is appreciated for its subtlety and control and life experience more than the sheer block of sound and expressed ideas in the content.