DashiDashi | The Japanese Food Blog

Restaurant Review: Kyashii, Covent Garden

Hi all, I'm still here. Culinary school has taken over my life, but there's still been time for a little recreational Japanese eating on the side. After some gentle nudging from The London Foodie (who has a new utterly delectable blog header by the way, do go see), reminding me that it's not really a blog if you don't, uh, blog, here's the first write-up from my latest set of restaurant visits. Enjoy!

 

I'd been wanting to try Kyashii for a while now. Any Japanese restaurant described as a 'surreal themed gangster experience', as it was by one slightly baffled commenter on a review site, is surely worth a visit.

So when a friend won 'free lunch' at this overly-stylish restaurant-cum-lounge, I jumped at the chance to accompany her. More about that later, but first I'd like to take this opportunity to unveil my new indispensable guide for restaurants entitled 'How To Offer A Free Lunch'.

1. Inform your wait staff that this 'free lunch' competition actually exists. (When in doubt, 'deny all knowledge' is not a good workplace mantra.)

2. When no mention of this 'free lunch' appears on your online booking system, though the customer swears they entered the information when booking, consider giving them the benefit of the doubt. (Unless you've been scammed repeatedly in such a heinous manner. In which case, consider issuing printable email vouchers instead of social media messages.)

3. Ask your wait staff to give the manager or whoever organised the competition a prompt call in these situations, instead of waiting for the customer to insist they do so.

4. Don't let your customer peruse the a la carte menu for twenty minutes, while waiting for the aforementioned phone call, before informing them they can only order their 'free lunch' from a limited page of lunch set menus mostly in the £10-15 range -- while your a la carte features such delights as Grilled Chilean Seabass with Fois Gras & Uni Butter (£26.50) and Yellowtail Ponzu with truffle oil (£12.50).

5. A 'free lunch' should probably include a free drink. Just saying.

6. Charging service on a 'free lunch', while an admirable nod of respect to your stellar wait staff, is possibly counterproductive*.

So anyway, let's talk about Kyashii. The food's not bad, actually.The sushi was passable, the sashimi of decent quality. Beautifully plated, if you like your food dressed to impress. Over-priced though, especially given the unsmiling lacklustre service. That said, if you work/live in the area and want a bit more dining glitz than nearby Chinatown provides, their reasonably priced set lunches are an option worth considering.

Decor? The ground floor is surprisingly pleasant and airy, though the white circular wall mouldings give a slight sense of being trapped in a giant ghetto blaster. Downstairs is where the surreal gangster experience starts. Searching for the loos, I almost tripped over due to the dark deep-pile carpet and lack of lighting. Alice-in-Wonderland-like, I wandered past an empty window-less room with white banquets surrounded by an in-built fish tank. Curiouser and curiouser.

All in all, Kyashii satisfies all expectations of a celebrity-seeking venue serving trendy Japanese-style fare in fashion-model portions, apart from the lack of suitably fawning service. If that's what floats your boat, by all means pay a visit. Just don't forget a flashlight when you go the loos, and a ball of string to lead you back to reality afterwards.

 

Kyashii
4a Upper St Martin's Lane
London WC2H 9NY
020 7836 5211

www.kyashii.co.uk

 

 

*We also ordered some extra dishes from the a la carte, kindly at a 50% discount to make up for the faff and also because of the 50%-off deal running at the same time anyhow. Thus we were obviously presented with a bill to pay. 10% service was charged on the un-discounted total, including the free set lunches. Whether we'd have been presented with a bill at all, if we hadn't ordered any extra dishes, is not known.

 

Restaurant Review: Yashin Sushi, High Street Kensington

In life, there are times for wordy introductions and meandering discussions. Then there are times when it's best to cut to the chase. So let me tell you that Yashin Sushi is good, very good indeed.

From the moment you step inside the sleek dark interior, you know you're in safe hands. You also wish you'd dressed up a bit more. Behind the spotless glass of the sushi bar, a selection of perfect glossy vegetables, artfully arranged, stare back at you. You get the feeling they spent more time getting ready tonight than you did.

Above the bar, neon lights on dark green tiles spell out the restaurant's apparent mantra: 'Without Soy Sauce... But if you want to.' This refers to how the sushi chef, after deftly forming then searing each nigiri on a raised stone, will brush each morsel with the lightest touch of soy sauce, as a parting statement. A statement that says: don't mess with my work.

But if you want to.

It's a brave person who'd chance the end of that particular sentence.

The menu pretty much consists of three omakase options: 8, 11, or 15 pieces of nigiri, along with the maki roll of the day -- for £30, £45, or £60, respectively. There are various side dishes and rolls that can be ordered separately, but you'd be hard-pressed to put together a meal from just these alone. And why bother?

 

Restaurant Review: Yoisho, Goodge Street

Twice in the past month, I've encounter people who say they love Japanese food, just not in Japan.

They say this with an unapologetic shrug, seemingly oblivious that their statements are much the equivalent of professing a love of Italian food, but not being able to stomach the grub in Naples, Rome, or Milan -- I mean, who on earth makes pizza that thin, and can you believe they didn't stuff the crusts with cheese?

In this case, the offending item most cited was chicken gizzard, in the form of yakitori. Now, yakitori, as I understand it, is not haute-cuisine. Come on, it's served on a wooden stick. Dipped in sticky, more-ish, tare sauce. But it's a highly effective way of serving up every piece of the chicken you can get your hands on: liver, skin, cartilage, heart, and all.

Granted, their reactions weren't entirely their own faults. Our supermarkets and restaurants conspire to make us a believe a chicken is composed of solely breast, thigh, and drumstick. I order a whole chicken in Nandos, and when it turns up, think: where's the other 45% gone?

[Tip: if you order a whole chicken take-away from Nandos, ask them not to cut it up. You get more chicken (and the good bits) that way.]

Now, I'm a bit of a citizenship snob. In that, if someone recommends me a restaurant, it holds more weight if they're from the country that gave birth to that cuisine. So sue me: I'd rather take a fish-and-chip shop recommendation from the local pub owner, than a passing tourist from Timbuktu. So when a bona-fide Japanese family friend recommended Yoisho, my ears pricked up.

I went on a Sunday evening, which already made me happy. (The only other Japanese restaurant in Central London I know of that opens Sundays is Sakura.) Ordered a selection of yakitori, including gizzard and quail eggs, an okonomi (fried pancake thing - a smaller, thinner, oval-shaped version than the usual), ryoshidon (sashimi on normal white rice) and nasu dengaku (aubergine with miso-topping). Good food, good value, good-sized portions.

The restaurant itself is small, with ground-level and basement seating, and verges on the dark-and-dingy school of Japanese restaurant interior design. The word 'izakaya' (Japanese pub, kinda) seems to crop up in various online reviews. On a busy night, the order system seemed a bit clogged, especially for drinks, and service was perfunctory rather than effusive, but we were there for the chicken innards, not the three-star treatment.

Verdict: Only a quick walk from Tottenham Court Road, and round the corner from Goodge Street tube station, definitely one for the post-Christmas-shopping dinner before hopping on the tube home.

 

£20-30 for dinner for two, including service.

Yoisho
33 Goodge Street
London W1T 2PS
020 7323 0477

Open for lunch Mon-Fri, dinner Mon-Sun.

Restaurant Review: Yoshino, Piccadilly Circus

If you're going to go the whole hog and actually name a restaurant as one of your favourites, it helps to have more than a passing knowledge of the place, really.

Like a bride-to-be with no clue about the groom's middle name, someone who claims a restaurant as their 'absolute favourite', then admits to have been there all of twice, should have their judgement severely scrutinised. A few highly enjoyable nights does not a marriage (or great restaurant) make.

So when it comes to naming favourites, I don't want to hear that 'you just know when it's right'; I want the full due diligence report. Starting with:

How long have you and said restaurant known each other? Studies show that a minimum of two years is often sensible, to allow for the initial food lust to wear off and for you to see the menu for what it really is.

Have they met your friends and family? After all, you've not truly experienced a restaurant 'til you've seen how they treat your perpetually-late best friend, your pernickity great-aunt, and of course, the parents.

Do you have compatible views on finances? Some restaurants make it clear early on that you're not in their league -- a sniffy 'still or sparkling' when you specifically ask for 'just a jug of water, please' will tip you off to that. Others will try to bankrupt you over the course of a few dates (tasting menu, sir?). If things are going to last, you have to meet on common ground. That said, if they're offering you 50% off every other week, beware -- who knows who else is being offered the same deal behind your back.

But most important of all, do you feel it? Do you relax when you step foot in the front door? Do you spend the whole day in anticipation of tonight's dinner reservation? Do you feel a tingle of pride every time someone else speaks well of them?

Restaurant Review: Chisou, London

How do you judge a restaurant? By the food, decor, or that elusive thing called ambiance? How about the length of the wine list or the state of the toilets? Then there's always: the bustiness of the waitress, the speed of the bill (too fast = insulting, too slow = infuriating), the curl of the waiter's upper lip when you order tap water...

What about before you even set foot inside? Well, you could ask the restaurant critics. Unfortunately, that's all very well if you're searching for one-star French restaurant in London, but venture off the Anglo-Euro-centric culinary map and coverage gets decidedly patchy. Take Chinese food. If it hasn't previously been owned by Alan Yau, or specialises in a region that the public can put a mental finger on (e.g. Sichuan = spicy), it doesn't figure.

So when it comes to far-off food, there's another useful barometer: the clientele. To cut to the chase: do they look like they hail from the same country as your dinner?

Restaurant Review: Kulu Kulu Sushi, London

When it comes to choosing a venue to take a bad date, you can't do much better than conveyor-belt sushi.

Firstly, you sit side-by-side, thus avoiding all the perils of making actual eye contact. Next, when conversation inevitably runs dry, there's the ever-rotating selection of food to comment on. Try exclaiming: "Oooo I wonder what that is?!" as the little coloured plates dance by, repeating ad nauseum (regardless of what your date replies) for the rest of the meal.

And best of all, the whole point of conveyor-belt sushi means that the unfortunate episode can take place in under an hour, leaving you ample time to rush home due to a potentially hazardous oven/kettle/existential-crisis-ridden best friend.

A conveyor-belt joint (kaiten-zushi) is also a great place to take a sushi newbie. Even the most uninspired menu can unleash a host of gastronomic gobbledegook: nigiri, maki, tamago, ebi, sorry, what? If the list should continue: seared merlion (£6.70), grilled griffin (£4.50), sabre-tooth-tiger soup (£3.45), the sushi virgin would be none the wiser.

When it comes to the unfamiliar, there's a primal urge to know: What is it? What's it look like? How's it taste?

Restaurant Review: Koya, Soho

All across East Asia, they take the theory of comparative advantage very seriously. That is to say, they specialise. You want chill crab, I know just where. Beef brisket noodles, only one place in town. It's a one-stall, one-dish way of life.

Transpose these cuisines some thousand miles west, and restaurants end up serving a hodge-podge of specialities which, back home, you'd find under entirely separate roofs. Udon, soba, ramen, tempura, yakitori, sushi -- dare any chef claim mastery of even one of these, let alone all?

So let's take it as a sign of London's maturing taste in all things Japanese that this month heralds the opening of Koya, an udon specialist tucked away on Frith Street, Soho.

With its easy-to-miss entrance and canteen-style interior (uneven tiled floors, unvarnished tables, coat hooks lining the walls), this is a restaurant geared to fly right under the radar. Which is just as well, because with food this good, Koya (hopefully) has little need to pander to Soho's trend-watching scene-chasing mob.

Restaurant Review: Sakura, London

Photo courtesy of nagarazoku via Flickr (CC)

UPDATE: Sakura has moved from Hanover Street to Conduit Street (about 3 minutes walk from the original site). The interior is vastly improved, with pretty lamps along the walls and general lack of 'dinge'. Service is the same, conditions of booking (10 minutes lee-way, all of the party must turn up) still the same, and the menu is mostly unchanged.

Also, since the writing of the post below, I've discovered a few other places to eat Japanese on a Sunday: Yoisho and Yashin Sushi. Know any more?

***

Let's play a game. See these gorgeous sakura blossoms? Now close your eyes and imagine a room that embodies their exact opposite traits. There you have it: the interior of Sakura.

Dark, verging on dreary. Well-worn tables, faded paintings, hand-written specials scrawled in bold black marker. Bizarre Japanese gameshows play soundlessly on wall-mounted TVs above. This is light-years away from destination dining, except in the strictest sense of the word.

Only a wallet's throw from Regent Street and the ping of the high street tills, yet take a step inside  and the normal rules of customer service cease to apply. The receptionist and manager look you up and down accusingly. No reservation? The latter pauses to survey the room, for just a moment too long, then nods curtly. You're in luck, this time.

Got a reservation? That's when things get complicated. They warn you on the phone to turn up within ten minutes of your booking, else lose your table. When you do turn up, beware: all members of your party must be present before you can be seated. (Best to give a fake time to any perpetually-late friends.) Lastly, there's some form of minimum order -- somewhere in the region of one to two portions of nigiri.

(No biggie, but given that the last time I triggered this rule, it was late afternoon, the restaurant was half-empty, and I'd popped in for a quick bite with a friend who wasn't hungry, it didn't do much to endear them to me.)

So why, given the threadbare furnishings and less-than-fawning service, do I end up here on an at least  semi-regular basis? 

 

Restaurant Review: Dinings

First things first: book ahead. Dinings is tiny.

If the decor was any less utilitarian, it might even be called bijou; as such, tiny will have to do. On a freezing January evening, I felt for the diners hunched at the sushi bar, buffeted by an icy blast every time the door swung open. There's seating along the bar for six(ish) if you huddle and, given the temperature outside, huddling they were.

Downstairs was warmer, both in heat and ambiance. Described on the website as a 'bunker style dining room', I came expecting rough concrete, metal stools, and a few tins of baked beans for that authentic air-raid feel. Instead, we got white walls, slatted-wood partitions, and clean-cut furniture. Our table was nestled alongside two others in a not-so-private alcove; definitely not a place then for claustrophobes, international espionage, or proposing with less than a 47% chance she'll say yes.

 

Restaurant Review: aqua kyoto

The waitress knew my name. How odd.

Alas, as we were guided to our seats, it dawned on me that she was neither psychic, nor had I become a minor celebrity overnight. Instead, it was all the work of the nice gentleman with the reservation list, who'd greeted us at the street-level entrance and ushered us into the lift.

In the time it took to ride up five floors, deposit coat, hat, gloves, and scarf with the charming (if over-staffed) bevy of receptionists, Mr Ground-Floor had the opportunity to radio my name, description, and possibly shoe-size, to the wait staff above. Cunning.