It looks pretty, but we demolish it in seconds. The tuna tiradito (raw fish in a spicy sauce) is the least interesting of our dishes and a tiny portion size. Glazed pork belly is sweet, crisp, chewy and luscious, with a hit of orange and pickled onion. On the other hand, the green bean tempura, with black truffle aïoli are little sticks of pleasure and I could have eaten all of them on my own. Not many on the plate and £6 for the privilege. I would not bother with the Padrón peppers if this is to be your first experience of them. I liaise with the waitress to make sure that I don’t over-order and off we go. I am asked to order for the table and don’t even pretend that this doesn’t make me happy. The 20 foot high tree on the outdoor terrace is rather Brazilian Carnival in that it is bright orange and draped with thousands of little lights and I confess that it appeals to my inner drag queen and I cannot say that I would not want one under any circumstances. At twenty-four feet high, with floor-to-ceiling glass on three sides, there is a bit of a view thing going on. We go to the slightly less noisy restaurant and my eardrums rejoice. You can eat at the sushi bar, although I do not see any reason why you would, unless you are deaf, can lip-read or have no desire for conversation. We may or may not have appropriated them as our own. As they go, hopefully to get a room, they leave half-full cocktail glasses. We all try not to stare at the very young couple adjacent to us, elaborately entwined, sucking face. The thronging, noisy bar is full of very young people, some barely out of their teens. Just like the Luftwaffe had, when they bombed it, shouts J, apropos of nothing in particular. C is not available and I risk asking my joint managing partner J.Īs J and I go up to the 38th floor in the glass lift, amidst a group of strangers, I remark upon the clear view over the whole of London in the twilight. G has been wanting to visit for, oh, ever. ![]() After 30 seconds in the restaurant, I think I know. ![]() I start to wonder what sort of people eat here. ![]() Scrolling down onto the food, I note that we are already too late to order the Kobe Beef Ishiyaki, at a mere £1000 a kilo, as it needs to be ordered at least 48 hours in advance. I settle on sparkling sake, the lightweight’s tipple, with alcohol levels in single figures and prices which don’t frighten me, until I realise that they are for 300ml and not a wine-sized bottle. My sneak peek starts at the vast booze menu, anxiety-inducing in its degree of choice. Though I do know my nigiri from my sashimi, I’m not so hot on the churrascos and the anticuchos, so I have decided to plan in advance, otherwise known as looking up menu items online. I know that this is a mix of Japanese, Brazilian and Peruvian, pure con-fusion food but I’m not sure what that really means.
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