All that glitters is not gold.

Update June 2013 – this restaurant has now closed.

There’s no shortage of expensive Japanese restaurants in London and Wabi is one of the latest. This offshoot of the Horsham original is located on the eastern side of Kingsway next to a branch of Pitcher and Piano – don’t try to navigate logically by the door numbers as I foolishly did. Kingsway’s confusing door numbering defies such bourgeois convention.

With the possible exception of the water feature suspended over the stairwell leading to the basement dining room, Wabi is only attractive in a generically glossy kind of way. The clinical lack of atmosphere is something I would expect from a City restaurant (Baron Greenback would therefore probably love it).

I didn’t have the company of any of my dining companions and I sorely missed them by the end of the evening. Overhearing the endless stream of witless prattle from the neighbouring table made me want to cry into my watery virgin bloody mary. ‘Do you have Dim Sum?’ ‘Do you have any tuna tempura?’ ‘Is there pork in yellowtail sashimi?’ Of course none of this was the restaurant’s fault, but one of my overriding memories of my dinner at Wabi was of my ears bleeding in despair as I restrained myself from using my chopsticks as a blunt-force weapon.

Credit has to be given to the staff for not giggling uncontrollably when faced with such an unthinking, unrelenting barrage of dim wittery. Although a little suffocating in their overattentiveness, the staff were generally friendly and warm, although service slowed down dramatically as the dining room filled up as the night went on.

I started off with with the eel tempura which turned out to be a severe disappointment. The batter was crisp, but also rather oily and bland. The eel inside was bitty, lacking both taste and texture. Only the coarse sea salt and the sweet and salty dipping sauce made this dish bearable.

Batter my slippery eel.

I really like wagyu beef and I adore foie gras, but my suspicions about the kitchen’s sensibilities are immediately raised if they pop up on the menu too often or are inadvisedly mashed together. Sadly, the wagyu and foie gras gyoza confirmed my fears. The thin skins contained some relatively buttery foie gras, but the heavily minced wagyu meant the beef was wasted – the lack of both texture and taste meant it might as well not have been there. The accompanying peanut and sesame seed dipping sauce was thin, resembled a gussied up version of satay sauce and overpowered the taste of the foie gras. A severely misguided dish.

Giving wagyu beef and foie gras a bad name.

After the staggering cock-ups of the the eel tempura and the gyoza, I expected further disappointments but the barbecue pork belly buns turned out to be the highlight of the evening. The smoky, charred, caramelised flavour of the meat was enhanced by the oozing layer of fat, while the cucumber and ginger garnish provided a refreshing counterpoint. The nutty and salty dressing provided another level of flavour, while the soft, fluffy rice flour buns held everything together nicely. This might be glorified street food, but that doesn’t matter for what was easily the best dish of the evening.

Slip your pork in between my buns.

The sushi and sashimi parts of the menu at Wabi are both divided into traditional and contemporary sections, although even the ‘traditional’ nigiri rolls can be quite unusual. I ordered some traditional and contemporary sushi and sashimi, but what the menu doesn’t tell you is the number of pieces you get in each serving – just one and a rather small one at that.

The abalone nigiri is almost certainly steamed rather than raw and has a smooth, silky texture that’s very pleasing. Unsurprisingly, given the very high price of abalone, the slice is small and the entire roll can be finished in the blink of an eye.

All abalone by myself.

The otoro tuna nigiri used wonderfully buttery, fatty fish which had a slight chewy edge to it. It’s not quite as soft and flavoursome as the special ‘neck’ cut of tuna occasionally available at Dinings, but it’s still very good.

Pink fatty tuna.

The razor clam sashimi has an unusual appearance with the slices of mollusc, almost certainly cooked rather than raw, organised into a pile on top of a small fruit crisp. The fruit crisp adds little, but there’s no mistaking the distinct flavour of the fresh razor clams. They’re slightly chewy, which only adds to the pleasure. The portion is even smaller than that of the abalone nigiri though – eat too quickly and you’ll miss all the action.

Razor thin.

The scallop nigiri sushi was topped with a fruity, slightly acidic dressing and some black specks which might have been truffles – it was hard to tell since they were so small. Neither could do much to compensate for the thin, bland, forgettable scallop though.

That’s a funny shaped scallop.

Even after all of that I was still feeling famished so I ordered two desserts rather than just one. The first dessert was Wabi’s take on a classic Japanese dessert – chestnut dorayaki. Here a sweet chestnut paste and some boozy jelly was sandwiched between two rather unremarkable pancakes. Served alongside it was an icy vanilla and salted caramel ice cream, but the muted flavours and large ice crystals were unimpressive. At best, this dessert was a mixed bag.

The ice cream is just out of frame.

The second dessert was an attempt at a far more inventive dish which had been quirkily designed to look like a Japanese rock garden, although the whimsy will be lost on anyone unfamiliar with Japanese rock gardens (this includes myself). The raked gravel ‘ocean’ was actually made out of sugar, the moss-covered rock on the right was actually a green tea sponge paired with a crunchy nut-based Halva-like crackling. The mountain on the left was actually a teetering pile of white chocolate, raspberry sorbet and yuzu citrus blobs and more green tea sponge. A blob of beetroot syrup in the middle represents the futility of my existence (or something).

Despite (or because of) this torturously overcomplicated construction, this dessert was a mess of clashing flavours and textures that didn’t really mesh together to form a coherent whole. In attempting to make a clever visual gag, the kitchen forgot about making a dessert.

It looks cleverer than it actually is.

The Verdict

As long-time readers of this blog will know, I’m far from adverse to paying a lot for a meal but the £90 I spent on dinner at Wabi was just wasted. Although some startlingly fresh, high quality fish is used in the sushi and sashimi, the portion sizes are miserly. Meanwhile, my desserts were hilariously ill-conceived and the less said about some of the deliriously bad hot savoury dishes the better. In a city with exceptionally high-quality Japanese restaurants such as Dinings, Wabi isn’t just bad, it’s bad value and more than a little insulting. If the kitchen doesn’t rethink the menu, I’ll be surprised if Wabi lasts a year.

Name: Wabi

Address: 36-38 Kingsway, London WC2B 6EY

Phone: 0207 400 5400

Web: http://www.wabirestaurants.com/

Opening Hours: needlessly complicated

Reservations: highly recommended

Total cost for one person including soft drinks: £90 approx.

Rating: ★★☆☆☆

This review of a Taiwan restaurant is a break from The Picky Glutton’s usual London-based coverage

Sometimes the best restaurants are the ones you stumble across completely by accident. I hadn’t originally intended to visit Moe Yakiniku, a small Japanese barbecue restaurant in one of central Taipei’s backstreets, but stumbled across it after finding that my first choice was booked out. As far as I can tell Japanese barbecue is very similar to the more well-known Korean barbecue, but with fewer pungent sauces. This pleased Chip Butty no end – although she wouldn’t eat anything else in Taipei, she has an unnatural passion for Korean barbecue.

The dining room at Moe is small with room for only three dozen covers at most. The grills are set into each table and fuelled by charcoal briquettes which gave our meat a smoky tinge. Although the menu is Chinese-only and the staff only spoke halting English, they were nonetheless exceedingly polite and helped the best they could and they handled all of the cooking at our table-set grills.

It almost doesn’t look like a restaurant.

We started off with a pair of salads, both of which were quite similar with lettuce and tomatoes in a vinegarish dressing. One was topped with a pile of mung bean sprouts while the other had a small tuft of seaweed instead. Since I’m a fan of seaweed I found the seaweed salad more enjoyable, although there wasn’t nearly enough of the firm, slippery green stuff.

Mung!

More of a salad topped with seaweed than a real seaweed salad.

Sadly the limp kimchee wasn’t very spicy or tart.

Cabbage patch kid.

Bizarrely, despite her professed love for Asian barbecue, Chip Butty doesn’t like beef which is in keeping with her weirdly narrow tastes. That meant there was pork and chicken on the grill as well as beef. They were largely unremarkable apart from a few fatty strands of pork and some peppery bits of chicken.

This little piggy went to market.

The real barbecue stars of the night was the beef. There are a staggering number of cuts available from American, Australian and New Zealand cattle. Although I’d like to say that Templeton Peck, Kitchener and I carefully worked our way through the menu choosing the tastiest and most interesting cuts, in reality we simply pointed at the most expensive cuts on the menu – the exchange rate was definitely in our favour.

All of the cuts of beef were marbled with fat and incredibly tender. Cooked medium-medium rare they were all succulent and melted in the mouth. I lost track of which cuts were which but some had an almost honey-like sweetness to them while others had a soy sauce-like salty tinge to them. The accompanying rice wasn’t an afterthought and was suitably soft and fluffy – a stark contrast to the left-over, reheated glump I’ve had in other, less reputable places back home.

Raw materials.

Oh my.

Despite the hot and humid weather we were all tempted by a bubbling cauldron of spicy tofu soup which seemed more Korean than Japanese to me. The tangy, fermented mildly spicy taste was mildly reminiscent of Sichuanese food. It’s not suitable for vegetarians though since bits of minced chicken are scattered throughout, although vegetarians are unlikely to make their way to a barbecue restaurant anyway.

Slurp.

The Verdict

If you’re a carnivore and find yourself in Taipei, then it’s well worth seeking out Moe Yakiniku. Skip the chicken and the pork though and gorge on beef.

Name: Moe Yakiniku

Branch tried: No. 24, Lane 116, Guāngfù South Road, Daan District, Taipei, Taiwan

Phone: 00 886 (2) 2731 1750

Web: none

Opening Hours: Monday-Friday 17.00-23.00 (last orders 22.30). Saturday-Sunday 14.00-23.00 (last orders 22.30).

Reservations: highly recommended

Total cost for one person including drinks when shared between four people: NT$735 (approx. £16 at time of writing)

Rating: ★★★★☆

Sometimes smaller really is better

Compared to the barren dessert of a year ago, London’s Soho is now awash with dedicated ramen restaurants – namely Ittenbari, Tonkotsu, Bone Daddies and Shoryu. The latest is Kirazu, a very small restaurant on the former site of a Lebanese cafe. Small is the key word in every sense – the communal benches only have space for around two dozen covers, the toilet is barely bigger than an airplane WC and the menu lists just three types of ramen – shio (salt), shoyu (soy sauce) and miso. There’s also a small selection of side dishes (unnecessarily called ‘Japanese tapas’ on the menu) with some daily specials, but the focus is clearly on ramen.

Cozy.

First things first

The small restaurant was almost deserted on my weekday evening visit with The Lensman. We shared a plate of gyoza which, even for a side dish, was a little small with just three dumplings. They weren’t terribly impressive dumplings either – I wasn’t fond of the rather bland, anonymous vegetable filling or the skins which were crispy all over. I’d have preferred gyoza skins which were crispy on one side and soft and pliable on the other.

Crispy dumplings. Odd.

The takoyaki were far better. These small, soft, doughy balls each had a firm piece of salty octopus in the middle. Each ball was then dressed with toppings often seen on okonomiyaki – katsuobushi (dried tuna flakes), mayonnaise and a sweet, tangy brown sauce. A delightfully moreish snack and far better than the merely passable takoyaki available from the Yaki bakery on Goodge Street.

Octopus balls.

I opted for the shio (salt) ramen. The clear broth wasn’t very salty, but was instead sweet and tangy. Nevertheless it was pleasing, especially when combined with all the other ingredients. The fatty slices of pork, the tender and earthy bamboo shoots, the thin wrinkly seaweed sheet and the rich, soft boiled egg were all delicious. It would’ve been all for nought if the noodles weren’t up to scratch, but the firm, bouncy, slightly wrinkly noodles are easily some of the best ramen noodles I’ve had.

Salt of the earth?

The Lensman was surprised to discover ground pork rather than sliced pork in his miso ramen, although that’s apparently closer to how it’s served in Japan. He was also surprised by the presence of sweetcorn, but that didn’t detract from the noodles which were the same well-made noodles as the ones used in my shio ramen. He enjoyed the cloudy, moreish broth although he clearly had broth envy and declared my shio broth to be even better. Thankfully, neither of our ramen noodle soups were overstuffed with cheap beansprout filler.

Hungry.

Going back for seconds

I had to return to try out the soya ramen, also known as shoyu ramen. This ramen used the same firm, wrinkly noodles, soft egg, tender and earthy bamboo shoots, seaweed nori sheet and fatty pork as the shio ramen. The difference was the lightly cloudy broth which had a lip smackingly tangy and salty soy sauce flavour to it. The salty soy flavour didn’t linger on the palate or cause an extreme case of thirst afterwards, so it’s unlikely the kitchen cheated by using a heap of MSG.

I’ll show you.

For a side dish, I opted for the lotus root slices. The thick pieces somehow managed to be both crisp and soft at the same time and had been sautéed in what I’m pretty sure was rice wine. This gave them a distinctive flavour that’s hard to describe as a non-boozer, but I’ll settle for slightly acidic and tangy as well as a little sweet. My only wish was that the portion was bigger.

Getting back to my roots.

The Verdict

Kirazu isn’t the biggest or most elaborate of London’s ramen restaurants, but it’s easily one of the finest with simple, inexpensive yet tasty ramen that warms the cockles. Tonkotsu is still my favourite type of ramen and is best eaten at Tonkotsu. For other types of ramen however, Kirazu is a fine, fine choice.

Name: Kirazu

Branch tried: 47 Rupert Street, London W1D 7PD

Phone: 020 3356 8900

Web: http://kirazu.co.uk

Opening Hours: Monday-Friday noon-15.00 and 18.00-22.00. Saturday noon-16.00 and 18.00-23.00.

Reservations: not taken

Total cost for one person including soft drinks: £15 approx.

Rating: ★★★★☆

High-tech but low brow food?

London’s restaurant scene is very crowded to say the least, so newcomers often need a gimmick just to get noticed. Inamo’s trick is that instead of ordering via a human waiter, you order using a computer with the screen beamed onto your table from a projector sitting above each table. I was broadly unimpressed with the original Soho restaurant, but I had to see if anything had changed with the second branch near Piccadilly Circus.

Inamo St James is a lot bigger than its forebear with bamboo partitions dividing up the space into cozier blocks that also feel a little more private. The bamboo feels a little cliched for a Japanese/Pan-Asian restaurant, but it serves its purpose.

How do you keep away all the pandas? Wait, what do you mean it’s not real bamboo?!

The technology

The computerised ordering system from the original Inamo has remained virtually unchanged. Simply move the onscreen cursor using the touchpad built into the corner of your table to navigate the menu. Point and click to order food, drinks, request the bill, play a few simple games while you wait and even keep an eye on the kitchen using the fuzzy, low-quality webcam.

Just about legible.

Although the system works well enough and was very stable with no crashing or blue screens of death in sight, the washed out colours and low brightness of the ageing projectors won’t suit those of us with faltering eyesight. The games and other extras feel unnecessary in an age where seemingly everyone has a smartphone. The biggest disappointment is the lack of any real information about the food itself, such as the cuts of meat used or the types and sustainability of the fish used in the sushi and sashimi. Even a basic glossary of Japanese food terms for those unfamiliar with Japanese cuisine would’ve been useful given the inability of the mute automatons posing as waiting staff to answer even the most basic questions.

If it ain’t broken, don’t fix it?

The food

I dined at Inamo St James on a weekday lunchtime with the help of The Youngling. He started off with the squid and spring onion Dim Sum, although the thin and supple scrimped skins bore of a resemblance to typical Japanese gyoza. The smooth, overly-processed paste-like filling only tasted vaguely of squid though and this weak flavour was easily drowned out by the overly sweet mango and chilli dipping sauce.

Dim Sum my arse.

The battered baby prawns were better. The small balls of fresh prawn meat were covered in a light, crisp batter that was free of excess oil although the light dusting of chilli powder was so light that it might as well not have been there.

Popcorn prawns.

I started off with the eight-piece set of nigiri sushi. The rice rolls tended to fall apart very easily and the selection of fish was unremarkable. The salmon, tuna and sea bass were rather limp. The only exception was the last delicately meaty, fatty roll of fish that I couldn’t quite identify.

Were they out of good tuna at Billingsgate today?

I’m pretty sure this was sea bass, but it was hard to tell given how limp and bland it was.

Throw it back.

What is this? Answers on the back of a postcard.

For his main course, Youngling opted for an assortment of vegetable tempura. The sweet potato stood out the most, but Youngling found some of the batter to be doughy and a little undercooked in places. I found the batter to be lacking in character, but at least it wasn’t excessively oily and was reasonably crisp.

Fry up.

I enjoyed the firm, meaty and smooth texture of the satisfying but light black cod, although the marinade was a little too sweet for my liking.

The black cod of the family.

It’s just a flesh wound!

I paired the black cod with a side dish of spicy aubergine. There wasn’t any heat at all though and the individual squishy soft slivers of egg plant were far too oily.

I’ve struck oil!

I wasn’t expecting much from the vanilla crème brûlée, but I was pleasantly surprised. Although the caramelised crust was only moderately crisp and the alleged flavours of lemongrass and strawberry were mild at best, the creaminess and the smooth, soft, almost wispy texture of the custard base was pleasing.

I remember the half-arsed Modern European restaurant that used to be on this site. Now it’s a half-baked Pan-Asian restaurant.

The selection of ice creams apparently changes on a daily basis. I couldn’t quite place the three flavours used here which may have included nutty black sesame and a fruit-based one such as yuzu or lychee, but none of them were too heavy or excessively sweet and had clean aftertastes.

Hodor likes ice cream.

The Verdict

Despite the roomier Piccadilly location, at its core the St James branch of Inamo isn’t that different from the Soho original – so much so that it’s clearly an attempt at forging a chain. Once you get past the thin gimmick of the computer ordering system, the food is hit and miss with some good dishes mixed in with some very mediocre ones. Well-heeled families with kids and easily impressed WAGs and tourists may enjoy Inamo St James, but everyone else should eat elsewhere. There’s no shortage of Japanese restaurants in London that are consistently good from the budget to the more expensive.

Name: Inamo St James

Address: 4-12 Lower Regent Street, London SW1Y 4PE

Phone: 020 7484 0500

Web: http://www.inamo-stjames.com/pc/

Opening Hours: Monday-Thursday noon-15.00 and 17.00-23.00. Friday-Saturday noon-00.30. Sunday noon-22.30.

Reservations: probably a good idea.

Average cost for one person including soft drinks: £30-55 approx.

Rating: ★★★☆☆

Hirata buns or gua bao – by any other name they would be as sweet

Updated 8/11/13 – removed incorrect information about the term ‘hirata buns’, added new background

When a new dish or cuisine is introduced to the UK, it’s inevitably given an analogous description that’s humorously inaccurate and ultimately unnecessary. The Taiwanese dish of gua bao is a case in point. Known by the Japanese as hirata buns due to Japan’s colonial occupation of Taiwan, Gua bao are simply steamed rice flour buns sliced open, filled with roasted or grilled meat and garnished with crushed peanuts and coriander. Despite this simplicity, they’ve been described as ‘Taiwanese tacos’, ‘Chinese burgers’ and, most laughably of all, ‘Taiwanese mini-kebabs’. New Yorkers will doubtless find such nonsense laughable, since they’ve had quality gua bao for years now. Gua bao sometimes show up on the menus of Japanese restaurants in the West under the name ‘hirata buns’ – a name apparently coined by Masashi Hirata, a chef at Ippudo in New York (thanks to Bao London and reader Jman for pointing this out, although at the time of updating I’m still waiting for Ippudo New York’s press office to confirm or deny this).

Gua bao, or hirata buns if you will, have received a lot of attention due to the launch of Flesh and Buns. This Covent Garden restaurant is from the people behind ramen joint Bone Daddies, but it isn’t the first London eatery to serve gua bao; nor is it the best either.  I’ve spent the past couple weeks hunting down every gua bao in London searching for the perfect combination of soft, fluffy, slightly chewy buns filled with moist, fatty, flavoursome meat.

This blog post from The Wall Street Journal is well worth reading for a little more background on gua bao. Otherwise, without further ado, here are the reviews:

Table of Contents

Bao London
Bintang
Flesh and Buns
Japanese Canteen (Middlesex Street branch)
Jubo
Leong’s Legend Continues
Shoryu
Yum Bun

Bao London

The simply-named Bao London has a small six-seater bar and a market stall that makes regular appearances at markets such as Kerb Kings Cross. It’s well worth seeking out as it easily has the most authentic Taiwanese-style gua bao here. The fluffy, soft rice bun was filled with a small but moist and fatty chunk of tender pork along with juicy, jelly-like tendons. Some of the pork was shredded, while the rest was thickly sliced. The entire thing was garnished with crushed peanuts and coriander which only enhanced the savoury goodness.

Take a bao.

My only complaint is that the gua bao is a bit on the small side, but that just gives you good reason to order another one or to enjoy the side dishes. The pomelo crunch is the best coleslaw I’ve had in a long time, largely because it bears little resemblance to the sickly, overly creamy slop we’re all familiar with. The shredded carrots and cabbage were dressed in sesame seeds, coriander and mildly sour morsels of pomelo fruit, an ancestor of the grapefruit. It was a very refreshing counterpart to the soy milk fried chicken bites.

pomelo crunch from Bao London

The moist chunks of fried chicken were free from excess oil and battered in a light, crisp and exceedingly moreish coating flecked with occasional hints of ginger. Even better than the gua bao itself.

Colonel, you’re demoted.

Bao London easily serves up one of the best gua bao in the capital. It’s not quite as good as the best American examples, but it’s not far off either.

Average cost per bun: £3.50

Rating: ★★★★★

Bintang

I didn’t have high hopes for the gua bao from Bintang. Not only are the steamed buns described on the menu as ‘Taiwanese tacos’, but Bintang itself is a pan-Asian restaurant. I find the very idea of such a thing disagreeable – attempting to master dishes from half a dozen different and distinct culinary traditions is often a recipe for disaster.

Although Bintang’s buns weren’t as bad as the ones from the Japanese Canteen, the flat, stodgy buns were distinctly lacking in bounciness and fluffiness. The meat used in the duck version was almost unrecognisable – characterless flecks of bitty meat served in an overpowering plum sauce.

duck gua bao from Bintang

A pork option was conspicuously missing from the menu, with a beef variant taking its place instead. I was unimpressed with the takeaway-quality well-done, stir fried slices of cow, but at least they were reasonably tender and not too chewy.

Considering my only source of illumination was a strip of fairy lights, I’m happy with how these photos have turned out.

The tofu gua bao was the worst of the lot. Small chewy, bitty pieces of tofu bathed in a messy, sticky, salty sauce. There was so much sauce that it caused the bottom half of the bao to become soggy. It threatened to break apart, but thankfully held together just long enough for me to eat it.

Overstuffed.

I feel a little bad about dissing Bintang’s gua bao. The service was warm and friendly, if painfully slow, while the backyard, with its fairy lights and two massive trees, is easily the most pleasant and picturesque place I’ve been to in Camden so far. Still, that makes the dire gua bao all the more regrettable.

Average cost per bun: £4 (minimum order of two though)

Rating: ★★☆☆☆

Flesh and Buns

Flesh and Buns is unapologetically a restaurant for the young or at least those with supple, forgiving bodies. The boisterous, noisy atmosphere and the long, semi-communal bench in the middle of the dining room paired with backless stools won’t suit everyone. This subterranean Seven Dials restaurant serves up not only its eponymous hirata buns, but also a sprawling selection of starters and side dishes including sushi, sashimi and tataki.

On our first visit The Euro Hedgie and I gorged on a trio of meaty main courses – braised pork belly, crispy duck leg and grilled sea bass buns. Each serving of meat comes with just two buns which seems a little miserly – not only are they relatively cheap things to make, but two is just woefully inadequate for some of the larger servings of meat such as the pork belly. At least the buns themselves are soft and fluffy. There is also an accompanying bowl of crudites with each meat, including lettuce if you feel like having a carb-free option.

Although expecting a carb-free option in a place called ‘Flesh and Buns’ is moronic.

All the meats are served with the buns on the side – it’s up to you to shred and divvy up the meat as you see fit. Depending on your point of view, this either encourages conviviality or is a cheeky outsourcing of labour to the diner. The braised pork belly was the best of our meat triple – the pork had a sweet and sticky glaze that gave way to tender and mildly fatty flesh. I prefer my belly with a little more fat, but it was still the best meat we had on this visit – it was especially well complimented by thin slices of sharp and sweet pickled apples as well as the wasabi and mustard-based sauce.

pork belly from Flesh and Buns

The sea bass was pretty good, but it won’t surprise anyone who’s ever had a grilled sea bass in any half-decent Chinese restaurant. The taut, crisp skin and flaky fish flesh flavoured with ginger and a light soy sauce is perfectly fine on its own with little need for the accompanying coriander miso dip and tomato salsa, which were frankly rather dull and limp. The sea bass worked better on its own rather than being eaten in a bun which tended to obscure its character.

sea bass from Flesh and Buns

We weren’t terribly impressed with the crispy duck. The meat was too dry for our liking and was also rather bland since the leg meat was, as one would expect, desperately lacking in fat. It was livened up to an extent by the sour and fruity sweet dipping sauce (apparently a mixture of plum and soy), but there’s only so much make-up you can put on a corpse. A more flavoursome and fatty Beijing or Cantonese-style roast duck would’ve worked far better.

Sins of the flesh.

Despite gorging ourselves on meat, the Hedgie and I still had room for dessert. The Hedgie opted for kinako donuts, where the pastry was apparently made from soybean flour. Each spherical donut was free from excess oil, but surprisingly thick and somewhat stodgy. The best part of each donut was the filling of thin, sweet, caramel-like custard.

kinako donuts from Flesh and Buns

Balls to the wall.

The Bone Daddies sundae did little to dissuade me from the view that sundaes are desserts for children, even if it did include some ingredients that would make most spoilt, suburban Western kiddie-winks blanch in disgust. The matcha green tea ice cream was reasonably flavoursome and dotted with small bits of chewy, almost viscous honeycomb and small cubes of black grass jelly, but these elements were hard to appreciate smothered as they were under a mass of cream.

Why is this sundae named after Flesh and Buns’ sister restaurant?

The intriguing-sounding shiso and tarragon soda tasted much like a mint julep, which isn’t surprising since shiso is related to mint.

It is… green.

On our second visit with Rodan and Gamera in tow, we opted for a different trio of meaty bao-fillings – flat iron steak, chicken and salmon teriyaki. The flat iron steak cooked medium rare was tender, but bland – especially when compared to the quality of the same cut of steak from Flat Iron.

flat iron steak from Flesh and Buns

The spatchcocked baby chicken was better – charred yet moist with zesty hints. These flavours easily stood out when eaten as part of a bun, but the it was the soft, tart accompaniment of pickled celery that stole the show here.

Spatchcock.

The salmon teriyaki was light with skin that managed to be both slightly chewy and crispy at the same time. However, the marinade of mirin, sugar and soy sauce was too faint to be detectable and the pickled cucumber left me cold too.

salmon teriyaki from Flesh and Buns

salmon teriyaki hirata bun from Flesh and Buns

Our sides varied in quality. The chicken yakitori skewers were a bit dry, but their charred muskiness made up for this. The salmon kimchi roll was wholly misjudged though – what little kimchi present was still potent enough to drown out the raw salmon.

chicken yakitori from Flesh and Buns

kimchi salmon roll from Flesh and Buns

kimchee salmon rolls from Flesh and Buns

The sashimi was pretty good though – the buttery salmon and supple, meaty tuna were particular highlights (sorry folks, no photo of this one).

The Bone Daddies sundae was much the same as it was before, but even that dessert would’ve been preferable to the yuzu meringue pie. Despite the name, there weren’t enough meringue pieces with the dessert dominated instead by the overwhelming sourness coming from the lemonish yuzu custard and the overbearing tartness of the raspberry sorbet. Digging through all that lip pursing sourness to get to the loosely-packed biscuit crumb base was tough going. A shallower or a more layered construction allowing an easier mouthful of all these elements may have made for a more palatable dessert. As it was, I couldn’t finish it and that’s a rare thing indeed.

Why so serious?

Pie. Pffff.

The hirata buns at Flesh and Buns aren’t bad, but they’re a little overpriced and largely forgettable with the possible exception of the pork belly variant. The main attraction here is the central location and easily bookable tables.

Average cost per bun: £8 (you’ll inevitably order extra buns for the excess meat at £2.50 for another two)

Rating: ★★★☆☆

Japanese Canteen (Middlesex Street branch)

Hirata buns are only available at a select few branches of this Japanese fast food chain, such as the City location a few steps away from Liverpool Street station. Oddly, the steamed buns are named as gua bao online, but as hirata buns in-store. In any case, the buns themselves were unimpressive – flat, dry, stodgy and far too bread-like.

The best filling was, surprisingly, the soft shell crab. The battered crustacean, which no doubt had seen the inside of a freezer recently, was reasonably crisp and zingy if a little small. The ‘chilli’ mayo had about as much heat as a Siberian winter though.

Krang, is that you?

The pork belly was nothing of the sort. The thin slices of pub carvery-quality pork was severely lacking in porky fattiness and the coriander crushed peanuts didn’t taste of much either. Not even the moderately salty hoisin sauce was enough to rescue this rather drab affair.

pork hirata bun from Japanese Canteen

The poultry option consisted of shreds of chicken that were slightly too dry, but was rescued from dull inedibility by the spicy sesame sauce – its tart spiciness did a passable and edible impersonation of Sichuanese pepper.

chicken hirata bun from Japanese Canteen

The chicken and soft shell crab fillings weren’t too bad as long as you keep your expectations in check, but the malformed buns make the Japanese Canteen a restaurant you can safely pass over when it comes to hirata buns.

Average cost per bun: £3.50-4.50

Rating: ★★☆☆☆

Jubo

This residency inside the Bedroom Bar on Shoreditch’s Rivington Street is easy to miss if you’re not looking for it. Heck, it’s easy to miss even if you are looking for it. Although a Korean-style canteen, Korea’s past as a Japanese colony means there are hirata buns on the menu. Although a bit flat-looking, the buns are top-notch – soft, fluffy and slightly tangy.

Although the beef brisket was sadly off on my Saturday evening visit, the savoury earthiness of the shiitake mushroom variant was greatly enhanced by some punchy hoisin sauce.

mushroom hirata bun at Jubo

The pork belly was a delight too – thick strips of mildly fatty, intensely porky fillet in a moderately spicy sriracha-based sauce.

pork hirata bun at Jubo

My only complaint about Jubo’s hirata buns is that they’re small, but that gave me a good excuse to try out some of the other dishes. The fried chicken wings and strips were lacking in their promised soy garlic and hot and sweet flavours, but the incredibly crispy batter coating and moist chunks of milky flesh more than made up for this.

fried chicken wings at Jubo

fried chicken strips at Jubo

The kitchen was so worried about the potential dryness of my steak bulogogi sub that the chef, unprompted by me, offered to replace it for free. Although the strips of beef were a tad dry, they were still perfectly edible – especially as they were coated in a earthy, lightly spicy sauce and then topped with cheese curds. The buttery brioche-esque bun was a perfect serving mechanism for this moreish Korean take on a Philly cheese steak sub.

beef bulogogi sandwich at Jubo

Although Jubo’s splendid hirata buns are on the small side, think of them as a gateway drug to this diner’s other fine dishes and you’ll be on the right track.

Average cost per bun: £3.50

Rating: ★★★★☆

Leong’s Legend Continues

Chinatown’s once-flagship Taiwanese restaurant continues its long, slow decline into mediocrity if its gua bao is any indication. The pork filling consisted entirely of a large, solid block of dull, unrendered pork fat. Even the peanut shavings and coriander were limp. Only the fluffy bun and the tart preserved vegetables made this cheeky piss-take of a dish edible.

Fat pig.

Average cost per bun: £3.50-4.50

Rating: ★★☆☆☆

Shoryu

I’m not a fan of Shoryu’s ramen, so I wasn’t expecting much from the hirata buns at the new Soho branch. The large buns were surprisingly well made – soft, light, slightly chewy and a little tangy. However, the dominant tastes of the fillings tended to be of a spicy bean paste-like sauce and kewpie mayonnaise.

I’m a big fan of spice and kewpie mayonnaise, but the flavours of both were too strong here and overpowered both the thin sliver of lean, moreish pork masquerading as pork belly and the lightly battered chunk of flaky salmon.

If you squint, you can just about see the pork.

Why does almost everything have to be battered and deep fried in some way?

Only the very lightly battered, but thankfully oil-free, chicken karaage and mediocre prawn tempura fillings were resistant to the charms of spice and umami-esque kewpie. This was due to their sheer size though and not any standout flavours or textures of their own.

It’s Japanese food pic’n'mix!

chicken karaage hirata bun at Shoryu

There are glimmers of some good hirata buns at Shoryu, but the fillings need to be rebalanced in favour of quality, flavour-packed meat rather than cheap sauces.

Average cost per bun: £4 (or £6 for a pair)

Rating: ★★★☆☆

Yum Bun

This market stall has settled down in a small takeaway premises next door to Rotary. If eating on the grim streets of Shoreditch is unappealing, there is a small counter inside, a bench outside and Rotary will let you eat your steamed buns at their tables. Yum Bun also continues to make occasional appearances at various street markets.

All this may sound a little inconvenient, but it’s worth putting up with. The buns are exceeding fluffy and soft, with the thick, taut, slippery and tangy mushroom filling complimented nicely by walnuts and hints of ginger.

mushroom gua bao from Yum Bun

The pork was a little too dry, but reasonably tender and pepped up by a mildly spicy bean paste and sriracha-based sauce.

I keep mistyping ‘Yum Bun’ as ‘Yum Bum’. Freudian slip?

The fried chicken filling was crispy and free from excess oil, if rather bitty. The meat’s moistness, the moreish batter and the lightly spiced mayo more than made up for this though.

chicken gua bao from Yum Bun

As good as the chicken and mushroom gua bao buns were, my favourite had to be the pollock special. The crispy, battered slices of flaky, salty pollock was complimented exceedingly well by the tart, lightly spicy and herby mayo. It was less like a standard mayonnaise and more like a well-crafted tartar sauce.

They tried to rename pollock as ‘colin’.

There were a couple of misses at Yum Bun, but the quality of the hits makes up for ‘em.

Average cost per bun: £3.50

Rating: ★★★★☆

The Winners

Flesh and Buns isn’t bad, but it can’t hold a candle to either of the two winners here. As with my recent round-up of American-style barbecue eateries, street food vendors continue to show how it’s really done. Yum Bun shows the way forward for gua bao fillings with a modern twist, while Bao London is the current champion of more traditional gua bao. I say ‘current’ as there’s room for improvement and I wouldn’t be surprised if gua bao/hirata buns eateries continue to flower across London.

An Edgware Road restaurant that isn’t Lebanese

Eating at Kurobuta has, if nothing else, confirmed that I’m slowly devolving into a cantankerous old fart. Kurobuta is a modern take on the izakaya, a Japanese food pub, situated on a residential street just off Edgware Road. Originally due to open last Autumn, it was so delayed that it opened a pop-up in Chelsea that, at the time of writing, is still running.

Kurobuta is informal, as befitting an izakaya, but its atmosphere has all the charm of a vuvuzela concert. If you’re seated at the communal tables, then be prepared for the high, backless stools which I found to be back-breakingly uncomfortable. If the management insists on using a nearly unreadable font for the menu, then turning up the lights would be a good idea – otherwise you’ll have to use your phone for light and squint.

All this wasn’t nearly as irritating as the braying Sloanie wannabes and Mayfair exiles who seemed to make up most of the clientèle on both of my visits. If you manage to avoid tripping over the wobbly cocktail sippers near the small bar, then brace yourself for the glass-shattering screech of their voices as they attempt to have conversations by yelling at ever louder volumes. Aural waterboarding has never been so stylish.

My intense dislike of Kurobuta’s atmosphere aside, I had severe doubts about the menu as it was devised by a chef who used to work at Wabi – an overpriced and deeply flawed Japanese restaurant that has now closed to the disappointment of no one. The idea here is that you order three or four dishes and share them.

First things first

My worst fears were confirmed by the tuna sashimi ‘pizza’. What meagre character the lean strips of fish had was drowned out by the zesty, mildly spicy dressing and the stodgy, crunchy double-stacked pastry triangles that formed the base of this ‘pizza’. Woeful.

Fish on doritos. I ate what was essentially fish on doritos with salsa. Save me.

Almost as bad was the squid karaage. The crunchy coating was actually fine – oil-free with a vaguely malty taste – but the limp sliver of flesh inside each morsel was barely identifiable as squid. The same zesty, mildly sauce that accompanied the sashimi pizza made an unwelcome repeat appearance.

Was the squid on holiday? Did it call in sick?

Kurobuta can clearly source good seafood when it wants too. The molluscs used in the scallop sashimi were big and thick with a fresh creaminess that was delightful. However, the kitchen insisted on smothering the big beauties in a tart, slightly sour, slightly spicy dressing, allegedly a kimchi butter, with coarse tobiko-like fish roe in it. Both elements work fine apart, but not together with the butter obscuring the taste of the scallops.

Buttered to death.

The gua bao, or Taiwanese buns, were one of the few good things at Wabi but even better versions of those little Formosan sandwiches are now available at various places across London. Kurobuta’s version was merely okay at best. The rice flour buns weren’t especially fluffy, but did have an odd but nonetheless pleasing maltiness to them. The pork filling was little more than an uninteresting ring of fat livened up by a fleeting hint of woodiness. This was momentarily enhanced by the very salty, nut-studded treacly sauce, but this soon passed as well. The most accomplished part of these so-so hirata buns was the sweet and sour taste of the gently, but expertly pickled cucumbers.

Street food done wrong.

One of the things that I hated most about Wabi were the overwrought, needlessly complicated desserts. A similarly fussy style is clearly evident at Kurobuta as well. An icy rhubarb ice cream had its tart, sweet taste enhanced by a rhubarb foam but another much more earthy foam and something that tasted a lot like marzipan clashed with both. Odd fluffy bits of cake were dotted about, but were too far and between to leave much of an impression. A pointless dessert – I want my wasted calories back.

Rhubarbed wire.

Going back for seconds

Despite a dreadful first meal at Kurobuta, I was willing to give the restaurant a second chance if only because Baron Greenback and I needed a centrally located place to plot our nefarious schemes for world domination. Both the odious toad and I enjoyed the expertly made pumpkin tempura – the sweet and creamy chunks of veg were coated in a light, crisp and oil-free batter which made the zesty, mildly spicy dipping sauce all the more unnecessary. A far better accompaniment were the shavings of pickled cucumber – their crisp sourness proved to be surprisingly complimentary to the tempura.

Pumpkin x2.

Sticking with another similarly simple, more traditional dish proved to be wise. The grilled chunks of aubergine glazed in miso were satisfying thanks to their soft texture, butteriness, zinginess and the occasional tang of miso.

Eggplant.

Baron Greenback doesn’t like mushrooms for some inexplicable reason. I was more than happy to devour all of them – the mixture of varyingly sweet, tender and light mushrooms was complimented surprisingly well by the occasional tang of melted gorgonzola although the pine nuts added little. As satisfying as this dish was, it felt incomplete as it’s essentially okonomiyaki toppings but without the okonomiyaki.

Cheese and mushrooms.

The bland taste of the slightly waxy textured duck confit was deeply unimpressive. I wasn’t sure what to make of the oddly treacly sauce that accompanied it. The tart pickles and refreshing watermelon chunks were good, but that couldn’t hide the disappointing nature of what could have been a decadent duck dish.

Duck deceit.

I could barely taste the tuna in the spicy tuna maki rolls, although to be fair this is common of more traditionally prepared tuna maki rolls. The twist here is that each roll was studded with crisp tempura flakes which proved to be surprisingly addictive. The combination of fluffy rice and crisp tempura flakes didn’t need the addition of sriracha-esque spicy sauce.

Maki it stop.

I couldn’t quite tell if the rice hot pot was properly seasoned with soy sauce and dashi, but it was reasonably moreish even though the meagre strips of mushrooms, zesty rinds and vaguely wasabi-flavoured tobiko added little. You do need a spoon to eat the loosely packed rice which isn’t very sticky, but getting one from the staff can be tricky. Although the waiters were all warm and friendly, they seemed to disappear for large stretches of time.

Pot luck hot pot.

Things unravelled with the arrival of Baron Greenback’s tea smoked lamb. Although the small cutlets did have a whiff of jasmine and woody smokiness, this subsided quickly leaving nothing but the oddly fibrous and disappointingly tough meat.

Black sheep.

Baron Greenback was unconvinced by his dessert, the pistachio chocolate forest. Although it wasn’t great, I still found it enjoyable enough – fluffy chunks of vaguely flavoured pistachio cake were complimented well by an earthy chocolate mousse and an icy sorbet.

Timber!

The Japanese carrot cake didn’t taste that different from a standard carrot cake, but the fluffy shreds of cake contrasted nicely with the crunchy biscuit crumbs and a sharp, zesty palate-cleansing sorbet.

Damned autofocus.

The Verdict

While my second meal at Kurobuta wasn’t as disastrous as the first, I still can’t recommend this restaurant. The incredibly hit and miss menu, the lack of any dishes that are both really outstanding and really inventive as well as the intensely irritating atmosphere are all made all the more unbearable by the unjustifiably high prices.

At £50-60 per head excluding alcohol, I’d much rather eat at the relatively nearby Dinings which, while more sedate and a little more formal, shows how expensive, inventive Japanese food should be done. For cheap and casual but more traditional Japanese fare, I’d rather have ramen at Tonkotsu or katsu curry at Ten Ten Tei. Anywhere but Kurobuta.

What to order: Pumpkin tempura

What to avoid: Tuna sashimi pizza, duck confit

Name: Kurobuta Marble Arch

Address: 17-20 Kendal Street, Marble Arch, London W2 2AW

Phone: 0203 475 4158

Web: http://kurobuta-london.com/marble-arch/

Opening Hours: seven days a week 09.00-22.30.

Reservations: essential

Average cost for one person including soft drinks: £50-60 approx.

Rating: ★★☆☆☆

Not all of London’s Japanese pork bone broth noodle soups are created equal

Londoners are experiencing a ramen revolution. This soothing noodle soup, once a hasty add-on buried in the extensive menus of some Japanese restaurants, now has several restaurants dedicated to it. Although there’s lot of joy to be had from shio and shoyu ramen, as well as other more inventive variations, my favourite is definitely tonkotsu.

Over the past three months I’ve endeavoured to taste every tonkotsu ramen served in the capital in an effort to find the one that soothes my ramen craving the most. I’ve covered some of the restaurants in this round-up before, but it’s time for a reassessment in light of the latest batch of ramen restaurants. Tonkotsu ramen is a bold, simple dish that’s difficult to do right. My personal criteria for a good tonkotsu ramen:

• The broth is made by cooking fat, collagen and pork bones in water for several hours (usually around 12, sometimes more) resulting in a broth that, at its best, is deliciously fatty, thick, creamy and warming.
• Just as crucial, for me at any rate, is the accompanying slices of roast pork which should be fatty and full of flavour. Although often called ‘cha siu’ pork after the Chinese barbecued pork, the slices of pork in ramen are usually simmered or braised as I understand it. Although I tend to prefer the flavour imparted by the fattiness of pork belly, pork loin, collar and other cuts can work just as well.
• The noodles should have a firm bite and filler such as bean sprouts should be kept to a minimum. Some get into a tizzy about whether noodles should be thick or thin, straight or curly but for me none of these are as important as a firm bite. The firmness is apparently due to the use of kansui, an alkaline water that gives the noodles both their yellow colour and bouncy firmness. Noodle that lack such bounciness are almost certainly made using eggs, rather than kansui, to give them their yellow hue.
• Any extras can’t be afterthoughts – eggs should be rich, salty and preferably runny, while roasted garlic or sesame sauces should be very punchy.
• In each individual review I’ve listed whether the restaurant offers kaedama – a system whereby if you have enough left over broth, the staff will top you up with extra noodles for a nominal charge. Although I rarely use kaedama and I thus don’t consider it a critical feature, for some it’s indispensable.

If I’ve missed out your favourite tonkotsu ramen restaurant, then let me know. And let’s keep the Comments civil and well-mannered.

On with the reviews!

Table of Contents

Bento Ramen
Bone Daddies
Cocoro
Dozo
Ippudo
Kanada-Ya
Shoryu
Tonkotsu

The Winners

Bento Ramen

Bento Ramen’s out-of-place Dim Sum was generally dreadful. Despite this I had cautiously high hopes for its tonkotsu ramen, but my hopes were quickly dashed by the thin and exceptionally bland soup – it might as well have been boiled water. The soft, limp noodles, forgettable egg and a light scattering of nori and spring onions did little to cheer me up. At least the slices of pork were reasonably fatty.

Bento Ramen tonkotsu ramen

Bento Ramen’s existence is clearly some kind of cosmic joke. If it can produce something actually worth eating, I’d honestly like to know what it is.

Kaedama: No

Star rating: ★☆☆☆☆

Bone Daddies

Bone Daddies isn’t quite as crowded as it was when it first opened, but it still pays to arrive earlier rather than later if you want a table. Fortunately, the broth is better than ever – it’s delightfully creamy and fatty. The noodles are a bit too soft for my liking, but the thin slices of pork have a hint of fruity sweetness while the bamboo shoots are relatively crisp and the eggs are reasonably rich and runny. A dash of nutty, salty sesame oil adds an extra layer of flavour.

Bone Daddies tonkotsu ramen

Bone Daddies’ tonkotsu ramen is definitely one of the best available in London.

Kaedama: No

Star rating: ★★★★★

Cocoro

Cocoro has two branches, one near the British Museum and another in Marylebone. They both serve plenty of other dishes besides ramen so I had reason for concern, even if the Marylebone branch does boast an official seal of approval from the Japanese government for culinary authenticity.

The noodles were forgettable and the soup was only mildly creamy and a touch on the watery side. The soup was pepped up the nutty, peppery garnish as well as the salty and tart pickled vegetables, but the vegetables almost outnumbered the pork. The latter was at least pleasingly fatty, while the egg was mildly salty.

Cocoro tonkotsu ramen

If you’re tempted to try some extras at lunch time, then the curry rice is a good pick and can be had as part of a lunch deal. The sweet and thick sauce ladled over glommy sticky rice tasted just right and was more warming and comforting than the tonkotsu ramen itself. The mochi ice creams were disappointing tough, with skins that were too hard and icy – a longer resting time out of the freezer may have helped. The matcha and sesame mochi were very mildly flavoured, leaving it to the citron version to pick up the slack with its sharp zestiness.

Cocoro mini curry rice

Cocoro mochi ice cream

Cocoro’s tonkotsu ramen isn’t too bad, but I expected far better from a restaurant that boasts so strongly of its authenticity. You can get better elsewhere.

Kaedama: Yes

Star rating: ★★★☆☆

Dozo

Located on Soho’s Old Compton Street, Dozo is an attractive place although you don’t sit at the tables cross-legged as appears to be the case at first glance. The tables actually have space underneath for dangling your legs which is probably for the best anyway, given the pungent state of most people’s feet. Although Dozo describes itself as a ‘fine dining’ restaurant, it’s nothing of the sort and is thoroughly middle of the market.

Sadly, the ‘House Tonkotsu’ was a grave disappointment. The broth tasted almost entirely of sesame oil, with none of the fatty unctuousness I was expecting. The slices of pork were very dry, but they did at least have a little woodiness to them. At least the wheaty noodles had a touch of firmness, while the bamboo shoots were tender.

Dozo tonkotsu ramen

Dozo seems to have trouble cooking up half-decent pork, as the side dish of pork belly wasn’t terribly good either. Its texture almost resembled chicken, while the fat was too hard and hadn’t been rendered enough. A side dish of unagi was a bitty, oily let-down. Considering that grilled eel is just as much a Japanese staple as tonkotsu ramen, this doesn’t bode well for the rest of the extensive menu.

grilled pork belly and eel at Dozo

Dozo’s tonkotsu ramen isn’t as bad as Bento Ramen’s, but that’s damning with very faint praise indeed. You’d have to be a very drunk theatre or club goer to even consider eating this bowl of meh.

Kaedama: No

Star rating: ★★☆☆☆

Ippudo

Like Din Tai Fung, Ippudo is one of the biggest restaurants chains you’ve never heard. It has ramen restaurants scattered across the world from its home in Japan to the Philippines, the US and beyond. As others have pointed out, the service at Ippudo can be too attentive. From the constant badgering of the staff (‘is everything OK with your food’?) to the excitable bellowing chorus of ‘irrashaimase’ (‘welcome’ in Japanese, I believe) from all of the staff members as you enter, it’s like being smothered by a lonely grandparent you can only be bothered to see twice a year.

This only makes the blandness of the standard Shiromaru Hakata Classic tonkotsu ramen all the more disappointing. The broth arrived almost boiling hot, but tasted very bland. At best, there was a very mild suggestion of sesame. The thin, single if large slice of pork loin was also unremarkable, but at least the noodles were firm and bouncy while the slices of wrinkly mushrooms were punchy and tangy with a fermented taste to them. An additional topping of boiled egg was suitably runny, but not especially rich.

Shiromaru Havana Classic tonkotsu ramen at Ippudo

The New York branch of Ippudo never did get back to me to confirm whether or not they came up with the name ‘hirata bun’. In any case the rebranded pork gua bao here are deeply underwhelming. The limp, flat, anonymous bun was filled with a thin, forgettable slice of pork and a scab of lettuce for no apparent reason. It pales in comparison to London’s best gua bao.

opened pork hirata bun at Ippudo

Ippudo’s matcha ‘gelato’ is no match for the best Italian-style ice cream. It’s far too icy, but the green tea taste is at least reasonably strong. You can have it as part of the Matcha Masca dessert where it’s topped with a big disc of mascarpone cheese. The creaminess of the mascarpone tends to overwhelm the ice cream though, while the promised sweet potato was nowhere to be found. The drizzling of honey and crushed nut pieces as well as the uninteresting toppings of apricot and strawberry pieces added little to this unbalanced dessert.

matcha ice cream and mascarpone dessert at Ippudo

There’s little to separate the Shiromaru Hakata Classic from the Akamaru Modern. Although billed as ‘a bolder translation’, the broth tasted nearly identical in both cases. The addition of roasted garlic oil added little and the glob of ‘secret’ umami paste only enhanced the already-subtle umaminess of the broth very mildly. The slice of pork belly was a little woodier and fattier than the loin used in the Shiromaru though, while the noodles were as firm as ever.

Akamaru Modern tonkotsu ramen at Ippudo

Akamaru Modern tonkotsu ramen noodles at Ippudo

Much like the pork hirata buns, the chicken-filled version was unexceptional. The same flat, limp rice flour buns were filled with a crispy tonkatsu-style fillet of meaty, solid chicken. It had a very mild spicy and sour flavour that passed quickly. The light smearing of kewpie mayo added little, and the continued presence of the lettuce leaf must be some kind of in-joke that I’m not privy to.

chicken hirata bun at Ippudo

The Fruit Anmitsu is more of a digestif than a dessert. The small portion of fruit was forgettable, while the glob of sweet, nutty but chunky and mildly gelatinous red bean paste won’t be to everyone’s taste. The whole thing was served in a bath of fizzy lemonade, the same ramune soft drink available at Kanada-Ya, but this only served to emphasise the transient and unsatisfying nature of this meagre dessert.

Fruit Anmitsu with ramune at Ippudo

Ippudo’s tonkotsu ramen was very average, which is especially disappointing given Ippudo’s vaunted reputation abroad. Combined with the oppressive service and atmosphere, there’s little reason to visit this chain unless you can get in at the far better Kanada-Ya across the road.

Kaedama: Yes

Star rating: ★★★☆☆

Kanada-Ya

Kanada-Ya might sound like an affirmative action program for Canadians, but it’s actually a small ramen-ya just across the road from the glitzier Ippudo. The tonkotsu ramen is available with either pork belly or pork collar (the latter is marked on the menu as cha su men). Another unexpected, but welcome bit of flexibility is that you have a choice in the firmness of the noodles.

In all cases the broth was creamy and rich with an umami punch. It’s not quite as rich and fatty as Bone Daddies’, but it’s not too far off. The thin slices of pork belly were fatty with a musky sweetness that was very addictive while the slithers of fungus were taut and slippery. The noodles’ default level of firmness was nothing to write home about though.

Kanada-Ya original tonkotsu ramen

Kanada-Ya original tonkotsu ramen with standard noodles

The ‘Hard’ level of firmness had a noticeably firmer bite, but it still wasn’t as bouncy as the standard noodles from some of the other restaurants here. The pork collar served in the cha su men is sliced very finely, so much so that it breaks apart easily in the broth, yet doesn’t taste noticeably different from the belly.

Kanada-Ya chasiu men tonkotsu ramen with hard noodles

The ‘Extra Hard’ level of noodle firmness was among the bounciest in this group test, although Tonkotsu’s noodles still had the edge. Various extra toppings are available, with the egg so popular that it was sold out every time I tried to order it. The black garlic sauce was a little more muted that I expected, but it’s still worth ordering due to its nutty, oily moreishness. There was some variation in the creaminess and umaminess of the broth across all three of my visits, but even at its worst Kanada-Ya was still leagues ahead of the worst restaurants in this round-up.

original tonkotsu ramen at Kanada-Ya

original tonkotsu ramen at Kanada-Ya with extra hard noodles

Kanada-Ya serves onigiri, a relatively uncommon dish in London.  The soft, fluffy rice balls served on a nori wrapper won’t be to everyone’s taste though, which probably explains its comparative rarity in London. The original is very salty, while the ume has a very sharp and sour plum filling. The crowd pleaser will probably be the salmon version which uses a meaty chunk of steamed fish, but I loved all three.

onigiri at Kanada-Ya

It’s also worth mentioning the weird Japanese fizzy lemonade served in a bottle that has a marble ‘cap’ when ends up in the neck after removal, thereby blocking the flow of the drink unless you’re adept with your swigs. The drink’s cream soda-like taste isn’t compelling enough to make me put up with the deliberately obstructive bottle design.

Neck it.

Kanada-Ya’s tonkotsu ramen is top-notch and it’s definitely worth choosing the Extra Hard noodles, so it’s a shame that the service is so painfully slow and inattentive. Although this did improve some what over my visits, I would still consider intensive remedial lessons for all of the front of house staff. So close, yet so far.

Kaedama: Yes

Star rating: ★★★★☆

Shoryu

Ah, Shoryu. My review of the original St James’/Lower Regent Street branch generated a surprisingly large number of racist comments all of which never made it past moderation and ended up in the bin. They were all especially hilarious and risible as I’m anonymous; needless to say any similar nonsense on this article will never see the light of day.

The standard Ganso Tonkotsu is much like the version that I disliked so much back then. The broth didn’t have any fatty, rich meaty creaminess, but instead had an incredibly overpowering umaminess. It’s so intensely thirst-inducing, that I strongly suspect it’s due to either an industrial helping of MSG or a weapons-grade dashi that needs to be immediately confiscated by Hans Blix.

The noodles were very firm though and complimented nicely by the strong tartness of the pickled ginger and the chewy fried shallots. The pork was a little too dry, but it was at least lightly fatty with a hint of woodiness.

Ganso tonkotsu ramen at Shoryu

Confusingly, Shoryu does have another, far better, Kotteri Hakata tonkotsu with a creamier, more unctuous broth. The noodles and pork were different from their Ganso counterparts though. The moderately thicker and fattier slices of pork were far more moist. The noodles were more wheaty at the expense of firmness, but they were still among the bounciest here. The egg and bamboo shoots were merely so-so, but the pickled ginger was just as punchy as before.

Kotteri Hakata tonkotsu ramen at Shoryu

Hilariously, Shoryu has added a new hirata bun to its menu – this one filled with wagyu beef. It was hard to appreciate the marbling of this so-called wagyu from its meagre thinness. While the beef was tender and mildly creamy, the mayo tended to overwhelm this. The accompanying mushrooms were forgettable, while the flat, limp rice flour buns were noticeably less fluffy than before.

wagyu beef hirata bun at Shoryu

The barbecue pork belly hirata buns were even less impressive. The same rice flour buns were filled with a thin, lean, small slice of pork that was totally dependent on the overly sweet sauce for flavour. There was some mayo and cucumbers to counteract it, but you’d have to pay me to eat this again.

pork belly hirata bun at Shoryu

Shoryu’s new ‘fattier’ tonkotsu is genuinely impressive, so it’s a shame many will bypass it in favour of the far inferior Ganso version on the increasingly cluttered menu instead. While it’s tempting to knock Shoryu for this, as well as its increasingly shoddy hirata buns, credit where credit is due.

Kaedama: Yes

Star rating: ★★★★☆

Tonkotsu

Tonkotsu was my favourite tonkotsu ramen restaurant once, but I’m sorry to say that reports of its decline are true. While the broth is still reasonably rich and milky, it was nowhere near as fatty and creamy as it used to be. The firm, bouncy noodles were still a joy though, as were the rich, salty egg, the tender bamboo shoots and the nutty squirt of sesame oil. The thin slices of pork were reasonably fatty, but they’re not a patch on the pork from Kanada-Ya or Bone Daddies.

tonkotsu ramen at Tonkotsu Soho

Tonkotsu’s eponymous dish is still one of the better ones available in the capital, but it’s no longer the best. How far the mighty have fallen.

Kaedama: Yes

Star rating: ★★★☆☆

 

The Winners

The outcome of this group test was nothing if not surprising. Previous high-flier Tonkotsu has slipped behind dramatically, while vaunted newcomer Ippudo failed to impress. Meanwhile, Shoryu has improved significantly although it insists on hiding its best version of tonkotsu ramen in an increasingly bloated and hard to navigate menu.

If you want the best tonkotsu ramen, then there are only two restaurants in London worth going to: Bone Daddies and Kanada-Ya. Purists will almost certainly argue that the more traditional Kanada-Ya deserves to be the sole winner, but Bone Daddies’ fattier, more unctuous broth is just too addictive to overlook despite its weaker noodles. Both are great, but Kanada-Ya just misses out on an unconditional Five Star rating due to its patience-sapping, face-slappingly slow service.

I suspect that many more ramen restaurants will open in London, but if even a few of them serve tonkotsu then I will be surprised. Regardless, I’ll be keeping an eagle eye out for both the best and the worst.

Chancery Lane vs New Malden

Update 22/2/2015 – added extra comment about the weird booze at Jin Go Gae

Every restaurant needs a hook (or, if you’re uncharitable, a gimmick) to stand out in London’s dizzying eating out market. Kintan claims to be the first Japanese barbecue (‘yakiniku-style’) restaurant in the capital. While technically true, as far as I can tell, that’s not quite the whole truth. Japanese barbecue is very closely related to its forebear, Korean barbecue, and there are plenty of Korean barbecue restaurants in London.

To adequately review Kintan, I therefore felt compelled to also try out the Korean competition in the form of Jin Go Gae. Although located in the wilds of New Malden, London’s traditional Korean enclave and far from Kintan’s convenient Chancery Lane location, it’s highly regarded. While the central grilled meat dishes were broadly similar, many of the ancillary dishes were quite different. The surroundings were different too – Kintan’s two-floor dining space is a lot larger and more lavishly decorated than Jin Go Gae’s small, L-shaped dining room.

Although a tad slow and inattentive at times, Jin Go Gae’s staff were still sprightlier than Kintan’s waiters. On the second of my two visits to Chancery Lane, service was infuriatingly slow. Merely getting the menu took a finger-drumming 15 minutes. Both teams were a little brusque.

Finger drumming.

Get down.

Despite all the barbecuing going on, there’s no need to worry about smoke inhalation at either restaurant – clever ventilation systems are built into the grills. The grills themselves are embedded into every table. At Kintan you cook the meat yourself over what appears to be an electric grill. Jin Go Gae uses a charcoal-powered table grill instead, with the meat-flipping handled by the waiting staff.

Kintan

The tuna tartar volcano was not what I expected at all. Clumpy, slightly stodgy rice balls were topped with what was effectively tuna mayo sandwich filler pepped up with some crisp spring onions. This sort of thing would’ve been acceptable as a sandwich alternative from the chiller cabinets at Itsu, but not for £7 in a sit-down restaurant.

The Treasure Island volcano in Vegas is less fake than this.

The hot-oil seared salmon was better. Thin yet meaty, the fish was lightly cooked and complimented well by a dressing of nutty oil.

‘Your server today was Miffy.’ Wait, what? Really?

Garlic-fried udon-style noodles were indeed suitably garlicky, although I couldn’t tell if the bitty flecks dotted throughout were pork, seitan or a mixture of the two.

Udon good today, son.

Cooking your own meat in a restaurant not only feels slightly ghetto, but also slightly cheeky at these prices. Still, it has a certain charm if you’re out on a raucous night out with your mates. The barbecued meat turned out surprisingly well, in spite of the electric grill. The thinly sliced skirt steak was tender and mildly buttery, due in part to the streaks of marbled fat. The slices of ‘premium’ kalbi beef short rib was also a winner. While also tender, it was the glaze that stole the show here – fruity sweet and mildly nutty.

‘Oh, hey, nerdiest old dude I know, you wanna come cook crystal?’

Up the skirt shot.

No one was able to tell me what was so ‘premium’ about this beef. Perhaps it wasn’t ignored and neglected before being slaughtered.

‘This ain’t chemistry – this is art.’

As expected the vegetable selection is substantially smaller than the carnivorous options. The mushroom medley consisted of some enoki and shiitake, but the majority of it was bog standard filler ‘shrooms. The sharp, acidic taste won’t suit everyone, but I found it enjoyable in small doses.

There’s not mushroom inside that foil wrapper.

There was little to like about the mochi ice creams. The sesame, green tea and salted caramel flavours were barely present while the skins were too soft and thin.

‘Do… or do not. There is no try.’

‘It is green’.

Salt on the tarmac.

Kintan, one last time

Kintan’s chicken karaage was insultingly bad. Four small nuggets of mushy, overly tendersied chicken coated in thin, soft, inconsequential batter. Just plain dreadful.

Coat it in sweet and sour sauce and you can sell it to drunks for a fiver.

If the portion of chicken karaage was meagre, the bowl of ‘spicy addicting’ cabbage was overflowing with the cheap vegetable filler. The very mild spice and nutty flavour of the dressing wasn’t bad, but it was very transient and far from addictive.

Addictive? I struggled to stay awake.

The ‘sukiyaki bibimbap’ was curiously named as the soup that helps define sukiyaki was entirely missing here. It was instead much closer to a straight-up Korean-style bibimbap – rice and egg stirred together in a hot stone bowl along with meagre strips of tender, thinly sliced beef. The only thing that saved this bland and uninspiring dish was the moderately spicy fermented soy bean sauce served on the side.

Not a sukiyaki.

Barely a bibmibap. Where are the vegetables?

Thankfully, the barbecued meats saved this second meal from utter mediocrity. The portion of king prawns (just three) may have been small, but each crustacean was perfectly formed – firm, fresh and juicy. The ‘spicy’ pork kalbi wasn’t spicy at all and the fruity nuttiness of its glaze greatly resembled the glaze of the beef kalbi from my first meal. In fact, the two were so dependent on the glaze for taste that I suspected a mix-up with my order at first.

These tigers have definitely not lost their stripes.

Whoa. Deja vu.

The Kintan ice cream apparently partners vanilla ice cream with brown sugar syrup and soybean flour, but the resulting flavours greatly resembles caramel and honey respectively. That was all fine and dandy, if somewhat disappointing given the richer depth of flavour I was expecting, but the crunchy ice crystals and bland taste of the ice cream itself was just plain dismal.

Sundae.

Jin Go Gae

While I dined at Kintan by myself, I had the help of Happy Buddha, Veal Smasher and The Lensman when eating at Jin Go Gae. All three greatly enjoy their drink and aren’t afraid to try the odd Korean tipple or two. Happy Buddha found the Makgeolli, a rice-based drink, quite malty while The Lensman likened it to a sake, but less sweet. Veal Smasher chuckled as he downed it, describing it as a fizzy alcoholic skimmed milk. Veal Smasher was both perplexed and greatly amused by the bok-boonja, described on the menu as a blackcurrant wine, that apparently started off like a boozy Ribena before ending on a tart note tasting like malt vinegar (there is some debate amongst my dining companions whether it was the bok-boonja they imbibed or the hong cho, a vinegar drink, mixed with shochu – as there is some alcohol-induced uncertainty, I’ve left the original sentence in place – TPG, 22/2/2015).

Poured from a teapot for some reason.

If you don’t fancy a weird cross between Ribena and malt vinegar, a very small selection of Korean and Japanese beers are available.

All three of my dining companions left the ordering in my hands. We started off with the yuk whe, a Korean steak tartare that’s served here partially frozen. This helped emphasise the fattiness of the thin, tender strips of beef but the crisp iciness won’t be to everyone’s taste. I’d also have preferred the julienned pear to have been crisper and sweeter.

Kingdom of Isolation.

No Korean meal is complete without kimchi and Jin Go Gae’s cut cabbage and daikon radish versions are the best I’ve had in London – relentlessly tart, spicy, sour and salty. Perfect.

Not all kimchi are created equal.

Heretically, Happy Buddha doesn’t care for dumplings. This just left more for the rest of us to devour though – the beef dumplings here are especially good. The skins are crisp on one side while soft and supple on the other, while a thin underlayer immediately beneath the surface was surprisingly fluffy. The minced beef filling was peppery and suitably meaty. Very satisfying indeed.

How can you not like dumplings?

Happy Buddha was much more enamoured with the par jeon. This savoury pancake, sliced into pieces easily graspable with your chopsticks, was soft and fluffy yet just stiff enough not to be floppy. Free from excess oil, it was stuffed full of firm squid and crisp spring onions. Splendid.

No mung bean pancakes available, sadly.

In my haste, I ordered the Kan Poon-gi without properly reading the item description. It’s bog-standard sweet and sour chicken with the same day-glo colour and sickly sweetness that I’ve come to despise, but here I have no one to blame but myself.

My bad.

The highlight was of course the barbecued meats. The king prawns were fresh and firm. We weren’t expecting much from the beef tongue, but the surprisingly dense heartiness of the thinly sliced tongue was very satisfying. Even better was the Kalbi beef short rib – tender, mildly fatty with a hint of nutty marinade and a subtly elastic, yielding bite that was a real pleasure to tear apart with my teeth.

Don’t worry, they do change the grill plates as necessary.

If you don’t pay attention, Kevin Spacey will be scattering these over Mena Suvari at the drop of a hat.

Tongue action.

Purple haze.

Galbi? Kalbi? I don’t know.

The only disappointment was the thin slices of pork belly – bland and over cooked to the point of slightly burnt crispiness.

No, it doesn’t smell like bacon.

The spicy seafood noodle soup didn’t contain much in the way of actual seafood with only some scabs of squid, a few mussels and some clams floating around in the soup. The thin, very mildly spicy broth was extremely evocative of the seaside though with its salty moreishness, while the thin udon-style noodles were pleasing enough.

Spice up your life.

The bulgogi bibimbap was a disappointment. The forgettable selection of vegetables and meagre, bland scraps of beef were poor companions for the rice. Jinjuu’s version was far better.

No raw egg? Boo.

You can mix it up yourself if you like.

Although my dining companions loved the duck bulgogi, I struggled to muster much enthusiasm. The unremarkable meat and tame sauce, which was only mildly tart and tangy, left me cold.

Crowd pleaser, brow creaser.

The Winner

Despite its inconsistent service and some decidedly iffy non-barbecue dishes, Kintan is by no means bad. Its barbecued meats are of a generally good quality, but Jin Go Gae is simply streets ahead with far superior meats and, aside from the odd duffer, quality accompaniment dishes too. It’s generally cheaper too. It’s well worth the journey out to south west London – I’d choose New Malden over Chancery Lane any day of the week and twice on Sundays.

Name: Jin Go Gae

What to order: Kimchi; Par jeon; Dumplings; Kalbi beef short rib; Beef tongue

What to skip: Pork belly; Duck bulogogi

Address: 270-272 Burlington Road, New Malden, London KT3 4NL

Phone: 020 8949 2506

Web: http://jingogae.co.uk/

Opening Hours: Monday-Friday noon-15.00 and 17.30-23.00. Saturday noon-23.00. Sunday 17.00-23.00.

Reservations: essential

Average cost for one person including drinks: £40-50 approx. 

Rating: ★★★★☆

Name: Kintan

What to order: Skirt steak; garlic fried noodles; premium Kalbi beef short rib

What to skip: Chicken karaage; sukiyaki bibmibap

Address: 34 – 36 High Holborn, London WC1V 6AE

Phone: 020 7242 8076 

Web: http://kintan.uk/

Opening Hours: Monday-Friday noon-15.00 and 17.00-23.00. Saturday noon-23.00. Sunday noon-22.00.

Reservations: highly recommended; essential for large groups and on or around weekends

Average cost for one person including soft drinks: £50-65 approx. 

Rating: ★★★☆☆

Showing Ippudo and Shoryu how it’s done

I’ve always considered ramen to be a cold-weather dish, as it’s so hearty and warming, so it was therefore a surprise to discover ramen restaurant Muga opening during the height of balmy June. This minimalist restaurant is spread over two floors in an unassuming premises on Panton Street and was surprisingly uncrowded across both of my visits. This is both good and bad – good in that I can get a seat without any hassle, bad in that Muga clearly isn’t getting the attention it deserves. And it deserves its fair share.

Counter seating upstairs, tables downstairs.

Although shio, shoyu and miso ramen are available on the menu, my first and only ramen love is tonkotsu. Although Muga’s version isn’t quite as superlative as the versions available from Kanada-Ya and Bone Daddies, it still ranks among the best in London. The broth was pleasingly creamy and not too overpowering. A few choice dabs of sesame seed oil and punchy pickled ginger went a long way, also helping to make up for the rather drab fungus and soft boiled egg. Although small in size, the thin slices of pork were delightfully earthy, moist, woody and fatty. The noodles are available in thick and thin varieties, although this made little discernible difference to their reasonably springy texture.

Through thick…

…and thin.

The only ramen that uses a soup stock not based in some way on animal flesh is the vegetarian Yasai ramen. Wicket, who has recently become a vegetarian, was pleased with the peppery, umami broth. I found it a little generic, but it’s more than acceptable for meat dodgers. The mass of carrots, cabbage, bean sprouts and bamboo shoot slices, while unimaginative, gets the job done. The same reasonably firm and thick noodles available with the tonkotsu ramen make a repeat appearance here.

Oddly, Muga’s website address references the name of its limited holding company. Weird.

Muga’s selection of non-ramen dishes is larger than what you’d get at, say, Kanada-Ya, but still less voluminous than the smorgasbord at Shoryu. Lightly spicy and wrinkly Padron peppers grilled and dressed in crunchy salt are competently done, if a tad dull. Far more interesting are the takoyaki – light, soft doughy balls with a firm octopus tentacle nestled at the centre. The doughy balls are a tad too oily, but it’s not too noticeable – especially when you’re distracted by the topping of quivering bonito flakes with its umami punch.

Partially devoured.

Another oddity of Muga’s online presence – its tweets are private at the time of writing.

Balls to the wall.

Chicken sandwiched between two slices of lotus root and deep-fried was something of an oddity. The normally distinctive flavour of lotus root was absent here, but at least the lightly battered root slices were crunchy and not excessively oily. The chicken seemed very out of place too.

This is my chicken sandwich and coffee?

If you have a hankering for chook then you’re far better off with the chicken karaage. The lightly crisp coating gave way to reveal unctuous chunks of meat flecked with ginger. No reconstituted mush here.

Batter up.

The agedashi tofu arrived with some its bonito flake topping oddly subsumed into the small pool of soy ginger sauce rather than sitting gracefully atop the tofu cubes. Still, this did make for an especially moreish sauce that went well with the soft quivering tofu cubes and their slightly chewy batter skins.

Cubism.

The bean paste filling inside the soft fluffy dorayaki was disappointingly bland. I’ve had store-bought dorayaki in a packet with more character. A more interesting, if still flawed dessert was the mochi ice cream. The thin, slightly chewy rice-based skins were wrapped around bone-chillingly cold but ultimately quite tasteless vanilla ice cream. This dessert was saved from mediocrity by the nutty dusting of soybean powder and a treacly sweet molasses-based syrup which combined together to provide a surprising depth of flavour that puts many more expensive desserts elsewhere in the shade.

Just one?

Lick my icy balls.

The Verdict

Muga’s tonkotsu ramen doesn’t quite match London’s very best, but it’s still far better than versions of the same dish from other, bigger name noodle restaurants and I’d happily scoff it any day of the week and twice on Sundays. Not all of the non-ramen dishes are unqualified successes, but the hits outweigh the misses. Muga deserves to be far more popular than it actually is and if this is the standard of tonkotsu ramen that London can expect once the trend-chasing, bandwagon-jumpers have moved on, then I’ll be very happy indeed.

What to order: Tonkotsu ramen; takoyaki; chicken karaage

What to skip: Dorayaki; lotus root chicken

Name: Muga

Address: 5 Panton Street, London SW1Y 4DL

Phone: 020 7930 5088

Web: http://bloom-dining-london.com

Opening Hours: Monday-Saturday noon – 14.30 and 18.00 – 22.00

Reservations: not taken

Average cost for one person including soft drinks and service: £30 approx. (you’ll pay a little less if you’re not as bonkers with the side dishes as I was) 

Rating: ★★★★☆

Masterminded by a MasterChef

Disclosure: upon asking for the bill, my fourth meal here was given free of charge by the management in light of my repeated custom. This was not asked for and was accepted out of politeness. 

There’s no shortage of casual Japanese restaurants in London, but Nanban is different. Although headed up by 2011 MasterChef winner Tim Anderson (no, I don’t watch the show), Nanban doesn’t just depend on name recognition of its celebrity chef. Originally slated to open in Shoreditch years ago, Nanban is now on Brixton’s Coldharbour Lane and has thus adopted some West Indian influences into its menu which makes for Japanese food that’s quite unlike anything you’re likely to have had before.

The upstairs is dominated by several booths inside converted wheeled carts. Not sure what that’s all about – old wheeled yatai perhaps?

First things first

The exemplar of this hybrid approach has to be the curry goat tsukemen. This is a traditional form of ramen, but with the soup served separately from the noodle and used as a dipping sauce. The thin, firm and wrinky noodles were top-notch and can hold their own against those from any ramen restaurant in the city.  What’s decidedly untraditional is the curry goat used for dipping – earthy, unctuous and dotted with dense morsels of ginger-flecked meat. It’s a stunning combination made even better by the unexpectedly fiery bamboo shoots and the ‘seafood sawdust’ grated over the noodles. The latter was part bonito flakes and part crustacean-based crack – an umami bomb that, at the risk of overloading the dish, I could happily have had more of.

Big dipper.

Roti? Where we’re going, we don’t need roti.

Far less successful were the ackee and saltfish korroke. They were essentially fishcakes with occasional hints of salty whitefish and fleshy ackee drowned out by starchy potato filler. At least the breadcrumb exterior wasn’t too greasy.

Fishcake.

Better, but still unbalanced, was the Electric Eel. The dense, smoky, meaty slivers of eel were utterly delightful and didn’t need the overwhelmingly crisp, sweet and sharp toppings of onions, peppers and a ginger-vinegar sauce. It’d be best to just scrape them off and eat them separately.

Out in the night.

Scrape the **** off the top.

Nanban’s kitchen doesn’t appear to have settled on a permanent dessert menu at the time of writing, experimenting with dishes such as ice cream mochi. The balls of ice at the centre of the mochi ice creams were too frigidly cold, but the punchy and distinct flavours of yuzu and coconut were enjoyable. The elastic rice flour skins were perhaps a little too giving and needed a little more resistance, but were still good enough.

When in doubt, wheel out the mochi ice cream.

Going back for seconds

Although not advertised as a tonkotsu ramen, the broth of the Kumamoto Ramen is described as similarly ‘rich pork’ in nature. Sadly, the cloudy broth was far too dependent on nutty sesame oil for flavour. It was far from a lost cause though – the thin, wrinkly, eggy, wheaty noodles were reasonably firm and a delight to slurp down with the punchy mustard greens and the rich and runny egg. Although the slices of pork weren’t quite as good those available at dedicated ramen restaurants such as Muga, they were still pleasingly fatty and unctous, while the roasted garlic sauce and garlic flakes added a kick of smokiness and a crunchy bite.

Your future is cloudy.

I’m a big fan of tripe from its coarse texture to the way it absorbs the flavours of whatever it’s cooked in. This makes Nanban’s Horumon Yaki all the more disappointing. Smooth and served with a tame mix of stir fried cabbage and bean spouts, it resembled a slightly gussied-up take-away stir-fry. The only point of interest was the mandarin-esque flavour to the slices of pickled radish on top.

This is tripe.

While firm, meaty and slightly vinegary, the mackerel was lacking the zingy punch I usually associate with that fish. It was livened up immensely though by the the moreish miso and sesame dressing as well as by the crisp daikon, vinegary carrots, fiery pickled ginger and sweet cucumbers.

Multi-coloured mackerel.

Meaty threesome

I’ve often said that I’m not bothered by fried chicken, but chicken karaage is a mild exception to that rule. Tonkotsu does the best chicken karaage I’ve had in London, or at least it does sometimes given its highly variable quality output in this matter. Nanban’s version was free from excess oil with a thin batter that was soft, pliant and dotted with vague hints of ginger. The chunks of meat underneath were moist and meaty. It doesn’t quite measure up to Tonkotsu’s best, but it’s not far off.

Don’t take orders from the little Colonel.

Spaghetti in chilli-cured cod roe sauce with Parmesan, pancetta and black pepper sounds suspiciously Italian. It’s not as incongruous as it sounds given the long-standing culinary exchange between Italy and Japan, plus there was the addition of an onsen egg and seaweed too. There were no surprises with the spaghetti, but the cod roe sauce was muted both in its spiciness and in its fishiness. The sauce wasn’t a complete dud, adding some moreishness to the dish which was boosted by the grated seaweed. The crispy pancetta was fine, if a little generic – perhaps jowl-based guanciale would’ve been a better choice.  The parmesan was surprisingly muted too – lightly creamy, but lacking in depth of character. While the egg was rich and runny, it couldn’t quite save this dish from mediocrity.

I almost mentioned the war, but I think I got away with it.

Gyoza are common fare in many Japanese restaurants – deep-fried gyoza much less so. Lightly crisp and unoily, the golden shells contained a mildly creamy filling fleetingly evocative of brown crab meat. My shoulders barely registered a shrug as I ate them.

Escaped canapes.

May the fourth be with you

A grapefruit and chilli salad sounds daft, but it really works. First sour and tart, then startlingly spicy.

The only other thing you’d need is a glass of milk or lassi.

To classify the Miyazaki ramen merely as a chicken and shoyu (i.e. soy sauce-based broth) noodle soup would do it a grave disservice. Firm, wrinkly noodles and a rich runny egg were joined by a moist, meaty, intensely satisfying chicken thigh. The whole lot was served in a lip-smackingly meaty, lightly salty broth. It’s more than the sum of its parts – it’s as if the kitchen has managed to mash up Jewish chicken soup, Cantonese soya chicken and a shoyu ramen into one glorious dish.

Not Ponyo ramen, but still damn good.

Five get lashings of ginger beer

Accompanying me on my last visit to Nanban were The Lensman and Foul-Mouthed Teacher. The latter greatly enjoyed the Miyazaki ramen, which was just as good before, and shared my low opinion of the deep-fried gyoza and the tame ackee korokke.

The Lensman and I shared the Japanese vegetable curry. Although the somewhat congealed sauce looked as if it’d been left in the oven a bit too long, it tasted pretty standard – a chip shop curry sauce of moderate thickness and sweetness. The odd addition of cheese and the random selection veg was neither here nor there, but at least the egg was as good as ever.

Imagine how many eggs they must get through at this place.

I specifically wanted The Lensman’s opinion on the chanpon, a Nagasaki noodle soup dish that he’s very fond of but is very rarely found in the UK. Nanban’s version started off right with milky, lightly wrinkly noodles. It soon dawdled into disappointment though with its pork-chicken-seafood broth turning out generically moreish. The ragbag selection of squid, prawns and cabbage were fine, if not especially memorable, leaving it to the egg to pick up the slack once again. To paraphrase The Lensman, it’s a decent stab in the direction of a quality chanpon – but it’s not there yet. Not even close.

Chanpon, champon.

Tuber traditionalists who insist that their root vegetables be savoury and nothing else will want to avoid the baked sweet potato. While not excessively sweet, the sprinkling of yuzu added a sharp citrusy hit which I liked. It will doubtless anger the potatotalitarians though.

Taters not for tots.

A smooth, very firm plum jelly formed the core of the only dessert available on our visit. Its faint flavour and odd texture weren’t crowd pleasers – you’ll have a better time of it if you’re used to traditional mochi fillings or Chinese jellies to which it was somewhat similar. The pickled plums hanging jauntily off the side weren’t that different from the fresh variety, while the wispy white peach cream was mildly flavoursome at best. Ho hum.

There’s some odd Japanese phrasing on the menu according to The Lensman. ‘Chūhai’, a sort of shochu shandy, is used to denote the soft drinks instead.

The Verdict

If everything on Nanban’s menu had been as rollicking as the curry goat tsukemen or the Miyazaki ramen, then it would romp home with at least a Four Star rating and an unconditional recommendation. As it is though, the menu is far too uneven with too many duds and unbalanced, so-so dishes which is disappointing given Nanban’s long gestation. This is a real shame as the idea of mashing up Japanese food with West Indian ingredients and more besides is a sound one (with plenty of antecedents in what we now consider ‘traditional’ Japanese food). Still, this shouldn’t stop you from scuttling down there right now and feasting on curry goat ramen. I have great hopes for Nanban’s potential.

What to order: Curry goat tsukemen; Miyazaki ramen; Grapefruit salad; Eel

What to skip: Tripe; Saltfish and ackee korokke; Deep-fried gyoza

Name: Nanban

Address: 426 Coldharbour Lane, Brixton, London SW9 8LF

Phone: 020 7346 0098

Web: http://www.nanban.co.uk

Opening Hours: weekdays noon-15.00 and 18.00-23.00; weekends noon-23.00.

Reservations: highly recommended on or around weekends

Average cost for one person including soft drinks and service charge: £35 approx. 

Rating: ★★★☆☆

Skewered in east London

If you believe some of the more breathless reviews of Jirdori, then this Dalston restaurant is the first to serve yakitori in the capital. This, of course, is definitely not true. These grilled Japanese skewers can be found on the do-it-all menus of catch-all Japanese restaurants across the city, although there it’s often done poorly or, at best, in a mediocre fashion. Dedicated yakitori restaurants are a much rarer breed. A nameless and now closed downstairs dive restaurant on Goodge Street served up some of the best I’ve had in London, while the now defunct Woodstock just off Oxford Street had potential before going off the rails.

Jidori is located inside a former bridal wear store, but you wouldn’t know it from the stripped back, minimalist décor. Service was, for the most part, friendly and efficient although a little more polish would go a long way. If you’re going to close early on a slow evening, for example, then broadcasting that information via social media is not only the polite thing to do but a bloody necessity. Not everyone who loves yakitori lives and/or works in Dalston and few things piss me off more than an (almost) wasted journey.

First things first

There are plenty of non-yakitori dishes on Jidori’s small menu to keep you occupied while your skewers are freshly grilled to order. The fried chicken was free from excess oil and grease, but the soft, characterless batter and meagre meat underneath were unimpressive.

Fried chicken. Well, it fits with the grimy Dalston streets I suppose.

I’ve never been hugely fussed about udon (I’m more of a ramen and soba fan), but the thick wheat flour noodles here were splendidly soft and giving, finishing off with just the right amount of chewiness. The thin yet moreish broth and quivering, rich, just-cooked egg were worthy accompaniments.

Nudo.

The chicken broth with tofu doesn’t sound especially interesting on paper, especially if you have an irrational dislike of tofu. It’s definitely worth having though – the clear broth had a mint-like flavour courtesy of the shiso leaf but finishes with a clean aftertaste. The quivering, delicate tofu kept my palate clear for the meatiness to come.

Chicken soup.

You can, on occasion, face a long wait for the skewers when the grill is backed up with orders. Once they land on your table though, you can feel the heat and sizzle of the grill emanating from the meat. Not all yakitori are created equal however. The tender meat and taut skin of the chicken wings was enhanced with a light moreishness and a squirt of lemon juice. In comparison, the ultimately forgettably generic chicken thigh chunks lacked the quivering tenderness they should’ve had.

Wing it.

Stroke my thighs.

Far more impressive than either of those two chicken yakitori, were the hearts and bacon. The fatty bacon cubes and kidney-like texture and offaly flavour of the heart segments blended together very well for a double meaty punch.

Put your heart into it.

Somewhat ironically for a yakitori joint, the highlight of my first meal at Jidori wasn’t a skewer of meat but the dessert. The smooth ice cream had a mild but distinctive flavour of ginger which went beautifully with the tangy viscosity of the miso caramel and the nuttiness of the black sesame seeds splayed on top. The distinct sweetness of the sweet potato crisps added some variation in texture and were very pleasing in their own right. An exceptionally good dessert.

Surprise food snog.

Going back for seconds

The katsu curry scotch egg was sadly not a scotch egg with katsu curry on the inside, but a scotch egg with katsu curry sauce on the side for dipping. The reasonably crisp breaded shell gave way to reveal a surprisingly meagre layer of so-so meat. Although the yolk was suitably runny, it wasn’t especially rich making the authentically sweet, modestly spiced sauce a much need respite from the crushing boredom of it all.

Is it even possible to make a scotch egg with katsu curry on the inside?

There are couple of vegetarian yakitori options available. Fleshy and very mildly smoky chunks of aubergine had a cumulatively creamy umami hit, courtesy of miso butter, that lingered on the tongue for a surprisingly lengthy amount of time. Not that I’m complaining about that, not at all.

Just as good were the firm and lightly buttery segments of oyster mushroom, with crisp and refreshing bits of chopped spring onion adding some variation in texture.

Everything tastes better with butter.

The world is your oyster mushroom.

Breast meat may make up the majority of edible chicken flesh, but it’s also the dullest part of what is already the inoffensive protein source of choice for children and invalids. The breast meat was firm, somewhat moist and would’ve been snooze-inducing if it wasn’t for the tangy, mildly citrusy garnish that I couldn’t place.

I’m a leg rather than a breast person. Pfnarr.

Minced chicken and egg yolk sounds like an abattoir mishap, but these meaty chicken mini-koftes were one of the best yakitori at Jidori. The little poultry pillows were complimented perfectly by a runny yolk served in a delicately sweet sauce of mirin and soy.

Mini chicken kebabs. Fittingly Dalston.

Yaki onigiri turned out to be clumpy, somewhat stodgy fried rice balls. The real star here wasn’t the rice, but the umami slithers of seaweed.

You could play dodgeball with these hard little bastards.

Jidori must have a bulk discount on eggs. The onsen egg was rich yet light and cooked just so. The sprinkling of togarashi spice mix added only a very mildly nutty and peppery undertone. The sweet sharpness of the tare sauce was much more intriguing, delightful and memorable, neatly washing the egg down.

What got bought in bulk first – the eggs or the chickens?

The singular dessert of ginger ice cream, miso caramel, sweet potato crisps and black sesame seeds was just as startlingly brilliant as it was before.

You’re coming home with me.

The Verdict

In a better, more flexible version of London’s dining scene, you could start off your evening at Jidori with some minced chicken and egg yolk, some hearts and bacon and the ginger ice cream before moving on elsewhere tapas-style. That really would be the best way to sample Jidori’s best dishes, as there isn’t quite enough good stuff here to make up a proper meal (unless it’s a very light one) filling your stomach and justify the relatively high cost of £30-40 a head for doing so. Still, hopefully Jidori is just the start of London’s yakitori scene being reborn.

What to order: Hearts and bacon; Minced chicken and yolk; Aubergine and miso butter; Udon; Chicken broth; Onsen egg; Ginger ice cream

What to skip: Chicken breast; Katsu curry scotch egg; Fried chicken

Name: Jidori

Address: 89 Kingsland High Street, Dalston, London E8 2PB

Phone: 0207 686 5634

Web: http://www.jidori.co.uk/

Opening Hours: Monday-Thursday 18.00-23.00 and Friday-Saturday 18.00-midnight. Closed Sunday.

Reservations: not taken

Average cost for one person including soft drinks and service charge: £30-40 approx. 

Rating: ★★★☆☆

Glossy, pretty and oh so vacant

Tourist guide books often note that London no longer has a high-rise rotating tower restaurant like Berlin’s TV Tower or Toronto’s CN Tower. While thankfully true, this doesn’t mean London is short of skyscraper restaurants – far from it. There are plenty of places where you’re paying more for the view then you are for the food. Sushisamba lies just one floor below Duck and Waffle in the City’s Heron Tower, but couldn’t be more different. As if the panoramic views of the capital weren’t enough, the main dining room has a vaulted ceiling quite unlike any other, while an incandescent tree lights up the drinking balcony.

I can see my arch-enemy’s house from here.

Orange tree.

Insert appropriately witty Tokyo Sky Tree gag here. Oh wait, I can’t think of one.

Sushisamba’s charms then start to slowly seep away, like dirty bath water down the drain. The multi-level bar, where you can eat at the counter, feels like a claustrophobic ocean liner despite the high ceilings. The braying clientele of city boys, wannabe city boys and Sloane rangers off the reservation, all in varying states of drunken dry-humping, not only explains the deafening noise but is also probably the cause of the haunted glassy-eyed look of hollowed-out resignation in the staff. Most of the ones I spoke to responded to my queries with monosyllabic grunts or with thinly-veiled brusqueness.

Up in the rafters.

Lightning tower.

Dining as part of a large group, I nonetheless tried to keep an open mind amidst all this socioeconomic carnage. But being subjected to the Shoji set menu tested my patience, even when bearing in mind Sushisamba’s stated objective of blending Japanese, Peruvian and Brazilian cuisine. Things started off with sensibly salted edamame and roasted corn nuts which tasted like a cross between popcorn and peanuts.

Today’s procrastination was brought to you, in part, by the Star Wars boxset (the good one, obviously).

Nut job.

There was some creamy, tender beef in the wagyu taquitos, but it was hard to make them out. Not only because of their small bittiness, but also because the wagyu was buried underneath an avalanche of avocado mush and spiced mayo. As if that wasn’t enough of a distraction, the crispy taco shells obscured the beef even further. Pointless.

‘Casual elegance’ my arse.

It was a similar story with the tuna where the fish had been smothered into anonymity the kimchi-like sauce, a pointless foam and a whole heap of other ingredients including wasabi peas, pomegranate and corn nuts. If less is more, then all this overwrought complexity counts for nothing.

Why? Why would you do this? *sighs*

Deep-fried salt cod balls were much better. An oil-free exterior hid a dense, meaty and lightly salted but distinctively fishy interior.

Not actually cod testicles, so don’t worry.

I’ve never seen the appeal of teriyaki and the version here didn’t change my opinion of it. Mildly moist and tender slices of poultry (allegedly poussin) had a generically sugary sweet glaze that will appeal only if you have the sensibilities and discretion of a child with a Wagamama’s loyalty card.

There was a moderately creamy and zesty mayo on the side for some reason.

Although the lime and ponzu glaze was entirely inconsequential, large fillets of hamachi were still pleasing thanks to the fresh, meaty flesh.

Fish out of water.

Thankfully, this isn’t one of those joints with annoyingly pushy toilet attendants. You can do your business in peace.

Tender, fatty and charred rib eye steak was, for some reason, accompanied by rather tame slices of chorizo that was only modestly fatty and spiced. Scattered alongside were tender but otherwise unremarkable slices of wagyu beef.

Wagyu. Always overcompensating with the wagyu. It’s the restaurant equivalent of a red Ferrari with a bimbo in the passenger seat.

Served alongside the platter of meat was some sticky and sweet coconut rice as well as some oddly firm, chewy and extra large corn kernels which were far more enjoyable than many of the other dishes served thus far.

Some of my photo captions are intentionally corn-y.

The surprisingly limp salmon nigiri and boiled, butterfly prawn nigiri weren’t bothering with. This made the citrusy undertone to the tender white flesh of the yellowtail nigiri (almost certainly of the same hamachi breed as the grilled fillet of fish above) all the more welcome.

No, I didn’t eat all of it. This is group dining, remember.

Wrong.

Ruined.

Knight in glistening armour.

The Ezo futomaki rolls allegedly combined soy-marinated salmon, asparagus, sesame, chives, tempura crunch, soy paper and wasabi mayonnaise. So many ingredients to so little effect. Moderately less forgettable were the similar Tokyo Sky Tree tuna-based futomaki rolls. The mild crunchiness imparted by tempura flakes and crumbs maintained a minimum level of appeal.

A mere trifle.

Atkins-esque.

In comparison to the panoply of savoury dishes, there was just one dessert. The modestly flavoured passion fruit cake was nonetheless pleasurable thanks to its light fluffiness which contrasted neatly with the sharpness of the raspberry sorbet and the distinct coconut flavour of the tuile. The only downers on this plate was the muted white chocolate and green tea ganaches.

‘Plating fees for outside cakes are £7 per person.’ Obnoxious idiocy.

The Verdict

Nothing I say will dent the popularity of Sushisamba. If you’re heavily minded to scale a skyscraper just for the view despite the thinly-disguised gimmick food, then chances are you’re a lost cause as it is. I was always prepared for the appeal and value of Sushisamba to be limited to the view and decor, but I was still taken aback by just how scattershot the £70 Shoji menu was. There are some good dishes in there, but at this price you can do so much better in London. You’d better really, really want to see the bright lights of London from up above to put up with such cynical money-grabbing mediocrity.

Name: Sushisamba

Address: 110 Bishopsgate (aka Heron Tower or Salesforce Tower) London, EC2N 4AY

Phone: 0203 640 7330

Web: https://sushisamba.com/location/london

Opening Hours: Sunday-Monday 11.30-01.30 and Tuesday-Saturday 11.30-02.00

Reservations: essential

Total cost for one person including soft drinks: £85 approx.

Rating: ★★☆☆☆

This review of a New York restaurant is a break from The Picky Glutton’s usual London-based coverage.

During my most recent visit to New York, I stayed at the Kitano Hotel which is, as far as I know, the only Japanese-owned hotel in the Big Apple. Many of the things at the hotel are designed to make the large number of Japanese guests feel at home and this includes Hakubai, the in-house restaurant and reputed to be one of the city’s best.

Despite the glass partitions designed to resemble traditional Japanese paper screens, the decor at Hakubai is surprisingly bland once you walk past the picturesque foyer. The dull-looking wood panelling is in no way noteworthy, although a more striking private dining room with tatami mats is also available. The waitresses are all clad in kimonos and are so demure and softly spoken that it’s often hard to hear what they’re saying. However, as I found out, they can become much more forthright if they feel you haven’t left a big enough tip – literally blocking your path until you have!

Unfortunately the rest of the restaurant looks like a 1970s carpet showroom.

Hakubai’s menu is extensive covering all the classics from udon noodle soups to katsu curries, but I decided to go for the okonomi kaiseki which is a traditional multi course set menu that varies according to the season and the discretion of the chefs – think of it as a tasting menu. Edamame and tofu are common staples in Japanese restaurants, but here they’ve been combined together and the result is divinely delicious. The incredibly soft, custard-like texture is flecked with occasional dimpling and it really does taste like mildly salted edamame. Superb stuff.

edamame + tofu = awesomeness

A selection of small dishes arrived grouped together in two batches. The first batch contain an intriguing looking dish of salty, dimpled herring skin with a gelatine like appearance (bottom right). Although it has an unusually crisp, bubble-like texture, it tastes salty without being overly fishy.

The small bowl of kelp soup is very tart and moreish with a hint of ginger (top left). Sadly the slices of mushroom topped with bitter green vegetables and bonito flakes was too refrigerated to leave much of an impression (top left). The slices of what I think was salmon skin (bottom left) was more successful with its salty taste and crispy exterior giving way to a yielding softness.

Japanese smorgasbord 1

The second batch of small dishes was dominated by the chunks of red snapper (bottom) which were perfectly grilled with crisp taut skin and served with a small helping of pickled vegetables topped with sesame. The surprisingly muted pickled aubergine (top right) can’t match the flavour of the grilled aubergine at St Anselm, but it was still enjoyably moreish thanks to its topping of pureed yam. The octopus slices are incredibly tiny (top left), but their softness compliments the tangy taste of the sliced pickled radishes well.

Japanese smorgasbord 2

Although it initially seemed rather bland, the crab cake soup became increasingly tangy, salty and moreish the more I slurped down. The crab cake itself tastes more like a surimi-based crab stick than it does of real crab, which is either a good thing or a bad thing depending on whether you like surimi-based crab sticks.

No Soup For You!

Given New York’s huge maritime ports and Hakubai’s predominately Japanese clientele, I expected nothing but the finest, freshest sushi and sashimi and I wasn’t disappointed. The beautifully marbled, fatty chunks of tuna, the exquisitely soft eel and the deliciously fresh seabass deserve particular praise. Even the humble tamago, or sweet omelette coated in mirin, was excellent – its fruity sweetness was addictive and quite remarkable. The miso soup hadn’t been forgotten either and was livened up by sweet, slippery slivers of mushroom.

Small...

...but perfectly formed.

The dessert wasn’t as universally accomplished as the superb savoury dishes. The green tea and vanilla ice creams were satisfactory, but unremarkable – especially when compared to the excellent green tea ice cream available at Kimchee in London or the inventive mochi at Shibuya in Las Vegas. More interesting was the contents of the small bowl accompanying the ice cream. Inside was a smoky, coffee-flavoured jelly submerged in a pool of coconut milk. It won’t set the world of desserts alight, but it was an interesting and tasty way to end the meal.

Trust me, the dessert on the left is far more interesting.

The Verdict

Despite the unsettlingly demure yet occasionally schizophrenic nature of the service, I can’t help but recommend Hakubai. The okonomi kaiseki, as a whole, is one of the most exquisite examples of Japanese food I’ve ever had. It isn’t cheap, but it’s worth every penny.

Finchley’s answer to Ten Ten Tei? Not quite…

Ten Ten Tei is my favourite budget Japanese restaurant in London, but that restaurant is located in the West End. Although I’ll willingly travel far and wide for a good meal, not everyone feels the same way. London is a big city after all and not everyone will have the time or the energy to trek into the centre of town just because they’re in the mood for sushi. I therefore made my way to Koi, a small Japanese restaurant in Finchley, a part of north London I’d never been to before, with Bleeding Gums Murphy in tow.

Calling Koi a restaurant is stretching the truth a little though. Although there are at least a dozen or so tables, the establishment’s focus is firmly on take away and delivery orders with just the proprietor manning the front of the house by himself. Despite being rushed off his feet much of the time, he was polite and friendly and seemed to know his regulars on sight and by name.

Not related to the Koi restaurant in Knightsbridge. Obviously.

As a sop to Bleeding Gum Murphy’s desire to fulfil one of his five-a-day we started off with the sumi salad. Although allegedly a Japanese-style salad, I have my doubts – the limp lettuce leaves, carrot and radish shavings not only seem Western rather than Japanese, but were rather limp and drab too. The suitably fruity carrot and apple dressing was the sumi salad’s sole saving grace.

Apple and carrot dressing on a salad. It would've worked if it wasn't for the salad.

The main bulk of our meal was made up by the maki rolls and the uramaki rolls. Maki rolls have their nori (sheets of seaweed) wrapped around the outside of the rice. The salmon, tuna and cucumber fillings here were tasty and fresh enough.

Hosomaki

Uramaki rolls on the other hand tend to have the nori wrapped around the inside of the rice roll and tend to have two fillings rather than just one. The salmon and avocado creams were suitably creamy, although the salmon skin rolls were nowhere to be found and seemed to have been replaced by avocado and surimi crab stick rolls – the very definition of cheap filler. The smoked salmon and cream cheese rolls were too westernised for my tastes and too similar to the California rolls, but Bleeding Gums Murphy enjoyed them both nonetheless.

Salmon and cream cheese? Ridiculous.

Although Bleeding Gums Murphy seemed satiated by the offering of rice and cheap filler, I decided to order a couple of other dishes. I wasn’t expecting much from the sashimi platter of seabass, salmon and tuna, but apart from the rather bland tuna, the slices of raw fish were surprisingly fresh and flavoursome.

There's a giant bed of shredded vegetables underneath the sashimi. No, you can't trade them for more raw fish.

Gunkan rolls are a little tricky to pull off since they usually consist of nori filled with soft, delicate fillings. Sadly the crab gunkan at Koi left much to be desired – the cheap head meat was bland and had probably seen the inside of a freezer shortly before it made its way to my table.

Don't be so crabby.

Bleeding Gums Murphy settled for a Tsingtao beer, while I washed my meal down with a bottle of pomegranate green tea although it didn’t taste much like pomegranate or tea.

Pomegrante green tea. Allegedly.

Although Bleeding Gums Murphy seemed pleased with his meal at Koi, I had very mixed feelings so I decided to go back on my own, this time to try some of the other dishes on the large, expansive menu.

Second time lucky?

Japanese food may be best known for raw dishes such as sushi and sashimi, but there are plenty of cooked dishes available too. I started off with one of my favourite Japanese dishes, agedashi tofu. Sadly, Koi’s version is mildly deformed. What should be a light, thin and silky deep fried exterior is instead an incredibly thick, stodgy batter studded with air bubbles. The dipping sauce, which should be a gentle blend of soy sauce, dashi and mirin, is rendered here as a crude mixture of dark, heavy soy sauce and vinegar which makes the batter soggy and goopy. The tofu is overwhelmed by it all and doesn’t have the silky texture it should have either. Very poor.

The worst agedashi tofu I have ever tasted.

The agedashi tofu was a disaster, but I had hopes the chicken katsu curry would be an improvement. Like the tofu, the katsu curry is is generously sized. Unfortunately like the tofu, the curry isn’t very good. The strips of chicken were limp and watery and the breaded exterior was soft, lacking the crispiness that I would expect. Most oddly of all was the sauce, or rather the lack of it. A vague smattering of curry-flavoured stains clung to the meat, rather than the thick lashings of gravy I was expecting. This wouldn’t have been so bad if the sauce had actually tasted of something other then vague artificial curry flavour. No skilful mix of sweet, starchy and spicy flavours here.

The worst chicken katsu curry I've ever tasted.

The Verdict

Given the hard working charm of Koi’s proprietor, it gives me no joy to criticise Koi for the unbalanced quality of its food. The cooked dishes are appallingly bad and should be avoided. While the sashimi and sushi range from good to reasonably good, they’re only worth bothering with if you really can’t be arsed to go somewhere better.

Name: Koi

Address: 250 Finchley Road, London, NW3 6DN

Phone: 0207 433 1321

Web: http://www.koisushi.co.uk/

Opening Hours: Monday 17.00-23.00; Tuesday-Friday 11.00-14.30, 17.00-23.00; Saturday-Sunday 11.00-23.00.

Reservations: not necessary.

Total cost for one person including drinks: £15-30 approx.

Rating: ★★☆☆☆

Rather successful at currying favour

The humble Ten Ten Tei is the standard by which I measure other Japanese restaurants in London, both inexpensive and luxurious. Although I’ve managed to sample a good smattering of dishes from its expansive menu on previous visits, I had yet to try their katsu curry which is an oversight given the poor quality katsu curries I’ve had elsewhere.

Any worries I may have had about the kitchen at Ten Ten Tei overreaching were put to rest. Simply put, their version of katsu curry is the best I’ve had yet. The pork katsu curry has thin strips of very crispy yet succulent breaded pork coated in a sauce that’s highly reminiscent of chip shop-style curry sauce (the Japanese paradoxically learned about curry from the British), but which has a mouthwatering blend of gentle sweetness and pepperiness all its own. It’s not a complete meatfest with plenty of gently stewed carrots dotted throughout the curry and a small side helping of tart pickled peppers. Heart warming stuff on a cold autumn day.

It may not look like much, but katsu curry is comfort food par excellence.

Before chowing down on the katsu curry, I also gnoshed on the saba miso – mackerel stewed in soya bean paste. The hefty chunks of mackerel are slathered in a rich, tangy, salty, distinctly bean-flavoured sauce that’s very moreish. It won’t convince anyone who’s dead set against fish or soya beans, but this boldly flavoured yet simple dish is perfect if you need to warm up after trudging through London’s cold streets.

Fishy, but in a good way.

The service at Ten Ten Tei is just as patchy as it’s always been – the proprietor is friendly, but his waiting staff are a surly lot. If you’re adverse to the cold, then it’s best not to sit at the bar near the door on a chilly day – the front door doesn’t close by itself properly so you’ll be buffeted by occasional bursts of cold air as people come and go.

The Verdict

Despite a dodgy door and the same old service issues, I can’t help loving Ten Ten Tei. If the weather’s too cold for their excellent sushi and sashimi, then their katsu curries will be perfect. Highly recommended.

Name: Ten Ten Tei

Address: 56 Brewer Street, London, W1F 9TJ

Phone: 020 7287 1738

Web: N/A

Opening Hours: Monday to Saturday. Lunch noon-15.00, dinner 18.00-22.00 (last orders 30 minutes before closing).

Reservations: recommended.

Total cost for one person including soft drinks (free green tea is served at lunchtimes): £15 approx. It’ll likely cost more if you’re ordering sushi/sashimi.

Rating: ★★★★☆

Stylish surroundings, but is the food any good?

Satsuma used to be a by-the-numbers Japanese restaurant that could be depended upon for a tasty bowl of udon noodles but little more. The Soho eatery has now been remodelled and reopened as self-touted katsu curry specialists (long-time Londoners will probably remember the dim sum restaurant that used to sit on the same site). Given that it’s just a few yards away from Ten Ten Tei down the street, which makes a great katsu curry, I had to give their version of this homely Japanese dish a try with the help of fellow katsu fanatics the Lensman and the Flame Haired Squelchie.

Satsuma’s décor is undeniably eye-catching with most of the covers taking the form of striking semi-private orange-coloured booths. Service was generally quick and efficient, if varying in sentiment from sullen and grumpy to bored and indifferent, no doubt a side effect of Satsuma’s Chinatown-based owners, Royal China. The reservations policy is unfathomable though – according to the staff member I spoke to on the phone, reservations are only taken when they’re not busy. Wait, what?

The booths are orange. Like a satsuma. Get it? No, me neither.

The Lensman skipped starters and I wish I had done the same. My salmon sashimi had all the life refrigerated out of it and I have my doubts as to whether the wasabi is the real thing or simply coloured horseradish paste (a common trick).

Sashimi SOS.

Squelchie had better luck with her miso-basted slices of aubergine. After letting the steaming slices of vegetable cool down, we both liked the sweet, moreish tang the miso added, but the aubergine slices themselves were far too soft and squidgy for our liking. A firmer texture would’ve been preferable.

Don't be such a softie.

Onto the main event. The Lensman opted for the pork katsu curry, while I went for the chicken version. Although he thought the pork could be fattier and therefore juicier, he seemed to more or less enjoy his curry. I wasn’t quite as accepting. The pieces of chicken in my curry were chunky and firm, but the soft breaded coating wasn’t crispy enough. Meanwhile, the curry sauce was starchy but was otherwise quite bland – it wasn’t especially spicy or sweet. Even the accompaniment of pickled peppers was muted. For an alleged katsu curry specialist, it’s quite a let down.

Chicken katsu curry. The pork version looks pretty much identical.

For reasons that were unfathomable at the time, but strangely prescient in hindsight given the disappointing katsu curry, the Squelchie opted for a curry-less katsu platter of vegetables such as baby corn and asparagus. While my katsu chicken wasn’t crispy enough for my liking, the Squelchie had no qualms about the thin, crispy yet fluffy coating on her vegetables.

Can you deep fry mung beans?

Deep fried ice cream may sound like an abomination, but it can work quite well. Except when it’s served at Satsuma. The Lensman skipped starters so he could save his rakish figure for the tempura ice cream. The deep fried batter was surprisingly thin and chewy which I didn’t like since I was expecting it to be either crisp or fluffy. The solid ball of icy cold, flavourless ice cream at the centre of it all didn’t impress me either.

Tempura ice cream.

Squelchie chose the katsu ice cream. The breaded coating here was quite thick, but like the tempura ice cream it wasn’t especially fluffy or crispy. The ball of ice cream here started out surprisingly warm yet hard, but became progressively colder and softer towards the center. Intriguing, but I couldn’t tell what flavour it was supposed to be.

Katsu ice cream.

I chose plain old green tea ice cream for my own dessert and its taut, slightly gooey texture was reminiscent of gelato. It wasn’t quite as evocative as the green tea ice cream at Kimchee, but it still captured the taste of green tea effectively enough.

Whoever first invented green tea ice cream is a genius.

A fairly broad selection of Japanese beers are available, including Squelchie’s tipple of Asahi Black, but I stuck to tap water. Much to my waiter’s apparent annoyance.

The Verdict

Satsuma may look a lot nicer than the down-at-heel Ten Ten Tei, but the latter has far superior katsu curry (and sashimi too while we’re at it). Satsuma’s version isn’t awful like Koi’s, just utterly forgettable. The desserts aren’t especially well-executed either. Unless you’re in Soho with a katsu curry craving on a Sunday, when Ten Ten Tei is closed, give Satsuma a miss.

Name: Satsuma

Address: 56 Wardour Street, London, W1D 4JG

Phone: 0207 437 8338

Web: http://osatsuma.com/

Opening Hours: seven days a week noon-23.00.

Reservations: not taken (I think).

Total cost for one person including drinks: £25-30 approx.

Rating: ★★★☆☆

Shaftesbury Avenue yakitori that deserves your support

Location, location and location. It’s supposed to be one of the keys to a successful London restaurant, but a spot on the West End’s bustling Shaftesbury Avenue hasn’t helped Yumi Izakaya. Nestled in between the entrance to the Piccadilly West End Hotel (formerly a Best Western) and a tacky souvenir shop, this small Japanese pub and eatery was mostly empty across all four of my visits.

This is a real shame. Unlike many of the other so-called izakayas opening across London, you can just pop into Yumi for a drink and perhaps a skewer of yakitori of two, ordering as you go. Or you can just settle down and order a big gut-busting meal straight off the bat as I did. It’s an attractive place with a bar facing onto the small kitchen, a window counter and table seating. I’m not a drinker, but if you’re a big Japanese beer aficionado with some spare cash then the bottled Hitachino available here will appeal to you greatly.

It’s the hotel restaurant in all but name – Yumi shares the hotel spa’s toilets and you can charge your bill to your room’s tab.

First things first

Yakitori skewers of chicken thigh had a firm bouncy bite and an offaly quality that was made even better by the sweet tare glaze.

Stroke my thighs.

Skewered chicken liver was just as good. The airy texture contrasted neatly with the heavy offaliness, while a garnish of crisp spring onions helped ensure the heaviness wasn’t too overwhelming.

My liver is in pretty good shape unlike Sue Ellen’s.

The quivering flesh of the braised aubergine was airy and gently buttery, but also needed more resting time – it arrived scaldingly hot. A little more problematic was the sauce. The mixture of soy, mirin and sake was a little too sweet for my liking.

Braise be!

Kimchi had a cumulative tingly heat and an occasional sour tang. A respectable rendition.

Cabbage head.

Yumi’s venison donburi was far better than the stodgy, half-hearted donburis available elsewhere. Fluffy small grained rice provided the carbs, while the richness of the runny onsen egg yolk was enhanced by the umami of the nori seaweed slivers. The punchy citrusy herbiness of the shiso leaf was a pleasing contrast to the tart and earthy enoki mushrooms. The slices of venison cooked medium didn’t fail to impress with their meaty, earthy woodiness. Everything came together beautifully as a satisfying whole.

Yummy Yumi.

Going back for seconds

Skewered chicken hearts had a kidney-like texture with their firm and taut bite, then a yieldingly soft follow-through. A distinct kick of ginger was neatly counterbalanced by a garnish of crisp spring onions.

I heart London.

Gizzards may not a widely eaten poultry organ, but they should be – especially when they’re as expertly prepared as they are at Yumi. The firm, crisp texture was akin to a cross between a kidney and an onion. It’s an acquired taste and I loved it.

Waste not, want not.

The yakitori highlight of this second meal had to be the meatball though. More of a mini chicken kofte, the moist meat lozenge was delectable enough on its own thanks to the sweet and umami glaze. Add in the richness of the egg yolk swimming in mirin though and it became a dish good enough to die for. No, to kill for.

‘Moist meat lozenge’. I should’ve saved that one for my erotic novel.

Yumi’s okonomiyaki is a far heartier affair than the light and comparatively wispy version of the dish available at the nearby Abeno and Abeno Too. The okonomiyaki here may be small in diameter, but it’s thicker than a hick Trump supporter. Layers of batter and taut, bitter cabbage laced with salty and fatty pancetta. The doorstop of a portion was topped with lashings of kewpie mayo, brown sauce and powerfully umami bonito flakes. It not only tastes good, it’s filling enough to fuel an arctic explorer.

Fuel.

Taut, slippery and lightly umami seaweed topped with tenderised slices of lotus root and briney cucumbers made for a fine side salad.

There is some seaweed buried underneath all that.

The only duff dish of this meal was the special of shrimp tempura. Although free from excess oil, the heavy and floury batter made for dour, joyless eating as did the bland and flaccid shrimp underneath.

There’s a reason why there are dedicated tempura chefs in Japan.

Meaty threesome

Despite the mild Korean-style spiciness, the chilli fried cauliflower felt like a mediocre vegetarian version of Chinese kung pao/gong bao chicken with the thin, slippery batter easily sliding off the admittedly firm cauliflower florets.

Red state.

The crab korroke was similarly unimpressive. The soft and oil-free breadcrumb exterior had the feel of an Iceland canape to it, as did the vaguely creamy and seafood-ish liquid filling. The modestly citrusy dipping mayo on the side didn’t help the korroke’s cause.

Balls.

The chicken meatball yakitori was just as good as it was before, nearly overshadowing the skewers of pork belly. The belly’s smoky rendered fat and salty meat, slick with a sweet mirin glaze, really hit the spot. Fat, salt and sugar. Good. Very good.

Egg-sellent dipping material.

Belly laughs.

If you’re going to order the duck udon, then it’s worth cutting back on the smaller dishes as this steaming bowl of noodle soup is, like the okonomiyaki, a very filling dish. Although thinly sliced and very smoky, the gameless duck verged on gammon territory. It was still pleasing enough though, especially when taken with the supple seaweed and umami soup. I’d prefer udon with a bit of chew rather than the soft tendrils here, but the only really disappointing element were the soggy tempura crumbs. It’s not the best bowl of udon noodle soup you’ll ever have, but it’s not bad either and was very satiating.

Not quite bowled over.

Go fourth and multiply

Chicken skin might sound like an odd part of the animal to have on its own, but not when it’s as unctuous, taut and lightly crisp as it was here.

Curled around the skewer.

Show me some skin.

Chilled sprouting broccoli had a firm bite and was dressed in a surprisingly thick and viscous sesame dressing. Its nuttiness was a bit too obvious and cloying – standard sesame seed oil would likely have worked far better.

Sprout pout.

Although the mushroom salad consisted of enoki, shimeji and shiitake mushrooms, all three merged into a indistinguishable melange. They were nonetheless pleasing with a taut slipperiness, while the soy dressing provided a sharp and umami hit.

The proprietor seems like a fun guy.

Little pan-fried pork medallions and ginger sandwiched in between daikon moons won’t be to everyone’s liking as the daikon added a sharp crispness. It did offset the relative spice of the ginger, while the pork had plenty of juicy meatiness to enjoy.

Pigging out.

The special of battered, deep fried chicken was oddly described as ‘Korean fried chicken’ rather than karaage. Like the chilli fried cauliflower though, it bore more of a resemblance to kung pao chicken. Taut and slick batter easily slid off the mini chicken drumsticks, just as easily as the meat detached itself from the bones. The lightly spicy and tangy sauce, flecked with sesame seeds to little effect, was more tart and vinegary rather than the fermented bean-ish taste I’d normally associate with Korean sauces. It’s not bad overall, but it’s clearly not a permanent fixture for a reason.

This review’s procrastination was brought to you, in part, by online kitten videos.

Dense, fatty, meaty cubes of pork belly were infused with a powerful soy-derived saltiness that was intensely pleasurable. The tempura egg was almost a worthy accompaniment – the almost-set richness of the egg yolk was pleasing. The thick, stodgy batter – bereft of crisp, airy lightness – most certainly was not.

Oink and cluck.

A square deal.

Failed to meet eggs-pectations.

The Verdict

It seems contrary and odd that the most touristy stretch of Soho has better yakitori than Shoreditch, but that really is the case – Yumi Izakaya’s skewered chicken dishes set the standard for everyone else. The donburi and okonomiyaki are top-notch too, with only the clumsy deep-fried dishes letting the side down. Still, such a trifecta shouldn’t be sneezed at when many eateries in Japan specialise in only one dish rather the sprawling smorgasbords seen over here. Don’t be like one of those daft tourists who passed over this unassuming eatery in favour of Bella Italia or Yo! Sushi – Yumi Izakaya really is worth your time.

What to order: Donburi; Salads; Okonomiyaki; Yakitori

What to skip: Anything deep-fried

Name: Yumi Izakaya

Address: 67 Shaftesbury Avenue, London W1D 6EX

Phone: none listed

Web: http://yumirestaurants.com/

Opening Hours: seven days a week noon – 00.30. 

Reservations: not taken

Average cost for one person excluding soft drinks and tip: £45-50 approx. (you’ll pay around £15 less if you’re not as ravenous as I am)

Rating: ★★★★☆

This review of a Tokyo restaurant is a break from The Picky Glutton’s usual London-based coverage

A lot of words have been written about the glamourisation of ‘dirty food’ in London. Dishes such as burgers, previously only the preserve of fast food restaurants and other very casual eateries, are now taken very seriously indeed. This has been met with consternation in some quarters, hence the morally-loaded ‘dirty food’ finger-wagging terminology.

I find such class- and faux morality-laden bitching extremely tiresome – applying care and attention to food, so it’s the best that it can possibly be, shouldn’t be the preserve of cuisines and dishes traditionally associated with the upper classes.

Having said all that, I had my doubts about Birdland. This restaurant in Tokyo’s pricey Ginza district serves a high-end take on yakitori, grilled skewers of meat previously the preserve of smoky, blokey izakayas. It even has one Michelin star to its name.

Finding Birdland can be an arduous task, even if you have the benefit of Google Maps and GPS on your smartphone, unless you know where to look. The entrance is underground, adjacent to one of the many entrances to Ginza’s sprawling metro station, but with no street-level signage. This is what you need to look for:

Go down the staircase on the right-hand side, right below the giant glowing W sign.

Avid gastronomic travellers will almost certainly recognise this as the street-level entrance for Sukiyabashi Jiro, the famed sushi restaurant of Jiro Dreams of Sushi fame, which is Birdland’s only subterranean neighbour. Indeed, we saw Jiro himself shut up shop at the hilariously early hour of 8.30pm just as we sat down to dinner. It’s highly advisable to book ahead if you can – we managed to snag the last seats of the evening at Birdland without one as our group was small enough to sit at the counter surrounding the kitchen and we were willing to wait around half an hour for the seats to free up.

Birdland does have an a la carte menu, but we opted for the cheapest, dessert-less tasting menu which kicked off with a light yet meaty and surprisingly grainy gizzard served in jelly. It was an odd, yet tasty morsel. I preferred the lightly vinegary chicken skin though which had a hint of umami miso-ishness to it. Leafy, yet delicately earthy and tart greens and wrinkly ear fungus with a light woodiness rounded off this accomplished beginning.

I could do with a gizzard of my own.

You need to have a thick skin to be a restauranteur.

Green gown.

It sorta looks like an ear. I guess.

A chicken pate was the last thing I’d expect at a yakitori restaurant, but this was delightfully different from any other pate I’ve had. Apricot undertones proved to be surprisingly complimentary to its creamy and buttery qualities. Plus, the meaty spread wasn’t drowned out by the accompanying bread.

This is quite a spread.

Skewered morsels of chicken breast were moist and yielding. It was arguably a tad too plain, with only a daubing of subtly sweet then warming wasabi to liven things up.

This review’s procrastination was brought to you, in part, by Fall Out Boy.

Speared chicken livers were, as expected, much more interesting than the breast, but I was still surprised by the depth and nuance on display. The airy, yieldingly firm then tender flesh tore apart easily under the pressure of my teeth. Gently seasoned, it had hints of creaminess and an earthiness that made its presence felt without becoming overpowering.

Take flight.

It’s not clear whether Birdland uses whole birds or not, but the kitchen certainly isn’t afraid to use parts of the chook that are unusual by most Western standards. Alternating segments of neck meat and skin were unctuously crisp, chewy, dense and smoky. This is one of the most joyously impressive servings of chicken that I’ve ever eaten.

Sticking my neck out.

A brief meat-free intermission started off with chilled tofu. Airy, yet firm and creamy, the delicate cubes were seasoned with olive oil, salt and pepper – the distinct flavours of which really stood out against the cool background of the tofu.

It almost resembled a curl of cheese.

Gingko nuts deserve to be appreciated far more widely in the West than they currently are. Crisp then fluffy, like a jacket potato, but with a taste profile of chestnuts and cashews. It’s a somewhat unusual taste-texture combo that worked delightfully well.

Grape-ful for the opportunity.

Chicken returned with skewered leg meat. Its dense crispiness and then smoky chewiness was perfectly enjoyable, even if it did feel like a partial repeat of the neck meat and skin. Ideally, each course of a tasting menu like this one wouldn’t be too similar to any other course.

Foghorn Leghorn.

A crisp, fruity and gently earthy selection of leaves counterbalanced the relative richness of the leg meat skewers, paving the way for the sausage-like chicken meatballs. Although finely ground with a tender bite, the glaze was both too lightly applied and subdued to leave much of an impression.

Tokyo needs more greenery.

The counter seating at Birdland is reasonably kofte-ball.

The glaze on the chicken teriyaki didn’t taste of much either, but it did give the surface of the meat here a crispy, chewy texture that contrasted neatly with the tender, yielding moistness underneath.

That last pun above. I might as well quit now. I’ll never top that level of pun-fulness ever again. 

Birdland’s kitchen clearly needs to up their glazing game. Firm, but only lightly earthy shiitake once again came brushed with a tame and limp sauce.

What does the kitchen do with all the stems?

Breast meat made a repeat appearance, joined this time by yieldingly taut spring onions. While, moist, tender, meaty and neatly complimented by the spring onions, this final yakitori wasn’t as complex and satisfying as some of the preceding skewers.

Skewered. One sympathises.

Oyakodon is classic Japanese comfort food – simmered chicken and egg on rice. The version here wasn’t bad with lightly creamy omelette-like folds of egg and soft, small-grained rice, but the chicken was uninspiringly anonymous. Tapering down the savoury dishes in preparation for a dessert is a valid way of structuring a tasting menu, but not when diners have opted for the dessert-less option. It just feels anti-climatic.

Chicken and egg problem.

A gently sweet and herby consommé followed by briney and sour pickles were a palate-cleansing finish.

I keep spelling Birdland as Brideland.

Time for a convenience store dessert.

The Verdict

Birdland is a polished place but doesn’t, unsurprisingly, have quite the same camaraderie as a good izakaya. Nevertheless, it’s still a remarkably cosy experience. The yakitori, at its best, surpasses what a traditional izakaya can do and that’s saying something. The best yaiktori here are sizzlingly sublime, yet seductively simple skewers of stupendous skill. When joined by the best of the non-skewered dishes, it makes for an evening of delicious meat deftly crafted with a light touch.

A few below par dishes and structural issues marred the experience though, making a meal at Birdland just that bit harder to justify over a night at a standard yakitori-ya or izakaya. Even so, if you can, Birdland is worth a visit for a peek into just how elevated the art of yakitori can be.

Name: Birdland

Address: Tsukamoto Sozan Building B1F 4-2-15 Ginza, Chuo-ku, Tokyo, Japan

Phone: 0081 (0)3 5250 1081

Web: https://restaurants-guide.tokyo/restaurants/detail/46/

Opening Hours: Tuesday-Friday 17.00-22.00; Saturday 17.00-21.30 (last orders 30 mins before closing time). Closed Sunday-Monday and national holidays. 

Reservations: highly recommended 

Total cost for one person excluding drinks: ¥7668 (£53 approx. at time of writing).

Rating: ★★★★☆

This Japan-focussed article is a break from The Picky Glutton’s usual London-based coverage

For a country on the far side of the world with a reputation for being expensive and inscrutable, Japan holds an outsized place in our collective culinary consciousness. Its quixotic and singular culture might be one reason, becoming the archetype of the exotic East – familiar yet faraway, just over the horizon and yet tantalisingly out of reach. A more prosaic reason is evident once you sample even a middling California roll-YoSushised version of the country’s food – Japan’s distinctive and diverse cuisine tastes fantastic, straddling the world like a yukata-wearing colossus.

While it looks deceptively small on a map, Japan is 50% larger than the UK and has an even broader gastronomic diversity. That makes it all but impossible to get more than a brief taste of what the country has to offer on a single, average-length visit.

The following two-part overview of dining out in Tokyo, Kyoto and the southern part of Wakayama prefecture is thus far from a systematic survey of what Japan has to offer. It’s more a chronicle of three Westerners bumbling their way around the land of Hokusai and Kurosawa with exceedingly basic Japanese language skills, dog-eared JR Passes and stomaches bigger than their brains.

There was one modest hiccup though – a change in my financial circumstances just before the trip meant my budget for dining out had become a lot tighter. Sterling’s unprecedented weakening in the exchange rate from ¥170 to the pound just before the referendum to a mere ¥127 to the pound at the time of my autumn trip certainly didn’t help either. This meant that my initial plans for non-stop haute kaseiki and kappo ryori dinners (think multicourse tasting menu-style meals, the former in a private room and the latter at a counter facing the kitchen) went out of the window.

This hiccup turned out to be a blessing in disguise though – it made everything much more interesting.

I could upload a nighttime Shinjuku or Shibuya cityscape photo, but that’s been done to death. Here’s a shot of Tokyo’s surprisingly interesting wholesale catering supplies district, Kappabashi, instead.

Tokyo tonkatsu – Tonkatsu Santa

For a start, it made me realise that the seemingly more-mundane Japanese dishes that I usually overlook back home due to their dreariness are actually cruelly misrepresented. Tonkatsu, breaded and deep-fried pork cutlets and not to be confused with tonkotsu ramen, is the epitome of this. Little more than a thicker, smaller schnitzel in London, or perhaps a porcine kiev but without the retro charm, it’s a much more accomplished yet elegantly simple dish at Tonkatsu Santa in Tokyo’s Shinjuku district.

The panko batter was beautifully done – crunchy, crisp and airy yet free of excess oil. The moist hunk of pork underneath was a revelation – unctous and tender, glistening with rendered fat, yet not at all greasy or heavy. It doesn’t sound like much, but it was what every London version of tonkatsu has never been – delicious and multilayered. It didn’t really need the sweet molasses-like taste of the brown sauce served on the side in a giant pot, but it was welcome in moderation.

Santa baby

If you’re averse to pork for whatever reason, Vicious Alabaster’s big, firm and fresh tiger prawns were an exceptionally worthy substitute. The accompanying scallops were creamy and sweet in their own right, but these qualities were lost admist all the crunchy batter – a rare misstep for Tonkatsu Santa’s kitchen.

Sign your ‘X’ on the line, Santa cutie

I’ll wait up for you dear, Santa baby

If you’re aghast at the idea of eating something deep-fried despite having inexplicably wandered into a tonkatsu restaurant, then the sauteed and batter-free pork loin is by no means a consolation prize. Tender, moist strips of meat had rinds of quivering fat rendered just-so. A sweet and umami glaze of soy and mirin isn’t a cherry-on-top, but an integral part of this deeply satisfying dish.

Next year I could be just as good

Each of the mains above cost just ¥1300 each (£9 approx. at the time of writing), with an extra ¥500 (£3.50) getting you a ton of soft and fluffy small-grained boiled rice, a bowl of inky miso soup that overdid the umami and a choice of either hot or iced tea. The former was a so-so oolong, the latter was a far superior brew of crisp, sweet and refreshing roasted barley. Although the cantaloupe sorbet was small in size and uncomfortably cold, it wasn’t excessively icy and captured the distinctive taste of the fruit well.

there’s one thing I really do need, the deed – to a platinum mine

The Lensman, who sadly wasn’t able to accompany us on this trip, was right – tonkatsu outside Japan just doesn’t compare. At all.

speaks volumes about the value of restaurants focussed on a single dish

Tokyo tempura – Tempura Tsunahachi

Although tempura isn’t nearly as shoddily represented in London as tonkatsu is, it rarely reaches the heights that it does at Tempura Tsunahachi. Although there are branches dotted around Tokyo, with additional outposts in Kyoto and Sapporo, the original in Shinjuku is almost certainly the most atmospheric. The old-fashioned wooden building sticks out amidst Shinjuku’s neon like a country gentlemen in tweed twirling his handlebar moustache at a rave.

The tempura batter here was so magnificent, it acted as a stinging rebuke to every leaden, bland, greasy and heavy deep-fried dish you’ve ever had anywhere else. Crisp and creamy, yet with very little excess oil and not at all stodgy or bloaty despite the small dumpster truck’s worth of tempura that I’d ordered.

A knot of shimeji mushroms were creamy and a little tart, while lotus root was exceedingly crisp and lightly starchy. Honkingly big tiger prawns had crispy little legs and quiveringly tender body flesh. A big clump of smaller shrimp arrived together in a big ball all intwined together, a tender aggomleration that I won’t soon forget.

Mushroom kingdom.

This article’s procrastination was brought to you, in part, by Westworld.

Golden age.

Thick and meaty scallops had a light creaminess that wasn’t obscured by the batter at all. A whole sardine was salty and tender, while an oyster arrived after having been battered and fried in its shell. The oyster flesh itself was briney and surrounded by the complimentary tartness and earthiness of little mushrooms and an umami sauce.

Fishing for opportunities.

It’s not an egg tart.

Tokyo is your oyster. If you can figure out the insane address system.

Thanks Tempura Tsunahachi. You’ve ruined all other tempura for me.

Kawagoe street food

The timing of my trip to Tokyo with Vicious Alabaster and Templeton Peck proved fortuitous as we got to experience the Kawagoe Matsuri, the annual festival of a medium-sized town located a 45 min train ride to the northwest of Tokyo. Given the incomplete nature of the English-language information online about the Matsuri’s religious meaning, Kawagoe’s festival was odd, surreal and even a little creepy to our eyes. Around a dozen floats were pulled around the town’s pedestrianised streets, with teams of ritual musicians and masked dancers onboard, competing against each other musically for the approval of a small lantern bearing crowd.

Float like a weird funky-ass butterfly.

Despite the immense crowds, the festival was supernatural in its orderliness. No litter, public drunkenness, random scuffles or misbehaving tantrum-throwing children could be seen anywhere. Another surprise was the street food. Although dozens and dozens of market stalls occupied almost every major thoroughfare, the fare on offer was surprisingly repetitive by London standards – takoyaki, okonomiyaki, various seafoods on skewers and the occasional yakisoba. The only foreign muck on offer, not that we were looking for it, was – surprise, surprise – doner kebabs. I almost regret not having one, if only to find out what meat was used – lamb is almost non-existent in Japan.

Although Vicious Alabaster enjoyed the takoyaki, the dough of these little octopus balls was too squishie for my liking. The limp bonito flakes, kewpie mayo and brown sauce didn’t impress either, but at least there was a reasonably firm octopus tentacle amidst all that excessively soft doughiness.

Balls.

The okonomiyaki was another disappointment with an excessive amount of cabbage, not enough batter and tame pork belly. There was plenty of bonito flakes and sauces, but it’s a sad okonomiyaki when the most enjoyable thing here was the pickled ginger.

Our piss-poor Japanese meant that we couldn’t identify the names for any of the stands here. Soz.

Not visible: giant sacks of cabbage filler.

Squid body on a stick was a tad too rubbery and needed more glaze too, making for a disappointing chew. Far better was the firm and umami squid tentacles and cuttlefish. The highlights of the evening for me, apart from the crazy musical floats, was the firm, then tender and briney whelks and the exceptional geoduck which was even more evocative of the sea. London needs more geoduck.

One day Vicious Alabaster will get over her squid fixation.

The Incredible Whelk.

It’s pronounced ‘gooey-duck’.

An unremarkable chocolate-coated banana dusted with sprinkles wasn’t the oddest thing we ate on a stick – that honour goes to the lightly brined cucumber dressed with a punchy, somewhat bluntly umami miso sauce.

chocolate banana pic

If you wanted dessert, it was this or something from the very occasional ice cream shop.

Not the best that the world of Japanese pickles has to offer.

The street food may have been mostly shrug-worthy, but the festival itself was well worth it. I hope to return to Japan in the not-too-distant future, if only to hopefully find Japanese street food that wasn’t as disappointing as Kawagoe’s.

Little Okinawa, Tokyo

This trip sadly didn’t have time for an jaunt to Okinawa, Japan’s southern archipelago which has a very different culture from the rest of the country and, due to Imperial China’s influence and its tropical climate, looks more like Taiwan than it does the rest of Japan. We had to instead be content with Little Okinawa, a restaurant in the middle of Tokyo’s Ginza district.

Little Okinawa’s pub-like surroundings couldn’t feel more different from its much pricier neighbours. The squidgy then silky tofu served with vinegary onions and mushrooms might possibly be found in the ‘mainland’ restaurants next door. ‘Grape’ seaweed, with tiny little translucent spheres dangling off the stem, almost certainly wouldn’t. Although you wouldn’t think its sweet and sugary taste would be complimented by the gently umami soy sauce served on the side, it most certainly was.

Ginza is weird. Personal shoppers tote bags with their hands encased in white gloves, while besuited pimps loiter in the shadows.

Grapes of wrath.

‘Okinawa-style’ onigiri tasted like little more than fried rice shaped into a triangular arrangement. Far more impressive was the seaweed ‘tempura’ – not the battered indulgences we’re all familiar with, but deep-fried patties resplendent with the umami, salty taste of concentrated seaweed. The soft and oil-free patties were neatly emphasised by a dipping sauce of soy and vinegar.

Striking out.

Oddly familiar.

The Chinese influence was most evident in the stewed pork cubes. Reminiscent of both Sichuanese twice-cooked pork and braised hong shao rou, the tender, fat-laden pork belly here was drenched in a sticky, gently umami sauce. Although not quite as multi-layered as the best hong shao rou, it was still a joy to savour – especially with the julienned parsnips and vinegared onions cutting through the unctuous porcine richness.

Three-by-three.

If you cut the fat off, then I will have no choice but to cut you.

Peanut tofu was somewhat similar to the Chinese dish, but with a firm creme brulee-ish crust, a creamy interior and a gentle, but still distinctively nutty sauce.

May contain nuts.

Templeton Peck was sceptical of the sliced bitter melon, but came to appreciate these vegetables. Bitter, gently softened gourd slices were classily combined with bready, eggy tofu for a light, yet satisfying series of mouthfuls.

I have a a book, a gourd and a bunch of twigs.

The generally excellent savoury mains made the shoddy desserts all the more disappointing. Stodgy, stale and almost hard bits of doughnut mixed in with bland ice cream that was a touch too icy made for a poor pairing – each half of this dessert tended to bring out the worst in each other.

Okinawan ceramics are hypnotically sparkly. I wish I’d bought some.

A doughnut served by itself was slightly better – served warm and much softer than the hard scabs dotting the ice cream, it was still a bit too crusty and definitely too bland.

You wouldn’t know it from this, but there are some top-notch bakeries in Tokyo – of both the Japanese and Western varieties.

Tokyo soba – Kanda Yabu Soba

Kanda Yabu Soba is a remarkable soba restaurant. For starters, it’s a surprisingly tranquil and classical-looking place despite being located amidst grey office blocks 10 minutes walk away from the frantic cyberculture of Akihabara. Although its sliding paper doors and timber beams are a reconstruction (the original building burnt down a few years ago), something else is even more distinctive – the waitresses sing. Not in the canned operatic canto of numerous gimmick restaurants in London and other European cities, but a soft, gentle melodic hymn that somehow carries from a station in the airy main dining room to the kitchen. It’s certainly a damn sight more charming than an iPad or notepad.

All of that would be nought if the soba wasn’t up to scratch, but it was and then some. The restaurant’s trademark nameko soba is served cold, ideal for a hot Tokyo day. Surprisingly light buckwheat noodles faded into the background, allowing everything else to shine. Mushrooms were sticky, richly umami and lightly creamy. The cool soup had a deep, layered umami with an undertone of sweetness best enjoyed in short slurps. Nori shavings and crisp spring onions were the cherry on top. It’s all deceptively simple, belying the kitchen’s adept artistry.

Kicking ass and taking nameko.

‘Fish paste cakes’ turned out to be fish sticks, effectively a lighter, creamier and more subtle antecedent of surimi ‘crab’ sticks. Served cold, it acted as a carrier for top-notch wasabi – subtly sweet and creamy, then hitting you with a modest nasal heat. The fish paste cakes turned up again as a topping for Templeton Peck’s hot soba. The broth was a warm version of the one served with my cold nameko soba and was just as satisfying, although a little something in the broth was lost in translation from cool to hot.

Cut and paste.

Copy and paste.

Don’t dawdle if your order the hot tempura soba as Vicious Alabaster did – the tempura prawns will quickly get soggy in the piping broth, depriving you of the opportunity to savour the batter. This did at least allow her to see that whole chunks of fresh prawn had been used underneath the coating.

Soggy bottoms.

Fresh yuba skin cubes were served chilled, yet were still creamy and refreshing – quite a surprise as I’m more used to the heartier nature of the dried and fermented versions of this tofu-esque soybean preparation.

This article’s procrastination was brought to you, in part, by Led Zeppelin.

Slices of duck breast served cold were nonetheless very dense and lightly smoky. It was made even more delectable by the light tingly heat of mustard and a dipping sauce with layered, sophisticated umami. All in all, it’s one of the best duck dishes I’ve had to date.

I still try to keep abreast of Tokyo restaurant news.

The water in which the soba noodles were cooked is served after the meal as a drink. It’s an odd but utterly slurpable libation – sort of like a tea that had somehow been made from eggs, it was simultaneously refreshing and eggishly creamy. It’s one of the most delightfully distinctive drinks I’ve downed.

At around ¥1000 per bowl of soba (£7 approx. at the time of writing), you’d be mad not to eat at Kanda Yabu Soba.

Tokyo izakaya – Sakagurakomachuu

Templeton Peck has a bizarre fascination with salarymen. This proved to be almost our sole reason for stumbling into Sakagurakomachuu, an izakaya a few blocks northeast of the famed Tsukiji fish market. The place was indeed packed full of besuited blokey desk drones, ties loosened and banter flowing, with very few women present. It was a nonetheless welcoming place with an English language menu, allowing Vicious Alabaster to indulge in her new-found ginkgo nut fixation – a peanut-sized snack akin to a cross between cashews and potatoes in taste. Give ’em a try – they’re addictive.

That seems like an excessive amount of salt to me.

Neither Templeton Peck nor Vicious Alabaster would touch the squid innards, but I love the funky, bitter, sour and mildly astringent taste as well as the somewhat gooey texture.

Good to know that some things are reassuringly, stridently funky no matter where in the world you are.

Breaded pork cutlet on a stick was forgettable. It initially appeared that the tofu might turn out that way too, but underneath its anonymous fried exterior was the pleasingly silky, squidgy texture that I’ve come to appreciate over the years. Shame the bonito flakes weren’t up to much though.

Frankly, I’m surprised that this hasn’t caught on somewhere in the North already.

Fool’s gold.

As much as I’ve grown to love tofu over the years, I’m not having tofurkey for Christmas.

The exotic sounding ‘fried fish paste’ was really just fish cakes, but these were squidgy, light and umami fish cakes that were well worth having.

Paint it black.

Thinly sliced octopus sashimi was meaty and firm, while the surf clam sashmi was firm then tender with a gentle, beguiling sweetness.

Leg work.

Enjoy the silence.

Although the saury, also known as sanma, was in season, I wasn’t particularly impressed with the grilled version here. Very bony with mackerel-ish flesh, but without mackerel’s distinctively flavoursome punch. Serving it with the guts intact or adding a touch of pickling Wakayama-style may have added more of a flavour profile.

Japanese kitchens usually have wee little fish grills instead of ovens. I find that quite amusing, for some reason.

The poultry used in the karaage tasted anonymous, even after allowing it to cool down – more resting time after emerging from the deep fat fryer would’ve been beneficial. The batter was truly superlative though – free of excess oil, crispy and then simultaneously unctuous and fluffy. Pair this sumptuous batter with better meat and you’d have a fried chicken for the ages.

Partially devoured.

The best of the assorted yakitori had to be the wonderfully textured hearts and gizzards. Very similar to the yakitori that Yumi Izakaya used to serve back in London (before its sad closure), these bits of offal somehow managed to be taut, crisp and tender all at the same time. It’s different, but no less delectable than the chicken yakitori from the famed Birdland in nearby Ginza.

Identity parade.

Not everything at Sakagurakomachuu was a resounding success, but there were more than enough delights to go around to make this izakaya worth a visit if you’re in the neigbourhood and don’t want to spend more than around ¥4500 per person for dinner (approx. £31 at the time of writing).

Bento lunch boxes from Tokyo Station and Kyoto Station – Bentoya Matsuri/Ekiben-ya Matsuri and Awaji-ya

Long-distance train travel in Japan can mean only one thing – a bento lunch box, with those eaten on trains known as ekiben. The Daimaru department store just outside Tokyo Station is purported to be one of the best places to get an ekiben with a larger selection and lower prices than shops inside the station past the ticket gates. A time crunch meant that we had to be content with ekiben from Bentoya Matsuri/Ekiben-ya Matsuri (different sources give different translations for the name – any help from Japanese speakers would be appreciated!) which is located in between platforms 6 and 7, but this choice turned out to be far from a burdensome one.

Spending around ¥1000 on a boxed lunch (approx. £7 at the time of writing) seems like a costly extravagance indicative of all the stereotypes about pricey Japan, but these ekiben more than justified their price as a travelling treat. Seasonal vegetables gently simmered to bring out their natural earthiness were joined by a choice selection of pickled root vegetables which were eye-opening in their dynamic range. From sharp to sweet, tangy to vinegarish, Japan’s pickling arts deserve to be more widely appreciated.

Reasonably crisp, light and oil-free vegetable tempura and a hefty helping of soft and fluffy small-grained rice provided the bulk. Gingko nuts had been softened, increasing their resemblance to potatoes while retaining their distinctive cashew-like quality, while tamago was sweet and fluffy. Meat made a brief but memorable cameo in the form of a dense, umami, jerk-like hunk of slow-cooked pork. Lightly glazed and gently cooked salmon teriyaki was pleasant enough and a couple of chewy sweets finished things off.

It must be quite the culture shock for Japanese tourists to arrive at a British train station and be confronted by the solidified dust that is an Upper Crust sandwich.

A cheaper ekiben at around ¥750-800 (approx. £5) consisted of a lot more rice, but there was still plenty of simmered and pickled vegetables to chuff down as well as fillets of neatly grilled snapper. It may be a cheaper and less varied option, but certainly not a lower quality one.

There was a camera crew at Bentoya Matsuri/Ekibenya Matsuri, for some reason, when we were there.

Bentoya Matsuri/Ekiben-ya Matsuri spoiled me as other ekiben I tried from other vendors just couldn’t compare. A bento box of gyudon from Kyoto Station’s Awaji-ya was certainly big, but it didn’t do enough to justify its ¥1000 price tag – especially as gyudon outside the station confines can be had for as little as ¥300. The saucey beef was tender but dull-tasting, leaving it to the firm prawn and slice of octopus, as well as the reasonably earthy vegetables to pick up the slack. One admittedly neat, small touch was dividing the carb bedding in half between fluffy rice and wrinkly noodles.

Take your beef outside.

Kyoto tonkotsu ramen – Hakata-Nagahama Ramen Miyoshi and Seiryu Ramen

By some quirk of fate or geography, almost every ramen eatery we spotted in Kyoto appeared to be dedicated to tonkotsu ramen – which is fortunate as I have an obsession with it. Hakata-Nagahama Ramen Miyoshi is little more than a dozen stools facing onto a tiny kitchen. With some seats, there’s little more than a curtain separating your back from the bustle of Kiyamachi-dori street, but everything we ate was worth this minor inconvenience – heck, it was worth crawling over broken glass for.

Kyoto is a surprisingly low-rise and unassuming city when viewed from above. If this was the high-res version, you’d just be able to pick out Nintendo’s headquarters.

There are few things in this world more slurpable than this shop’s tonkotsu broth. Wonderfully fatty, rich, umami and creamy, it puts the vast majority of London’s efforts to shame. The thin noodles were firm, cooked just-so, while the thin slices of char siu pork were moreish and lightly sweet. Due attention had even been paid to the cabbage – each and every one of the earthy and slippery leaves was devoured.

Bone broth.

It would be a grave error to skip the side dishes. Bamboo shoots were earthy with a gentle musky sweetness, their texture slightly fibrous and then gently yielding. The kimchi was a little unusual, with a taste reminiscent of funky fermented bean paste rather than the tart, spicy sharpness I was expecting, but no less scoffable for it.

Shoots to thrill.

There’s a Mexican restaurant just across the road. I was in no way tempted to try it.

The highlight of the sides had to be the stewed chunks of beef with root vegetables. Although the tender fatty pillows of bovine flesh were spot-on, the immensely moreish tendons were even better with their squidgy moistness and the absorbent connective tissue soaking up the lip-smacking sauce.

Love me tendon.

Unlike much of the rest of Kyoto, Hakata-Nagahama Ramen Miyoshi stays open late well into the wee hours and becomes understandably popular. Even with the rapid rate at which most Japanese slurp down ramen, it can sometimes be tricky to snag a stool. Don’t be tempted to settle for Seiryu Ramen a few doors down though.

Avoidance strategy.

The only good thing about the tonkotsu ramen here were the firm, wrinkly noodles. The tepidly flavoured broth didn’t have anywhere close to the same levels of rich complexity as the broth at Hakata-Nagahama Ramen Miyoshi. Even the roast pork, fungus and onsen egg were underwhelming. It was roughly on par with the uninspired average level of most tonkotsu ramen in London and, thus, probably a meal of last resort for the locals.

That rare thing: a duff meal in Japan.

Kyoto gyoza – Hohei Gyoza

Stepping over Hohei Gyoza‘s threshold into the small dining room (just over a dozen covers or so, including the stools at the bar) brought us face-to-face with a wall-to-wall group of belligerently affable Antipodeans. Hohei is just as popular with Kyoto-ites though, who quickly replaced the Aussies and Kiwis in a surprisingly swift and wholesale customer shift-change.

As with many of our Tokyo meals, the dumplings at Hohei Gyoza were so startlingly good that it altered our perception of what this staple dish, so averagely misrepresented elsewhere, can be. It speaks volumes about the value of restaurants focussed on a single dish.

The thin yet sturdy skins, supple on one side and judiciously fried on the other, came apart under our teeth and not our chopsticks. The pork filling wasn’t the star here, with the additions of either ginger or garlic and leek grabbing the spotlight. The bold flavours of both variants were immediately appreciable – a simple thing that shouldn’t be remarkable, but most certainly was in this world of piss-poor dumplings. The umami of the recommended miso sauce for the ginger pork gyoza complimented those dumplings delightfully. The mix of soy and vinegar for the garlic and leek variant wasn’t as pleasurable due its subdued weakness, although this wasn’t a huge loss in the end given the punchy garlic and bitter, supple bits of leek.

I’ll have a rack of gyoza, please.

The onigiri were brought in from elsewhere, but don’t let that put you off – they were well worth having while waiting for your gyoza. The rice in all of them was soft and fluffy. The kelp version was suitably umami. While the fillings in the miso pork and the cod roe variants were meagre, the former was still reasonably meaty and moreish while the latter had a pleasing, gently spicy hit to it. The meaty and salted grilled salmon went down well with everyone.

Self-kelp.

Hog tied.

Pink in the middle.

Wrap star.

Following our encounter with whole pickled cucumbers on skewers in Kawagoe, we chuckled at their reappearance, without sticks, at Hohei. They were only lightly brined and dressed with a surprisingly weak miso sauce though. A far better umami dish was the chilled miso pork. Tender almost to the point of disintegration, the gentle umami of the pork was neatly offset by a bed of sharp, vinegary bean sprouts – and I usually hate bean sprouts. It was surprisingly refreshing as well as gutturally satisfying.

If only I had managed to convince Templeton Peck to try Hohei’s potato salad.

Chillax.

A single clam at the bottom of a full, if small, tea cup may not look particularly impressive – but that’s because looks can be deceptive. The clam consommé was richly earthy and yet also had a gently sweet mushroom-like flavour, with the chewy clam at the bottom of the cup providing a chewy, salty finish. An exceptional consommé. Truly, singularly exceptional.

Cup a soup.

Hohei Gyoza is an unassuming yet truly wonderful restaurant that could easily getaway with charging twice as much in London and still have a queue stretching out the door and down the street.

Kyoto tofu vegetarian – Sagatoufuine

I have to suppress the urge to roll my eyes every time someone complains about how much they hate tofu. It really is a testament to my self control that I haven’t given in to homicidal acts of animalistic rage and righteous indignation. The tofu that most Britishers will have encountered is all about the texture and not the taste. To be fair, the squidgy, silky texture of such tofu is an acquired delight, but there’s a whole world of tofu beyond that.

Sagatoufuine is a tofu-vegetarian restaurant with two large branches on the main drag just outside the Tenryu-ji temple in Kyoto’s Arashiyama suburb. This, along with a well-oiled kitchen and front of house, meant that the large set menu arrived with almost indecent haste.

Soft small-grained rice arrived soaked in a sticky, lightly moreish goo and topped with surprisingly peppery leaves. The star of this dish was, of course, the soft and wrinkly fresh yuba which was also surprisingly sturdy with a mild amount of elasticity despite its thinness.

Attempting to decipher Hiragana and Kanji characters when you have a negligible grasp of the language is bloody hard.

A tub of ‘thick soy milk skin’ came filled with a creamy and lightly sweet soup that had been lightly thickened. The fresh yuba (or tofu ‘skin’, if you prefer) made a welcome return and was made even better by the umami and sweetness of the soy and mirin dipping sauce on the side. Pour the excess dipping sauce into the soup for a powerfully satisfying umami hit.

Yes, I’d like a bath tub’s worth of tofu please.

A deep-fried tofu fritter was hearty with a slightly gritty, grainy texture and wasn’t at all greasy. The taste came from gently simmered vegetables which provided a light earthiness that didn’t overwhelm the palate.

A Western tourist is wanted by Kyoto police for questioning in relation to a recent rampage of violent selfie stick smashing incidents. Which has nothing to do with me, I swear. Honest.

The tofu chawanmushi doesn’t look like much, but this savoury tofu and egg custard (for the lack of a better term) was an incredibly satisfying, multilayered concoction of rich creamy egginess and milky crispness with a deep umami. And yet, it also had a surprisingly clean aftertaste. This was a dish of immense character.

Deciding on how to Romanise Japanese names and terms is also a minefield.

Namafu is a combination of a mochi-grade rice flour and wheat gluten, resulting in oddly smooth glops-on-a-stick that were also weirdly sticky and a tad gooey. One had a reasonably strong taste of sesame, while the other was too subtle for its own good with a restrained mung bean-ish quality to it. While not bad, the surreal experience of eating the namafu was neither here nor there.

Glop-on-a-stick.

Although the white miso soup had less umami than I was expecting, it did have a beguiling and gentle earthy sweetness. The pickles didn’t fail to impress either – crisp and sweet with a light vinegarishness.

Opaque. Yet, in places, almost crystalline in its clarity.

Japan has made me fickle about pickles.

Although the dessert of warabimochi had a similar texture to the namafu, this smooth, slightly gooey and somewhat tacky dessert was more pleasing. Its texture along with its light sweetness and starchiness won’t be to everyone’s taste, nor will the dusting of nutty toasted soybean flour. Still, if you keep an open mind, it’s a light and undemanding way to finish a meal.

Pass the spatula.

Some of the most common complaints levelled at vegetarian food is that it’s derivative, bland and unsatisfying. Sagatoufuine refutes such nonsense in the strongest possible terms.

Nara kaiseki ryori – Hirasō

The ancient and surprisingly compact city of Nara is an easy and thus popular day-trip from Kyoto. The hordes of tourists that throng the historic centre of the city during the day seem to vanish by nightfall though, leaving it a far more tranquil place. It’s worth sticking around if only to sample some of Nara’s unique dishes for dinner. Hirasō, roughly 10-15 minutes walk south of the city’s picturesque five-storied pagoda, specialises in this traditional cuisine. That aside, it was almost worth eating here just to see Templeton Peck and Vicious Alabaster struggle with sitting cross-legged on cushioned tatami mats at the decidedly traditional low-slug tables in the semi-private dining room.

One dish particular to Nara’s traditional cuisine is sushi wrapped in persimmon leaves. The latter are alleged to have anti-bacterial properties which aid in the preservation and consumption of the lightly cured fish. Regardless of the veracity of these claims, the leaf-wrapped nigiri rolls were larger than usual and noticeably lacking in wasabi. Delicately fruity and meaty salmon-like fish, resplendent with a brilliant tangerine hue, was nonetheless pleasurable as was the salty and tangy mackerel-like silver-skinned fish.

Maki rolls with sharp and sweet bell peppers at the centre provided a touchstone of familiarity.

Apparently the fish in persimmon leaf-wrapped sushi is also lightly cured.

What’s with the numerous varying names for persimmons?

Imperial purple.

Creamy, eggy tofu with the appearance of scrambled eggs was tinged with sesame. It was sumptuous enough already, but the extra layers of flavour provided by the earthy vegetables and the distinctively sweet goji berries were still welcome and didn’t unbalance the dish.

Bowled over.

Another dish of tofu didn’t taste of much, instead relying on its two-part texture to please. Initially firm, then squidgy, it was akin to a clean-tasting savoury crème brulee.

Jade dining.

A big gluten-packed vegetarian meatball was light despite its size. Sweet and small-grained, its somewhat oat-like flavour was enhanced by the lightly nutty, umami, sticky and gooey sauce as well as by the gently sweet and earthy mushroom.

Goo ball.

Aju is apparently a prized seasonal fish in Nara and it’s not hard to see why. Judiciously grilled, the fish here was meaty despite its small size and had an oddly grainy, almost roe-like texture. It was nonetheless pleasing, especially with its citrusy taste emphasised by shiso leaf. Accompaniments of creamy tamago, sweet and starchy ginkgo nut, crisp lotus root and sharp pickles were no less accomplished.

Aju-rn for dinner.

As a long-standing opponent of congee, I didn’t expect to like Hirasō’s rice porridge and was thus surprised to find myself quite taken with it. Far from the neutral tasting goop that I’ve avoided over the years, its taste was highly reminiscent of barley tea. This quality was only enhanced by the popcorn-like taste of toasted, puffed rice served on the side and applied yourself. My dining companions seemed somewhat ambivalent over our sticky gruel, but this chagayu is definitely a congee I can vouch for.

Unsure if cha-ga-yu is technically a congee or not, but I’m sticking with that description.

Dessert was an odd, but light and refreshing dish of narrow glass noodles served in a thin, lightly sweet syrup that tasted a lot like orange honey. A taste reminiscent of the Near East rather than the Far East (to use geographically relativist terms) was unexpected, but certainly welcome.

Dessert noodles.

There’s so much to savour and enjoy in Kyoto that it would be easy to overlook Nara’s culinary delights, but Hirasō’s take on this city’s quirky traditional cuisine is easily worth your time. Plus it’s hardly unaffordable at ¥3785 (approx. £26 at the time of writing) for our set menu.

Convenience store and vending machine food

The unexpected budgetary crunch for this trip meant that convenience store food played a bigger part in my diet than originally planned. Although comparable on paper to a Tesco Metro, the archetypal 24-hour Japanese convenience store’s bigger focus on food means that the various snacks and take away meals are more interesting and surprisingly better tasting than your average corner shop Cup-a-Soup.

Lawson has nothing to do with Nigella, but is one of the biggest convenience store (or konbini) chains in Japan. I regret allowing Templeton Peck and Vicious Alabaster to talk me out of dipping into the steaming bain maries of oden (stewed Japanese fish cakes). It’s worth downing Lawson’s range of savoury snacks – dried squid was chewy and umami with the tentacles possessing a suitably ribbed texture. A roughly equivalent bag of dried squid strips from Family Mart was less pleasing – far too chewy and hard for too little umami gain.

It’s no weirder than beef jerky when you think about it.

Just what I needed.

This article’s procrastination was brought to you, in part, by The Foo Fighters.

Family Mart’s sandwiches were a better bet than their dried squid snacks. A chicken tonkatsu sandwich sounds bizarre, but it’s not that different from the ‘southern fried chicken’ sandwiches you’d find in a Tesco or Sainsbury’s. The limp batter won’t set your world alight, but at least the moist chicken underneath was a meaty fillet with discernible muscle fibres and a light smearing of tingly mustard, all sandwiched in soft white bread.

All Japanese convenience store sandwiches appear to be crustless. What do they do with all the crusts?

A surprisingly more moreish alternative was a temaki-style ‘sandwich’, but with nori and then a layer of fluffy rice taking the place of the bread. The same moist chunks of battered chicken made a repeat appearance.

Not the pengest chicken ever.

Family Mart’s mini bento-style meals pack a lot of variation into a small plastic container. Sweet tamago, a crunchy croquette, a slice of salty frankfurter and moist, lightly sweet onigiri rice balls were far more palatable than a supermarket tuna nicoise or falafel salad back home. Bulking up with an additional nori-wrapped onigiri, such as the vaguely umami miso pork variety, is pleasing enough and costs mere pocket change like all the konbini foods here.

Mini mart.

While London ignores onigiri, naff stuff like poke catches on instead.

Daily Yamazaki is a far smaller chain of convenience stores, but that doesn’t mean its cheap and cheerful food is any less edible. Umeboshi onigiri wasn’t quite as tart and sour as I would’ve liked, but that may make it more palatable to some and the rice was fluffy enough. Stir-fried chicken noodles were surprisingly good – moist chunks of chicken and hearty noodles all doused in a modestly umami garnish of aomori (chopped seaweed).

Eat and Pret *dream* about takeaway convenience food this good.

Given the hot weather prevalent during my visit, convenience store ice cream was alluring even if the reality was somewhat underwhelming. A Family Mart dorayaki was a disappointment once you got past the soft pancake with limply flavoured adzuki beans and matcha ice cream presenting themselves for your disapproval.

Not your grandfather’s ice cream sandwich.

Dorayaki explorer.

A lot of mass-produced Japanese ice creams seem designed to preclude any possibility of unsightly drippage. Ice cream sandwiches, such as a Haagen-Dazs branded matcha-flavoured option, didn’t just use a pair of wafers but encased the entire serving of ice cream in a wafer coffin. Unsurprisingly, the Haagen-Dazs effort tasted of mediocrity and compromise. An oddly ingot shaped Ohayo chocolate affair was even less convincing.

This is simultaneously the most exotic and most mundane food item I’ve ever written about.

At least I think it’s supposed to be chocolate.

It looks more enticing in the photo on the packet.

A better option, surprisingly, was Lawson’s sweet potato ice cream sandwich. Although the wafer casing looked more convincingly realistic on the box than in the flesh, it was still a reasonably charming recreation – especially with the smooth ice cream and syrup inside managing to stay true to the taste of the original tuber.

Lloyd George’s sweet potato.

Ice cream sandwich? More like an ice cream bullet.

I was tempted to try some gelato in Tokyo’s cavernous department store food halls, but decided not to. I kinda regret that decision.

Imuraya is a company dedicated to making sweets and other dishes made from adzuki beans, a very savoury and distinctively nutty dessert staple in this part of the world. It’s a favourite foodstuff for most Japanese, but gets a decidedly more mixed reaction amongst most Westerners. Imuraya’s adzuki bean ice lolly would be a suitably gentle introduction for such adzuki bean sceptics. A crunchy, tame and pale icy shell with a pared back core of inoffensively moreish and lightly sweet adzuki beans at the centre.

Food doesn’t just fall into your lap, you know.

Days bean and gone.

The cool dollops at the centre of the Lotte-branded ice cream mochi didn’t taste of much, but were refreshing enough with suitably elastic, chewy mochi-style skins.

Konbini ice cream can be a Lotte-ry.

Yes I took this photo in the fridge. Buy me a coffee and maybe I’ll explain why.

I could easily devote a whole website to the endless kombini vittles as well as the foodstuff wares available from Japan’s ubiquitous vending machines – both of which I only managed to scratch the surface of. ‘Ubiquitous’ doesn’t quite do justice to the seeming omnipresence of the Japanese vending machine though, which seem to materialise in herds on every street corner, urban and rural, with multiple brands having dedicated machines of their own.

The apparently universal availability of iced coffee from vending machines meant that I had no trouble keeping my caffeine addiction in check, even if some of the brews available left much to be desired. Pokka Sapporo’s Biz Time Black had plenty of kick, keeping me motoring along from an early start until after lunch time, but the sour taste was grim.

Back in black.

Kirin is only known for beer in the West, but the company appears to have several soft drinks available from its home territory vending machines. A salt and lychee libation was surprisingly refreshing, capturing the taste of the fruit with the hint of salt alluding to the crispness of the fruit’s flesh – a visceral point which obviously couldn’t be recreated directly in a bottle.

Try it. Don’t bottle it.

Royal Milk Tea is a smooth and refreshing but very odd cold drink. The taste of tea is tangential at best, with the brew dominated by the intense sweetness of what tastes like condensed milk but with none of the viscosity.

Well, it’s more like tea than that wretched bottled Lipton’s stuff.

Hot items are also available from some vending machines, an oddity that I found quirkily charming. Hot sweetcorn soup in a can from Bistrone Select (a Coca-Cola brand) wasn’t just coasting by on its toasty warmth – it was actually filling with a creamy consistency and a natural-seeming sweetness that wasn’t overpowering.

It was more of a corn chowder really and I’d have it again in a heartbeat.

Up next: Eating my way around Japan, part 2 – Wakayama’s Kii Peninsula and the Kumano Kodo

This Japan-focussed article is a break from The Picky Glutton’s usual London-based coverage

For many the archetypal image of Japan is the buzzing, sprawling megacity exemplified by Tokyo. But, to state the trite and obvious, there’s another side to the country which is just as compelling – the countryside. One sliver of Japan’s expansive rural hinterland is the Kumano Kodo, a centuries-old pilgrimage trail valued by both Shinto and syncretic Shino-Buddhist adherents. It’s a terrific way to soak in serene and bucolic scenes of rural and coastal Japan while also eating well for modest sums of money.

The Kumano Kodo consists of numerous hiking routes running from West to East through Wakayama Prefecture’s Kii Peninsula, roughly three hours south of Kyoto by train. The very idea of hauling my bloviating, globular arse through forests and mountains will probably seem counterintuitive to most of you, but few things work up a ravenous appetite better than a boot-scuffing 20km a day trek over four days taking in breath-taking scenes of rural tranquility.

Forest shrine.

There are hiking itineraries of varying durations for all skill levels with the surprisingly detailed municipal reservations website handling everything from accommodation to luggage transfers and packed lunches. It’s this kind of attention to detail that can make holidaying in Japan elegant and integrated.

Takahara hilltop village.

Staying at a traditional Japanese inn (either a minshuku or a ryokan – although the differences between the two can be very fluid) isn’t just about having room and board. At their best, they provide a warm and charming welcome, a multicourse meal of dishes made with seasonal ingredients, before or after which you can take a steaming hot communal bath (a sento or ofuro) or a geothermally heated mineral spa (an onsen) to soothe your bones.

Tanabe izakaya – Kanteki

Tanabe is the rather non-descript city which many foreign tourists use a jumping-off point for their trek along the Kumano Kodo. Despite allegedly having 80,000 inhabitants, the downtown core can seem all but deserted. That all changes once you step through the door at Kanteki, an izakaya located on an out-of-the-way side street.

While the stoic cliques at the Sakagurakomachuu izakaya in Tokyo was a rather sedate crowd, Kanteki’s clientele revelled in their warm and friendly boisterousness. Although you could just chug beer and sake at Kanteki, it would be a crime to skip the food. Scabbardfish sashimi was simultaneously meaty and delicate with a crisp skin and subtly citrusy flesh. It was irrestibly addictive.

Apparently a different fish from the Iberian black scabbard fish.

Light, inoffensive and somewhat crumbly prawn patties had a Dim Sum-like moreish quality to them, while grilled squid was firm and lightly chewy.

These patties were kinda Dim Sum-ish, but larger.

White stripe.

Legs that just don’t stop.

The light crunch of the chicken cartilage will put some people off. If you can get past that though, then you’ll be rewarded with a firm and moist bite, a gentle level of caramelisation and a dash of sweet and sharp lemon juice.

Cartilage, not Carthage.

Meaty, salty fresh and lightly chewy clams would’ve been more than delectable enough on their own, but a thin yet punchy sauce brought the rich taste of butter and chives into the mix.

Shell game.

Tender fillets of grilled eel came lacquered in a rich, dark glaze that balanced both umami and sweetness to great effect.

If it’s possible for a fish to have an onomatopoeic name, then eel would be it.

Mackerel on sushi rice sounds quite prosaic and ordinary on paper, but these nigiri-esque rolls didn’t just look unusual. The fish was a delightful surprise, tasting very different from the mackerel any of us were familiar with. Light yet meaty, the mackerel had a delicate citrus-like flavour rather than the usual punchy tang. As expected, the small-grained rice was suitably soft and fluffy.

The locals really were a convivial and friendly bunch.

Kanteki’s tempura wasn’t in the same league as Shinjuku’s Tempura Tsunahachi. While free of excess oil, the batter wasn’t anywhere as soft and fluffy. Still, most of our deep-fried, battered seafood choices still managed to shine through. Octopus was firm and meaty, while plump scallops were springy and moist with a zingy edge. Only the scabbardfish, so delightful in sashimi form, let the side down with their light inoffensiveness.

You can linger over a drink and watch Japanese baseball on the telly, if you so desire.

We eventually managed to communicate our desire for more sashimi using our broken Japanese, so it was somehow apt that the selection that arrived was a mixed bag. Scallops made a repeat appearance, a light searing on the outside emphasising their chunky meatiness. Mackerel, of the more traditional variety, was suitably visceral. Yellowtail and tuna were unremarkable though, while flying fish was far too subtle for its own good. At least the barramundi was dense in its fleshiness.

Four pieces of silver.

A lot of old-school Japanese restaurants are nothing if not well-lit.

Waka, Waka!

The only truly duff dish of the evening was the deep-fried aubergine. Stodgy on the outside and filled with soft, flaky and bland meat on the inside. Unworthy.

Eggplant on my face.

You can feast like a king at Kanteki for very reasonable sums of money – our bevy of dishes, including a small flight of sake for Vicious Alabaster, came to around £30 each. It’s not just the food that makes Kanteki special though – this izakaya wouldn’t be quite as enjoyable without its warm, welcoming atmosphere.

Minshuku Tsugizakura

There would be little reason to visit this inn if it wasn’t situated on the Kumano Kodo’s Nakahechi route as it’s located on a ridge overlooking a non-descript village. That’s something of a shame as the hospitality at Minshuku Tsugizakura puts many bigger, better-located accommodations to shame. From the charming warmth of the proprietors to the cosy yet spick and span interior as well as neat extras from free makeup and a free-to-use washing machine to surprisingly fast WiFi, it has almost everything you could need (¥10,300 per night person, including all three meals, approx. £71 at the time of writing).

Multi-course kasieki ryori meals have a reputation for being expensive, stiff and haute affairs, but they’re almost always included in the price of your stay at a ryokan and some minshukus. That makes a minshuku or ryokan stay an accessible way of trying out this stylised, multi-course form of eating.

Dinner

Dinner kicked off with cubes of meaty, firm and glossy tuna sashimi dressed in sesame seeds and a lightly sweet mirin-based glaze. It wasn’t the finest tuna we’d end up having on our trek through Wakayama’s Kii Peninsula (that honour goes to the Hotel Nakanoshima in Kii-Katsuura), but it was pleasing enough – especially when taken with the gently sweet wasabi and crisp radish slice.

Sashimi hat.

Meaty prawn nigiri, a meaty nugget of neatly fried fish and starchy gingko nuts were a well-formed trio bound together by fresh gingko fruit which had some of the nuttiness of the more familiar gingko nut, but with a cleaner, fresher aftertaste.

Stick man.

Small bits of mushroom were bound together by a light application of batter. It was a surprisingly transient, unmemorable affair for a deep-fried dish.

This article’s procrastination was brought to you, in part, by pissing about on Instagram.

Far more interesting was the moreishly sticky broth dotted with salty and umami fish sticks and sharp, fleshy aubergine. An unusual concoction that tickled my fancy.

Goo tickles.

A moist and meaty selection of thinly sliced beef, pork belly and sausage along with some cabbage were bound together with a reasonably umami miso sauce. Although I’ll never say no to a meaty sausage tip, this dish was an ultimately prosaic and by-the-numbers if warming affair.

Meat pot, not potted meat.

The thin slice of lightly smoked salmon seemed like an unnecessary concession to our Western sensibilities. Its very subtle smokiness and lack of grease allowed the crisp fruit and lightly sharp and brined cucumbers to take centre stage. It was by no means bad – it was just underwhelming compared to the world of both smoked and brined salmon dishes out there.

Fetch me my smoking jacket, Jenkins.

A Japanese-style curry came topped with crutons and a thin filmy skin on top. Aside from these oddities, it sat well within the confines of most Japanese curries – sweet and warming, but not particularly interesting. I found its best use was as a topping for the gently-stewed salmon, vegetables and tofu fried rice which were otherwise lacking in flavor.

Sensibly sized portions of curry would never catch on anywhere else in the world.

Fried rice I can get on board with.

A lightly umami miso soup acted as an effective palate cleanser, paving the way of the blood orange sorbet. Although true to the fruit in taste, its grainy texture and startlingly uncomfortable coldness were unwelcome intruders.

Black hole.

Crunch time.

The warabimochi wasn’t quite as accomplished the version of this dessert at Kyoto’s Sagatoufuine, but its squidgy texture and nuttiness, emphasized by the dusting of roasted soybean flour, still made for a fine finishing dish.

Someone out there is making mini wooden spatulas just for Japan.

Breakfast

Dinner at Minshuku Tsugizakura was a mixed bag with some sterling dishes sitting cheek by jowl with other, far more mundane ones. Breakfast was a more consistently well-executed meal, stemming perhaps from the simpler nature of some of the dishes here.

Julienned strips of squid were firm with a clean after taste, paving the way for crisp and equally fresh kiwi fruit, grape and Nashi pear.

It’s no weirder than having kedgeree for breakfast.

Minshuku Tsugizakura has, amusingly and quite prosaically, swivelled chairs at its dining table.

Creamy and distinctively flavoured lychee yoghurt was a light and sweet pleasure. A different kind of sweetness was on display in the squidgy tofu. Bouncy and soft in texture, but soaked in mirin for a gentle, almost boozy sweetness. I could’ve done with a little more mangetout and yuba, but less is usually more with Japanese food – especially when you’re faced with just one dish of many.

Ly-yo.

This article’s procrastination was brought to you, in part, by Sigur Ros.

Earthy root vegetables had a hint of zingy tartness and came dusted with sesame seeds. All that might sound heavy or dull, but it proved to be light and surprisingly energising.

The selection of Japanese crockery back home is a bit crap.

Templeton Peck remarked, both seriously and sarcastically in the understated way that only he can manage, that Japanese breakfasts seem to be much like any other meal. His groggy-eyed desire for something a little more familiar was met with a creamy omelette, almost akin to a Spanish tortilla with its thin, folded gossamer layers. Served alongside it were a pair of nigiri rice rolls topped with more egg and then bound with ham – a playful and surprisingly light way of enjoying hearty, salty meat.

Green, eggs and ham.

Vicious Alabaster had a different hankering – one for bread. She got it in the form a buttery, creamy brioche-style roll filled with a whipped egg-cream filling that was not only viscerally enjoyable but also reminded me of Hong Kong-style baked breakfast goods. Disappointingly, the onsen egg was a non-event with a surprising lack of yolky richness.

Way too many of my dining companions have been putting buns into ovens.

More bowls need to have spouts.

One of my personal highlights of this breakfast had to be the oden – squidgy, umami fish cakes with the latter quality emphasised by the broth it was served in. Hearty and warming, it felt more like winter lunch or dinner sleep-inducing fodder rather than an energising breakfast dish. Still, I couldn’t fault it for taste.

Oden, the all-father of stews.

My other highlight had to be the Japanese pickles. Whether sweet, sharp and tangy or earthy and beetroot-like, they never failed to impress. It sounds silly, but it shows that even the simple things in life can benefit from attention to detail.

The Japanese really do have pickling licked.

Lunch

Of all the pre-ordered boxed lunches on our trek, Minshuku Tsugizakura’s had to be the best and most varied. Generously sized onigiri with a nutty crust had fillings ranging from surprisingly sweet umeboshi to salty and meaty grilled salmon.

If Itsu ever do onigiri, they’d probably screw it up.

The firm squid from breakfast made a welcome repeat appearance in a miniature bento box alongside creamy tamago, earthy vegetables and a moreish hot dog. The jewels in this lunchtime crown had to be the sweet, tangy and dense candied pork cubes and the juicy blood orange that was so intensely sweet, it almost reminded me of an Opal Fruit.

Always with the mini hot dogs.

Ryokan Adumaya

While the sento at Minshuku Tsugizakura is soothingly steamy and relaxing, it’s a consolation prize compared to having a proper onsen such as the one at Ryokan Adumaya. A surprisingly large place and essentially a hotel in all but name, Adumaya draws its stress-easing hot spring waters from the same source as the public Yunomine Onsen just outside its doors.

The large communal baths and the much smaller outdoor bath are well-maintained and picturesque, helped along by their stone cladding, but the rest of Ryokan Adumaya is much more worn around the edges. While comfortable and cosy if you don’t look too closely, peeling paint on the odd door, musty wardrobes and the buzzing of ill-fitted/misbehaving fluorescent lights gave this ryokan a sense of faded grandeur.

The staff were surprisingly lackadaisical in our experience, with the notable exception of our chirpy, warm, easy going and rosy-cheeked waitress who served us both breakfast and dinner in our private dining room (starting at ¥17,800 per night per person, including breakfast and dinner, approx. £124 at the time of writing).

Dinner

Although Ryokan Adumaya served up a mackerel sushi roll that looked a lot like the one at Kanteki back in Tanabe, it wasn’t as well-formed. Reasonably punchy mackerel lay arched on top of a large serving of rice. While the latter was spot-on, the mackerel wasn’t as distinctive as Kanteki’s yet nor did it have the same level of bold intensity as the best mackerel back home.

The one annoying thing about our private dining room – the buzz of one malfunctioning fluorescent light.

While the rice porridge had a creamy and eggy mouthfeel, the dominant taste here was of the sweet goji berries. Although a tad unbalanced, I’m starting to come over to the idea of congee and other jook-like dishes if it can be as polished as this.

I would never proxy buy booze or cigs for minors. Lottery tickets and porn are up for negotiation though.

Ryokan Adumaya’s kitchen can clearly compare and contrast textures to great effect. Firm octopus was served alongside a crisp yet yielding and sweet turnip, as well as soft and squidgy seitan. All three had a clean aftertaste, allowing the focus to rest on the mouthfeel.

Don’t make any sudden moves.

I wasn’t sure what to make of the randomly meaty and garlicky morsels served alongside some crisps. Another baffling oddity was the firm prawn served with a small, whole but unimpressive saury and an odd nut that resembled coconut, but with less sweetness and milkiness. The only accompaniment to the prawn that wasn’t a let-down was the sweet and starchy little potato puff, even though it didn’t really gel with the prawn.

Ready salted, I guess.

Nut grab.

The kitchen’s selection of sashimi may have been small, but it was perfectly formed. A firm and lightly citrusy coil of a difficult-to-identify white fish was delightful, as was the mouthfeel of the meaty yet tender and yielding tuna. Although the prawn head didn’t have as much suckable head goo as I would’ve liked, the body flesh was sweet and quivering.

Suckable head goo. Pfnarr.

A bowl of what appeared to be Japanese curry was actually a thick pumpkin soup dotted with various additions including prawns and mussels. It was a rather random selection of stuff in a bowl that seemed remarkably clumsy compared to the precision of the sashimi or the the octopus.

Not a curry.

Salt-baked aju was satisfyingly well-seasoned, even if it did lack the odd but deliciously grainy texture that I’d come to expect from aju following my encounter with it at Nara’s Hirasō.

Whatever happened to the other members of Destiny’s Child?

One of the few culinary regrets of this trip was that I didn’t have the chance to savour more shabu shabu hot pot. Exquisitely tender and well-marbled beef, simmered at your table, more than made up for the lackluster mushrooms and greens.

Purple haze.

A gently umami soup flavoured with scallop and crisp, fresh vegetables was refreshing, while the pickles, similar in range and delectability to those served at Minshuku Tsugizakura, helped cleanse the palate.

All this paved the way for sweet and crisp Nashi pear and syrupy sweet cantaloupe. This choice pair of fruit made up for the anticlimactic chestnut miniroll.

Crystal.

I forgot to take photos of the desserts. Sorry folks.

Breakfast

Eating breakfast in your own tatami-lined private dining room is an imminently civilised way to start the day, but I’d trade it all for more flexibility in timing. To be fair, almost all ryokan and minshuku have immutably fixed meal times, but the option to have an earlier breakfast is especially welcome when you’re trekking and need to make the most of the dwindling autumn daylight hours.

Having said that, there are few better ways to gird yourself for a hard day’s hike then meaty and lightly oily grilled fish or crisp, earthy greens topped with quivering and lightly umami bonito flakes.

Today’s fish dish is… I’m not sure what this is.

Green day.

The superlative pickles made a repeat appearance, joined this time by potently bitter, sour and somewhat astringent umeboshi. It’s very much an acquired taste (even The Lensman, a sectioned Japanophile, can’t stand it), but I lapped it up and I would’ve snapped up my dining companions’ discarded umeboshi if I could’ve done so.

Umeboshi is often translated as pickled plum, but the original fruit is apparently more akin to an apricot.

A runny onsen egg somehow managed to be both delicate and rich in equal measure, no doubt helped by a carefully chosen soy sauce on the side which wasn’t too overpowering.

Gudetama.

Vicious Alabaster was more than welcome to my helping of the watery, loose-grained rice porridge. I was much more taken with the fluffy and lightly earthy fish cake served with tart pickled vegetables.

Divisive.

Why is it that the breaded fishcakes so common in the UK are usually manky as hell?

Silky, squidgy tofu paired with crisp, lightly sweet greens was fortifying despite its lightness. A delicately sweet and umami miso soup dotted with curled bits of potato made for a refreshing end.

Green party.

No, those potato rings didn’t come from a packet of Hula Hoops.

Ryokan Adumaya can be surprisingly variable in everything from its interiors and service to various individual dishes, but it’s worth putting up with for the onsite onsen. If you want a more cohesive all-round experience though, there are other minshukus and ryokans surrounding the Yunomine Onsen that might be worth considering – some that also have their own onsens in addition to the public onsen.

Koguchi Shizen-no-Ie

Although much of Wakayama prefecture is suffering from a declining population as more people choose to move to the cities – a problem facing much of rural Japan – nowhere is this demographic shift more evident than the village of Koguchi. Abandoned houses dot the riverbank, while the junior high school has long since been converted into one of the village’s few accommodation options for transient tourist trekkers – Koguchi Shizen-no-Ie (¥9,300 per night per person, including all three meals, approx. £65 at the time of writing).

Although the tatami-lined rooms and shared sento bathing facilities at Koguchi Shizen-no-Ie were all perfectly modern and comfortable, it still felt like an austere place from the severe headmasterish figure at the reception desk to the harsh fluorescent lighting. It still feels very much like a school in places too, from the municipal public service posters lining the walls to the austere dining room converted from the former cafeteria.

It’s the echoing hallways that really give it away though. Wide and tall enough to take cars never mind people, they once saw thronging hoards of babbling schoolchildren that have long since departed and will never return – an odd and unexpected hit of pastoral melancholia.

Dinner

Following our pair of meals at Ryokan Adumaya, which were gutbustingly fortifying despite the strains of traversing the Kumano Kodo’s verdant valleys, forests and hills, the lighter fare at Koguchi Shizen-no-Ie was a blessing rather than a curse.

The limp and faded tuna sashimi couldn’t compare to the Ryokan Adumaya’s superlative selection, but the meaty and lightly oily grilled white fish was a winner.

Pale rider.

Hypnotic colouring.

Gently pickled and earthy vegetables were topped with crisp lotus root and was neatly complimented by a refreshing noodle salad served lightly chilled.

The healthy kind of brown.

Spiral.

Tempura vegetables and prawns were underwhelming. While free of chin-staining oil and grease, the batter wasn’t crisp or fluffy enough, while the ingredients underneath lacked character. Even the seasoning salt on the side was tepid.

Apparently, ‘shizen no ie’ literally translates as ‘do not worry’. Which is more or less apt I guess.

The best dish here had to be to the tofu – squidgy, hearty and served with taut and supple shimeiji in a satisfyingly warming broth. While both tofu and broth were satiating, they still managed to have a sparklingly clean aftertaste.

Just serve me a whole cauldron of this.

Breakfast

One of the best things about breakfast at Koguchi Shizen-no-Ie is that you can opt to have it as early as 06.00 or 06.30 – an important option given that the final stretch of the Kumano Kodo’s Nakahechi route from here on out is one of the toughest and potentially most time-consuming.

Although not quite good enough to match the best tamago, the omelette here was still a light, creamy and fluffy affair. Grilled salmon was meaty and stayed on the right side of stodge, even though it was a tad overcooked.

Faded imperial yellow.

What’s the Pantone number for salmon orange?

Despite British government drives to increase vegetable consumption, Anglo breakfasts remain steadfastly green-free zones. That’s an oddity and something of a shame, as Japanese breakfasts show that greens can work well first thing in the morning. Whether they were sweet or lightly bitter, the pleasing greens here were crisp rather than soft and floppy.

The dark side

The light side

Earthy and tart pickled veg made a welcome repeat appearance, before a mildly umami miso soup finished things off.

Pickley split.

A cloudy forecast.

Lunch

While Koguchi Shizen-no-Ie’s selection of onigiri for lunch felt somewhat sparse compared to Minshuku Tsugizakura’s more luxuriant collection, they were still sufficient for a midday refuelling after a 900m ascent up the side of a mountain. Fillings of umami kelp, tart and bitter umeboshi as well as reasonably meaty and salty salmon were all satisfying enough despite their somewhat meagre size.

Triforce.

Probably brought in from elsewhere.

Hiking could be regarded as a form of self-kelp therapy.

Hotel Nakanoshima

Although Hotel Nakanoshima doesn’t lie on any of the Kumano Kodo’s routes, it was a logical and fitting place to end our trek. It lies just off the coast of Kii-Katsuura town on the Kii Peninsula’s southern tip, which itself is a 20 minute bus ride from Nachi which is we triumphantly ended the Kumano Kodo’s Nakahechi route.

Built into the side of an island, the sprawling complex not only resembles a Bond villain lair but smacks of 80s era swagger and confidence. Hallways are tunnels cut through rock, while there’s space enough to spare for indoor rock gardens, cavernous restaurants, a mini arcade and a surprisingly large and well-stocked gift shop.

The hotel’s hilltop view.

Even if this sounds laughably over the top, it’s definitely worth staying at Hotel Nakanoshima if you’re ever in this part of Japan, even if only for a single night as in our case (¥24,000 per person per night, including dinner and a subpar breakfast buffet, approx. £167 at the time of writing – cheaper options are available). Both room and hilltop views over the other islands in Kii-Katsuura’s bay were serenely beautiful enough – but with the addition of birds of prey skimming the waters for fish, it was nothing short of timeless. Soaking my bones in a skin-tinglingly steamy outdoor onsen under twinkling stars, while the waves audibly crashed upon the island’s rocky shore, was an experience that salved my aching body and hushed my racing mind.

Rotenburo.

Although you can take your multicourse kasieki dinner at Hotel Nakanoshima in one of the cafeteria-like restaurants, it’s worth upgrading to a private dining room if you can. Not for the sake of cocooning yourself away, although there’s nothing wrong with that, but because it’ll be located closer to your room – walking any distance in flippy-floppy indoor slippers is a strain if you’ve been going up and down hills and mountains all day.

An acceptable use of a slate.

Lobster sashimi was served with part of the carapace for dramatic effect, but it wasn’t just a delight for the eyes. Its bouncy, squidgy mouthfeel and delicate sweetness were both enhanced by the deep nuance of the sweet, creamy, warming wasabi.

The tail end of this trip.

The other cuts of sashimi didn’t play second fiddle and were more than capable of holding their own. Almost transparent slices of pink-skinned white fish were subtly citrusy, while cuts of silvery-skinned white fish were meaty and subtly moreish. Squid was tender with a clean after taste. The exquisite tuna was all about its sumptuous mouthfeel – gently chewy then tender, it was truly a sensuous bite.

Sea through.

Thankfully, there’s no need to eat the spiralised carrots out of despair.

The kraken awakes!

Waiter, there’s a flower in my tuna.

Another serving of tuna was lightly seared on the outside, but still had the royal purple hue of the raw fish on the inside. The cut of tuna was tender, despite its denseness, which served as the perfect vehicle for its delicate then bold and immensely satisfying depths of umami.

A damn sight better than some of the tuna you can get in Tokyo.

A tender and fatty coil of roast beef would’ve been perfectly delectable on its own, but it was joined by a choice selection of accompaniments that helped elevate it further. The creamy custard-like taste of the light tortilla-esque tamago was a masterclass in the eggy arts, while the gingko nut, as expected, had its usual addictive potato- and cashew-like taste. It was the gently elastic mochi with the distinctive, unexpected but entirely complimentary taste of sweet potato that was the star accompaniment here though.

Gilded box.

A squidgy, creamy and lightly sweet tofu had all of these mouth pleasing qualities enhanced by toppings of goji berry and wasabi. I could easily have eaten a whole cauldron of this.

Nothing is real.

The salty and richly umami qualities of a cloudy broth were no doubt helped along by the prawns, fishballs and shimeiji mushrooms bobbing about in it like savoury, tender buoys.

Slurp.

Tokyo’s Tempura Tsunahachi really has spoiled me when it comes to tempura. While the tempura here was far from bad, it just couldn’t compare in terms of crispness and fluffiness to the tempura back in Shinjuku.

Oddly, our private dining room was merely another guest room repurposed. What happens if the hotel is fully occupied?

Glossy triangles of beef were presented raw for dramatic effect before being cooked rare at our tableside. Chewy then tender, the lean cuts were deliciously moreish and finished with a surprisingly clean aftertaste. A selection of carefully simmered vegetables proved to be excellent accompaniments.

Bovine beauty.

When we think of fish in Japanese cuisine, we inevitably think of the sliced swimmers used in sushi and sashimi with their generally sparkling clean aftertastes. More accessibly flavoured fish dishes can be had of course, such as these potently earthy medallions of fish served in a sticky, gooey sauce that started out subtle and finished with a powerful, cumulative level of umami. It proved to be a delightfully mouth-pleasing combination.

It kinda looks like a small brain. Hmmmm brains.

Carefully grilled slices of what I’m pretty sure was yellowtail were initially chewy, then tender. This fish didn’t just rely on texture to please though – it had a sophisticated, layered sweetness emphasized by accompaniments of grated and whole crisp greens. Rarely has a grill been put to a more delightful use.

Frankly, I’m surprised there is a cooking-themed arcade game in Japan.

I haven’t liked congee in the past, but this Japanese sojourn has been slowly changing my mind and opening it up to the myriad forms of rice porridge/jook that are available. Although loose and somewhat watery, the bowlful here was dotted with leaves of umami kelp, a soothing flavour profile followed up by another bowlful of refreshing and palate-cleansing kelp-based broth.

I’m not jooking.

Dive in.

As much as I love sugary, rich and heavy desserts, anything like that would’ve felt inappropriate after such a decisively clarion pair of kelp-based dishes. This made the refreshing pairing of fruit all the more apt – richly sweet and juicy cantaloupe alongside crisp, tart apple.

Surprised at the absence of oranges given that Kii-Katsuura is allegedly famed for it.

Parting words

Everyone’s experience of Japan and its food culture will be different, but what has never been clearer is the deceptive simplicity, understated artistry and timeless sophistication that makes so many Japanese dishes so utterly compelling.

Whether it’s misrepresented classics, such as tonkatsu or gyoza, little known seasonal seafood specialties, head-turning oddities, heartwarming comfort food or even just pickles, there really is something in Japan for everyone. And none of it has to be eye-wateringly expensive. Heck, even the konbini convenience store and vending machine food has me charmed. That only makes me more determined to return some day.

– The Picky Glutton

The Kii Peninsula petering out into a chain of islands in the Pacific, including the Hotel Nakanoshima, as seen from a 900m high mountain viewpoint on the Kumano Kodo’s Nakahechi trail.