![]() And a long rectangular platter of teriyaki-grilled poussin was wonderful so tender, and with charred skin it melted in our mouths, particularly that of 18-month-old Barney. The shrimp tempura was fresh and crunchy and rammed with flavour. A particularly good miso soup, in a little clay pot with a pretty wooden spoon, was as rich and deep and enveloping as a rainforest. Yet there were peaks amid the troughs of the quite awesome quantity of food we were happily encouraged to order. All of that being too much fusion for my mind, with raw fish and sugary chutney never making for happy bedfellows. Including a particularly appalling thing called a Neo Tokyo this being a concoction of raw tuna, rice, a filling of sticky chutney and, sweeter still, aji panca sauce (made from Peruvian red pepper) as well as a dollop of spicy mayo. Rather than the elaborately dressed but mostly over-chilled and thus flavourless sushi that would land in due course. So far, so fabulous.Īnd it’s these things that, happily, stick in the memory. Nowadays everyone passes the time by looking at their phones, but there was always a majesty at how Jesus magicked a paper.īack at Sushisamba and having uttered the words apple juice and straw, they appeared, as did plantain chips. It is the kiddie version of what the great maître d’ Jesus Adorno at Le Caprice would do when one arrived a little early for lunch: he sat you down and brought you a newspaper. They immediately brought crayons and images on paper to colour in. The foliage then gives way to a ceiling bedecked with large circular sculptures and hundreds of white, silver and bronze panels, as if one’s spaceship took off from the jungle and crashed into a satellite.īut we landed at a table and the staff did what only the greatest, the finest, the best trained, the kindest and the most intuitive staff do when seeing parents with small children arrive in a restaurant. Exotic plants, leaves and branches hang from the ceiling over the long bar by the entrance, aping the Amazon rainforest. ![]() With a wife and two small boys in tow – and having practised the word, which nods to the restaurant’s amalgam of the cuisines of Japan, Brazil and Peru, on the train – I climbed the swirling staircase and emerged into a faux tropical rainforest. ![]() ![]() So, tottering around Covent Garden, a little squiffy, in the hunt for this greenhouse of a restaurant, people might think you’re asking for shampoo, or Champagne, or sand-paper, or September. Indeed the mere sniff of a sherbet can render one unable to say the word. The confused drunk will have a hard time finding Sushisamba. ![]()
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