The pal, who’s had more hot dinners than even I’ve had hot dinners, says, ‘This might be the nicest thing I’ve ever eaten’
I once found a Japanese restaurant so good, I hugged it to myself like a comfort blanket. It was so tiny, with just a handful of seats, that the question was: write about it or keep shtum? While I agonised, my more intrepid colleague over at the Observer swooped in, declared it a masterwork and thus Sushi Tetsu was booked solid for evermore.
Cross? I was furious. Still am. It’s impossible to get a seat. I try, though: scouring their Twitter feed for a waif-and-stray empty seat, happy to sit on my own for Toru Takahashi’s lusted-after sushi. But my dialling finger is never fast enough. Meanwhile, I’m on the constant lookout for a replacement: I’ve liked Yuzu in Manchester, Dinings in Marylebone (another ex-Nobu itamae), the glittery oddness of Yashin Ocean House, the functional surroundings but pristine fish at Atari-Ya. I thought I’d nailed it with Sushi of Shiori, but it morphed into an almost-kaiseki outfit and then disappeared. Nothing has stirred my senses like Tetsu.
Related: Chai Wu, London SW1 – restaurant review | Marina O’Loughlin
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