Its been a week of random ‘Do you fancy a pint?’ moments, which is always good. An invitation to half price sushi and some beers in London with a couple of old mates from Guyana appeals, despite meaning a school night trip into London.
Meeting in the Porterhouse in Covent Garden, M and I discuss our latest culinary experiments and failures. M was famous for his shark curry, and as the inventor of the pink Russian cocktail. I’ve been meaning to do his Basque chicken for a while. K joins us for another couple of pints of Porterhouse red and we move on to Yo Sushi near Trocadero for a bite to eat.
Yo Sushi currently has a half price meal offer that requires you to print out a personalised voucher from the internet. M goes under the name of ‘Sinclair Le Geyt’, while K and I play safe with our real identities.
I’ve enjoyed Japanese food before, and rather like the whole conveyor belt experience. M and I order a jug of Sake, which is hot. creamy and smooth, but goes down as quick as my first coffee of the morning. A mistake that became apparent the following morning.
The busy conveyor belt brought an array of colourful dishes, which went beyond my limited Japanese food vocabulary. I tucked into a few plates of sushi, sashimi, hot fried rice, and those funky little rice rolls with sesame seeds on. I probably hit the wasabi and ginger a bit more than I should have, but nevertheless enjoyed a bit of variety and watched the assembly line at work.
Not sure I would have been too pleased with my bill if I was paying full price mind. My appreciation of Japanese restaurants and sushi in general is partly down to the generally calm arrangement of things and a sense of artistry in the food. Yo Sushi was sadly lacking on these fronts, as we watched the mass prepared fish portions being assembled in front of us, along with plenty of nudging and shouting from the staff.
Post nosh we retired to a nearby pub populated mostly by theatrical types. A couple of pints of Timothy Taylor’s slipped down easily in good company, and the train back to Hemel passed by without anybody eating a smelly burger in my carriage.
Meeting in the Porterhouse in Covent Garden, M and I discuss our latest culinary experiments and failures. M was famous for his shark curry, and as the inventor of the pink Russian cocktail. I’ve been meaning to do his Basque chicken for a while. K joins us for another couple of pints of Porterhouse red and we move on to Yo Sushi near Trocadero for a bite to eat.
Yo Sushi currently has a half price meal offer that requires you to print out a personalised voucher from the internet. M goes under the name of ‘Sinclair Le Geyt’, while K and I play safe with our real identities.
I’ve enjoyed Japanese food before, and rather like the whole conveyor belt experience. M and I order a jug of Sake, which is hot. creamy and smooth, but goes down as quick as my first coffee of the morning. A mistake that became apparent the following morning.
The busy conveyor belt brought an array of colourful dishes, which went beyond my limited Japanese food vocabulary. I tucked into a few plates of sushi, sashimi, hot fried rice, and those funky little rice rolls with sesame seeds on. I probably hit the wasabi and ginger a bit more than I should have, but nevertheless enjoyed a bit of variety and watched the assembly line at work.
Not sure I would have been too pleased with my bill if I was paying full price mind. My appreciation of Japanese restaurants and sushi in general is partly down to the generally calm arrangement of things and a sense of artistry in the food. Yo Sushi was sadly lacking on these fronts, as we watched the mass prepared fish portions being assembled in front of us, along with plenty of nudging and shouting from the staff.
Post nosh we retired to a nearby pub populated mostly by theatrical types. A couple of pints of Timothy Taylor’s slipped down easily in good company, and the train back to Hemel passed by without anybody eating a smelly burger in my carriage.
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