Gold among trash

I don't think I've come across a restaurant so determined to ward off trade as Kobe Jones. It is a downright contrary place.

First there's that name - doesn't exactly shriek sophistication and class, does it? In fact, its theme-joint cheesiness made me think I was in for some kind of DIY teppanyaki action, with an all-you-can-eat buffet and maybe a little karaoke thrown in for good measure.

Then there's the location, in an unlovely part of Great Russell Street, at the bottom of the St Giles Hotel and nudging the YMCA.

The windows are completely covered, so there's no indication of anything going on at all; and you squint to make out a name. When you finally find your way in, you discover Kobe Jones shares its ground space with an Italian restaurant which appears to enjoy a similarly perverse streak, calling itself Il Grasso: Fatty in Italian.

The two establishments also share loos; I managed to get lost in Il Grasso. Trying to find my way back required orienteering skills more suited to that other Jones: Indiana (hint: it's through the leopardskin doors).

Ah yes, there's the decor, too. Sultry, dark woods and golds create an atmosphere of rather endearing trashiness. Little cut-out metal lampshades are draped over the tables, exposed wiring akimbo. The main dining room is fringed with walled booths with golden doors, hinting at the potential for untold naughtiness.

But if you manage to get past all these obstacles, you're in for something of a treat. Kobe Jones is a modern Japanese in the style of your Nobus and Zumas (and Atami, below) but with none of the attitude. Well, with its drag queen looks, it can't afford it. But everything we ate was good to excellent.

Good were the standards like bincho nigiri sushi, fingers of good rice with pale albacore (or white tuna) draped on top; and fat rolls of rice-filled nori topped with the fun-to-pop orange pearls of tobiko (flying fish roe).

Also good was an entertaining number called 'wafu prawn thermidor with a touch of Japan'. Wafu is Japanese-style Western cooking and this was an almost comical collision of the two cultures: a creamy 'risotto' made with Japanese rice, heady with fungi from both sides of the equation, under some charred, bouncy prawns. Rich, over-the-top, but I liked it. And we liked Flintstones-sized spare ribs of Iberico pork with a lipsmacking sweet and fiery marinade.

But we just loved the 'Kobe Rolls' - the best kind of East-West fusion. We had two: the Dynamite, a generous slab of rosy tuna with cucumber and sesame seeds, chilli heat to be specified. We tried the hottest, which was tame but otherwise gorgeous.