So not even so-so

We were told that businessman owner Mr Hama was away when we visited this glossy-but-simple new Japanese. Well, I hope he gives his kitchen a roasting on his return. Spotting my beloved wagyu (king of Japanese beef, an outrageously expensive but glorious luxury) on the tasting menu made me giddy, and we found ourselves signing up for the full £40 a head. What it brought was a dreary collection of dishes, served by sweet, amiable staff in a restaurant that remained relentlessly empty.

A lacquer box was brought to the table revealing an anti-climactic bundle of humble edamame pods. Then came turbot sashimi (contrarily translated as 'carpaccio') on an intriguing selection of seaweed: some black, some red, some unnervingly transparent and tripe-like. Sadly, it was elastictough, salty and just too damn seaweedy. Grilled tofu with miso - horrid. We expected a version of agedashi dofu but got rubbery bricks, topped with thick miso paste and pesto. Yep, pesto; just so wrong. Tuna and avocado had been bundled into more unattractive, mushy bricks but tasted rather good.

Better were salmon mi-cuit (unwisely described as half-baked), an almost confit version of the fish, and lacy tempura. But it wasn't enough to leave us feeling cheerful. And when the wagyu turned up so tough that we had difficulty chewing it - something I thought virtually impossible - I lost all sympathy. So Restaurant? So what?

So Japanese
Warwick Street, London, W1B 5LS