Truly rich pickings at Zuma

This review was published in May 2002

Here's a tip: don't even think about going to Zuma if you're feeling slightly underpaid or insecure. I've spoken before of my suspicions that there's a super-rich people's jungle tom-tom and, in the week since this modern Japanese opened, the drums must have been going into overdrive.

We visited on a Tuesday evening before a single review had appeared (the only coverage-was two-line gossip about a visit from Guy Ritchie); it's hidden up a back street with no glimpse from the main drag. But still it was absolutely rammed with the seriously loaded.

Tanned and silvery-bouffanted men accompanied gorgeous women tricked up in designer versions of this year's tediously ubiquitous peasant schmutter. (Tip No.2 - the posh stuff looks the same as Top Shop.) We kept thinking we had spotted Sven-Goran and Nancy, but this was just the house look.

When my date took his seat at the bar - he's a chap whose sartorial style might be regarded as forward-thinking - the cashmered individual next to him surreptitiously hid his wallet.

And Zuma itself is gorgeous. The design, by divinely named Japanese company Super Potato, is - with its extensive use of natural wood and granite - kind of Flintstones meets The Jetsons. There are three areas: bar, already buzzing with an air of perfumed expectancy; sushi bar, where you perch on hewn granite watching the theatrical expertise of a battalion of headbanded sushi chefs; and the restaurant itself.

It was here that, despite having booked, we vainly attempted to get a table not in a huddled-together line-up where one of you has to face the wall. (Tip No.3 - restaurateurs: if you insist on this ghetto-ising of tables for two, at least put in a mirror so those facing in can catch the action.) Other people had booked the round tables, explained our genuinely charming maitresse d', which I found odd given that the place had just opened. Maybe they sent a layout map to rich people.

Also odd that it took five people to tell us we couldn't have one of these tables but none to take our drinks order. (The charming maitresse d' offered to buy us a drink as recompense, it later turned up on our £130-for-two bill.)

Anyway: food. It's kind of Japaneselite, much inspired by that other hangout of the wealthy, Nobu (there are clear similarities; the black cod, for instance, and popcorn shrimp). It has the same rambling, non-sequential menu of small dishes ranging from about £4 (for a cucumber maki roll) to about £17 for crab claws or lobster.

Its USP is a long list of sakes (we wussed out and opted for an entry-level Viognier) and its robata grill, which sends seductive wood-smoky tendrils out to greet you.

This kind of layout encourages overspending: we ate nine dishes with ease. All were good, some were splendid. Highlights were an exquisitely memorable Dynamite Spider Roll: maki containing milky-sweet soft-shell crab and jalapeno peppers; yellowtail sushi, the flesh amazingly fresh and butter-soft; sweet shrimp sushi with the texture of best Turkish Delight; wobbly, curdy, home-made tofu fried with savoury dried bonito flakes.

The rice throughout - including an intriguing barbecued rice lollipop from the grill - was flawless: sticky, pearly grains which managed to retain their shape and bite.