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Thursday 12 June 2014

KIRAZU




Asahi Black Beer for Table Number 2



Takoyaki, Osaki Street Food Coming up...



Fresh Market Sashimi, Agedashi Tofu, Steamed Scallop Salad



Seabream Sashimi & Miso Soup



I'm Hung On You, Mr Salaryman



Blackboard Cravings



Menu Bins



To soy or not to soy



Seaweed Salad and sesame bean sprouts


#52 Danny La Rue


Japanese Tapa Tapa Tapas

When running to meet my kind partner for a surprise dinner at Kirazu I wasn't expecting to find this traditional Obanzai cuisine (Kyoto home style cooking) on the very doorstep of London's Chinatown.  Placing refined Japanese  foodisms into touristy Chinese territory doesn't seem to gel as both have a distinct mindset towards showcasing their Asian offerings. 

Kirazu - translated as SoyBean in Kansai district Japanese - is lead by head maestro Yuya Kikuchi. He will blow you away with his skilled Fugu food license, or Blow Fish cooking to the lesser initiated. It requires a craftsman's skill to be awarded this trusted license which involves serving up, what would be a poisonous fish - in the wrong hands. Yuya likes to grapple with a blow torch and will carefully flame up plated delicacies to the exact half millimetre as part of his honest honed craft. The Obanzai concept is essentially conceived to let all the ingredients sing and fortunately there are no Japanese budgerigars on the menu.

Taking its own restaurant name as inspiration, Kirazu's menu utilises the Soybean for its staple ingredients - soy sauce, tofu and miso soup, living up to the healthy diet doctorate of Japanese cooking contributing to your prolonged longevity. Unfortunately the time waiting for the dishes to arrive may take years off you, unless you get lucky. *Please read on.

Kirazu is a tiny space that requites an intimate familiarity with your fellow diners. This was accentuated when we were mistakenly presented with the food they had already ordered. We happily tucked in but after eventually realising the error - due to lost in translation glitches from an eccentric maitre d - we did feel a touch guilty as it really was a delicious selection. Plate proportions are intentionally small, a la tapas and this gaff would be best avoided by any passing hippopotami with hangovers who like to end the night feeling bloated. 

On the plus side you won't find any Chinatown tourists hogging the buffet and spinning a round table at 47 Rupert St.





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