Cool Britannia: Nobu Riche
June 6th, 2007 by Lola
I am nothing if not an international fly gal, so, after graduating from Columbia University’s Graduate School of Journalism, I hopped the pond to Jolly Olde England in celebration of my new designation as a Master of Science. Yep, you’ve got that right—Science. Of course, no trip to a foreign land is complete without a little reminder of home. Enter Nobu Berkeley Street, the London branch of NYC’s celeb-studded sushi joint.
Those of you who consider yourself happy castaways on the island of Manhattan needn’t avert your eyes just yet because I’m certain star chef Nobu Matsuhisa—known around the world as one of the Iron Chef trio—packs the same culinary punch whether on our island or in the British Isles.
I entered the stylish spot off of Berkeley (pronounced Barkley) Square and was greeted by two of the kind of chic freak hosts reserved for the ubër-hip restaurants seen on Sex and the City. After a brief pause and a requisite once-over, my mother and I (the real-world Lorelei and Rory Gilmore) were ushered upstairs. We had passed the test!
At this late hour (on Wednesday, no less), the upstairs bar was hopping, and the small, dimly lit tables held huddles of haute couture queens and their investment banker-style sugar daddies. Expect the same in either of Nobu’s New York locations (Midtown’s Nobu Fifty Seven and Downtown’s Nobu New York and Next Door Nobu).
Since I myself am not a connoisseur of sushi, I eased into the Nobu experience by starting in a place more familiar—the cocktail list. After perusing through saketinis, plum wines and elderflower liqueurs, I decided on a smoothly refreshing and fruity concoction to cleanse my palate for the feast to come. Or, at least that was my plan.
Then it was onto the exotic terrain of the restaurant’s Japanese-Peruvian fusion cuisine. Though fusion fare has been driven into the ground over the last decade, I found myself disappointed by the seeming lack of it at the eatery that put the signature style on the map. The fare was decidedly more Japanese than Peruvian, save for some specialty tacos (tacos are Peruvian? news to me!) and a paltry selection of grilled skewers.
However, since I was hell-bent on participating in the cuisine con fusion, I sampled both of the above, as well as a mushroom salad and a funnel-shaped, seaweed-encased avocado and lobster hand roll. I couldn’t walk out Nobu’s doors without having at least one piece of sushi, now could I?
Overall I was underwhelmed. Though the fashionable first-daters and giddy gals surrounding me seemed pleased as punch, the small servings, inflated prices and inattentive servers left a lot to be desired. Case in point, my mother ordered a tempura dinner and waited a full 20 minutes for the accompanying rice. Thankfully, the assorted fried goodness maintained its crispy texture during the delay, but it was slightly ridiculous that our waitress failed to notice the missing rice after visiting our table no less than five times to deliver course after tiny course. In short, it was the longest parade of pauper’s portions I’ve ever seen.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t equate quantity with quality. On more than one occasion, I’ve felt the sweet, sweet food coma of a tasting course gone right, thanks to NYC foodie faves, including Per Se, Chanterelle and L’Atelier de Joël Robuchon, but something tells me that’s not necessarily what Mr. Matsuhisa had in mind. Then again, I was dining at a spot revered by Hilary Duff and the Olsen twins. Those bitches wouldn’t know a buffet if they fell face-first into a vat of creamed potatoes; the phrase “all you can eat” is virtually meaningless to them…
But still, four Sacagawea dollar-sized tacos for £15 ($30)? Gimme a break! (And, while you’re at it, about four to six more of those tacos and a heaping helping of that spicy, delicious guac that came with them… mmmmm)! And the sushi? Meh. Virtually indistinguishable from the stuff you can get from Go Sushi or Whole Foods for a fraction of the price. Though, to be fair, I didn’t delve into any of the Nobu’s more adventurous (and, ahem, pricey) options.
After years of reading about this quasi-iconic sushiteria in the pages of US Weekly and its esteemed competitors, it pains me to advise you, Glamourpusses, “Skip it.” Like many of the rehab set’s favorite hot spots, the best of the boîte can be got at the bar. So, if you must go, then make a point of bellying up, sipping on sake and watching as the famished and famous saunter to their tables…and their inevitable disappointment.