Sushi Masa
33B Walm Lane, London NW2
Sushi Masa is a small Japanese restaurant just off Willesden Green in north London. There’s a neat sushi bar on the left as you walk in. Past that is the main dining room, unremarkable in its clean, Japanese minimalist style.
But although I’ve only recently heard about the place, it does seem familiar. Very familiar indeed. So familiar, in fact, that it takes about ten minutes to realise I’ve been here before. At least half a dozen times, albeit a few years back. No flies on me.
Because Sushi Masa was once known as Sushi Say and was, along with the old Sushi Hiro in Acton, one of London’s best Japanese restaurants. While the latter specialised in sushi and sashimi only (and had the shortest opening hours known to man), Sushi Say managed to do all things well.
Sushi Masa was once known as Sushi Say and was, along with the old Sushi Hiro in Acton, one of London’s best Japanese restaurants
A rare thing indeed. So crisp, gossamer-light tempura, pert, cold soba noodles, damned good sushi. And sashimi worth travelling for.
They even sold natto, fermented soybeans, a strange and slightly sinister obsession of mine.
The boss though, an elegant mama san clad in a kimono, was fierce. Woe betide the gai-jin who dared ask for soy sauce with his sushi. She had strong views on how things should be done, and was not afraid of airing them.
Like kamaboko, still on the menu, a steamed, highly processed, bouncy-textured white fish cake in Hello Kitty white and pink that probably isn’t everybody’s idea of a good time
Her husband, gleamingly bald and wearing a bandana, was, on the other hand, markedly mild. His kingdom was that sushi counter, barely moving from behind his blond wood base. Quiet he may have been, but his knife and rice skills were superb.
This time, everyone is a whole lot younger. ‘Oh yes,’ says my friend Joe. ‘They’re the kids of the owners. It’s been passed on, I think. And the name changed.’
What I loved about Sushi Say, in the old days, were some of the more obscure dishes. Like kamaboko, still on the menu, a steamed, highly processed, bouncy-textured white fish cake in Hello Kitty white and pink that probably isn’t everybody’s idea of a good time.
This time, everyone is a whole lot younger. ‘Oh yes,’ says my friend Joe. ‘They’re the kids of the owners. It’s been passed on, I think. And the name changed.’
But dredged through wasabi-spiked soy, I revel in its homogenous blandness, a triumph of texture over taste.
They still serve natto, if you ask nicely, with chopped spring onion and a splodge of mustard, the taste of these sticky, stinky beans the quintessence of pure umami, and far less aggressive than the mildly fetid pong.
There are excellent home-made pickles, crisp and clean, and cold monkfish liver, riotously rich, in a sharp ponzu broth. Zaru soba noodles, a classic chilled summer dish, is every bit as cool and refreshing in mid-January as it is in the dog days of late July.
The dipping sauce, dotted with tempura bits and spring onion, is exemplary. Chicken yakitori is fatty, as it should be, but lacks the charcoal’s char. While rock shrimp tempura with the spicy, mayonnaise dipping sauce is a respectable version of the Nobu classic.
Another Nobu favourite, yellowtail with jalapeno, is less exciting. The fish is fresh enough, but not quite as neatly cut as it should be. A touch ragged. And the chillies have all the kick of a limbless mule.
O Toro sashimi, cut from the fattiest part of the tuna belly, is decent, but lacks the sublime sweetness of the very best. Far worse, I find a small but insistent bone in a fresh but unlovingly cut piece of yellowtail. The horror!
Nigiri is better, especially the uni, or sea urchin, a great thick tongue of lascivious delight. Although the rice isn’t as soft and expertly vinagared as it was when the place was Sushi Say.
Service is swift and sweet, the sake list interesting. And the non-raw fish dishes as good as they always were. The sushi counter may have had an off day. We all do. But a bone in the yellowtail is the cardinal sashimi sin.
Not just unappetising. But mildly traumatic too.
About £40 a head