A new restaurant has opened. In London. Something which would normally fill me with the same level of excitement as Volvo introducing a new 30-ton truck. Or Manchester City buying another player. Stella McCartney’s summer collection. There’s loads of restaurants and the whole ‘fine dining’ thing was a move to liberate the pretentious from as much of their cash as possible. Here’s some beans on toast. But they are yellow edamame beans, sautéed in an organic, Tuscan tomato jus, served on gluten-free, sugar-free, salt-free, fat-free, probably taste-free, ciabatta. £72.90. Oh, fuck off.

Yet I love food. And man cannot live on curry alone. Well, woman cannot live on curry alone. I absolutely could. So now and again we like to try ‘variety’. And we had an email offering 25% off all food in a new restaurant. Ooooooh, free food. Can you just bring me the 25%, quarter portion then, please?

The place is called Chotto Matte and its their second. The original is in Soho and is, quite frankly wonderful. Not totally ‘fine dining’ but quite amazing. We been there. This is the new one in Marylebone. Their USP is that they are ‘Japanese-Peruvian Fusion’. That’s a helluva fuse, you may think, but trust me, it works. Guinea pig sushi is to die for. Well, it would be for the guinea pig. Teriyaki Llama was… not on the menu. I made those up just to invoke stupid stereotypes.

The food is more ‘asian’ than ‘fusion’ but the tastes are wonderful, original and (hateful word alert:) delicious. The place is totally fab, the atmosphere perfect and the staff suitably cool in black.

But it didn’t quite work at the kitchen end. Delays. More delays. Then, our third ‘sharing plate’ arrived about 40 minutes after our second and they got it wrong. They put the chilli ON it, instead of with it, as we had stressed. Mel hates chilli almost as much as I love it. She can’t eat it. So this amazing chicken, smothered in chilli, was kind’a, sort’a… my dream, her inedible nightmare.

We waited a long time for its replacement. They woke us up when it arrived. Meanwhile the forth and final dish still hadn’t come. Like, couldn’t they have sneaked it in while we were waiting for the chicken redu? The manageress came and grovelled apologies, gushing, humbling, almost sobbing, offering drinks (I was driving), deserts (didn’t want), her children, a new car, ANYTHING!!! The lovely waitress was telling about a few ‘teething troubles’ in the kitchen, and I’m thinking Fawlty Towers and the drunk chef.

We didn’t have wine. I was driving, a bottle would be wasted, and the cheapest (by miles) was 50 quid. In the description it said ‘cheap shit, probably from Romania or somewhere dodgy’. The next was s£85. So we had beer. Their own ‘Chotto Matte pale ale’, brought to us by bus-boy-number 3, and just dumped on the table. In cans. Not even opened. I’m no princess (even though I often dress like one, as does Lila) but I mean… I mean…

However, the bill ended up, including service (15%, which I didn’t mind because the waiting staff were lovely, except ‘beer boy’), at £47. So if you’re going to Chotto Matte, go now, before they sort out the service, get it right and have to charge you properly.

Great night out.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx