MITSU makes Oliver mist up. Sushi and sake and fond (ish) memories
Our main exposure to Japanese cuisine, as Westerners, is sushi. It’s in every meal deal, delivered on conveyor belts in the middle of shopping centres, and often (at least in my home) badly recreated, riced, and rolled.
MITSU, however, is the future. Authentic and refined, yet packed with style and substance, it’s both delicately dished up and unapologetically in your face. MITSU doesn’t shy away from its Japanese roots, but instead leans heavily into them, shouting them loud and proud from the rooftops.
The interior almost feels like a scene from Blade Runner. Deep ruby lights glow from the skirting boards, while soaring walls filled with modern art draw your eyes upwards. The centre bar is something to behold, slap bang in the middle of the room, with bartenders who have that suave look in their eyes, knowing that their speciality cocktails will just hit you in the jugular and give you exactly what you want. Omniscient, almost.
Sake! Not quite wine, not quite beer, not quite a spirit. At least, not as we Westerners know it. If you’re expecting it to be any of those things, I honestly think you’ll be disappointed. But if you open your sake door with an open mind, you’re led into a sake sanctuary. MITSU’s house sake is sourced from KANPAI, London’s only sake brewery, situated on Bermondsey’s Beer Mile. Served chilled, it’s clean and delicately fruity, with a gentle sweetness and that distinctive savoury, almost umami quality that makes sake such a natural partner for food. It’s soft and dangerously easy to drink.
Though perhaps not a good idea as a mid-Beer Mile palate cleanser, and I’m speaking from experience here. If wine after beer gives you the fear, then beer before sake removes you forcibly from the party.
Anyway, let’s not get into my drunken mistakes; where were we? Ah yes, MITSU. MITSU treats sake as an addition to the experience. Poured from a jeroboam into your sakazuki, before overflowing onto the sake saucer below. Sake is for sipping sensibly… tell that to me three years ago, five beers deep in Bermondsey.
Now, I’m no stranger to sushi, but I have never had sushi like the Otoro Nigiri. Otoro is the extremely fatty part of the tuna belly, and it was our lovely waiter’s recommendation. I’ll admit, cynically I was thinking, “How much better can this sushi actually be?”
Oh, I was proven wrong.
It was like butter. Melt-in-the-mouth. Almost gone before you could even swallow. Rich, delicate, and genuinely unlike any sushi I’d had before. A lesson, perhaps, that I should really stop being so bloody cynical.
Next up on my manifesto of MITSU’s most memorable mouthfuls is the Wagyu Sando. Now I know what you’re thinking. Wagyu? In this economy? I know, and for the most part I agree, but our waiter was just too charming and far too good at upselling. Annoyingly, he was right. Yet again. Thick, perfectly toasted bread with a pillowy centre wrapped around succulent wagyu that yielded under the slightest bite. It was everything I didn’t know I wanted and more. Better still, being cut into four slices, it was perfect for sharing.
Next came the Unadon. What is Unadon, I hear you ask? Eel. Not exactly something I’d spent years dreaming about. In fact, if you’d asked me a week ago whether I’d be ordering it, I’d probably have politely declined.
Yet again, MITSU made me eat my words.
The eel was unbelievably tender, glazed in a sticky, smoky-sweet sauce that clung to every bite, rich without ever becoming heavy. Served over rice with a soft omelette beneath, it was comfort food dressed up for a night out.
For many of us, our exposure to Japanese cuisine begins with supermarket sushi, but it shouldn’t end there. MITSU is proof of that. It celebrates Japanese cooking with confidence, precision and absolutely no compromise. I came expecting a great meal. I left with a slightly bruised ego, a newfound appreciation for eel and the reluctant realisation that my waiter had been right about absolutely everything.
MITSU, 10-50 Willow Street, London. EC2A 4BH.