Yo Sushi

The Yo Sushi chain was a real eye opener when they first introduced their line of conveyor-belt raw fish; us natives had never seen the like. When I first arrived in London in 2001 I thought this was a sight to behold and an experience beyond compare. Now, in 2006, Yo Sushi hasn’t changed, it’s been left behind in a sea of other sushi and Japanese food emporiums. Reputedly the best sushi in London is to be found in the Japan Centre on Piccadilly, the best Sashimi in Nobu etc etc but back then we didn’t know the difference, never mind care. The Yo I fondly remember as being exciting and different hasn’t changed from then, which is exactly the problem.

I paid a visit to the one in Islington recently and a strange phenomenon has occurred. Almost everyone in there on a Saturday night was on their own and desperately reading a book. The Yo of days gone by was where groups went, “look at us, we’re so trendy” was the refrain. Now Yo has become the preserve of single people in transit, like McDonalds for those with more money.

Those wise to the Yo procedure know the drill; do not just lift any dish, specifically order what you want, ignore the conveyor belt unless you keep a close eye on the chef (easily done give the stage the poor men have to operate on) and grab instantly what leaves his hand. The Yo promise is that no fish is left on the conveyor for more than two hours, personally I think two hours is a long time in the life of raw fish and I don’t believe them anyway. That said I left with a satisfactory belly-full of raw fish and tempura no real complaints to be made now I know the drill. McRaw fish is all it is really.

The Dove, 24 - 28, Broadway Market, Hackney

The Dove on Broadway Market is a very popular hackney bar-slash-pub. Its official title is a gastropub, I believe. I personally don’t go in for this gastropub nonsense, you are either in a restaurant or a pub, stop pretending. It serves Belgian beer, even the horrible cherry stuff and has a gastronomic stylee menu of burgers - all Thai spices and salsa. Despite the fact that it is generally populated by the insufferable Hackney media types, it’s actually quite good. Chips (note the use of “chips” not French fries or wedges, these are proper chips) come in a pint glass with mayo and chilli and are excellent. Their burgers are fantastic, wild boar, pork and cider, thai lemongrass varieties as well as a more traditional straight-forward-no-messing-about beef version. And once you negotiate your way though the three hundred beers on offer to find something drinkable it’s actually a nice venue.

The Dervish, 16 Stoke Newington Church Street, N16

When I was in Istanbul I saw some whirling dervishes. Now that is an odd one. It’s kind of dancing and spinning in a big flared skirt so you look not unlike a spinning top. In Stoke Newington the Turks have taken over and a good thing too, without them the place would be dead on its feet. They run the bars, restaurants, kebab joints, grocery shops, jewellery shops, dry cleaners, barbers, hairdressers, and so on. Stoke Newington was on the verge of near wasteland isolation until the Turks and Greeks took it for their own.

Everyone who comes to visit me in London from further a field gets fed flatbread and proper Turkish Delight, humus and iskender. Not one of them leaves without loving every minute of it. The Dervish restaurant on Church is always my starting point, (unfortunately there is no whirling). I wish it could be La Sera on the High Street but not everyone likes fish. The staff in the Dervish are brilliant, no matter how many people we bring there or how late and loud we are they go out of their way to make sure we have a good time. Now I’ve been to nearly every “little turkey” restaurant in London and I genuinely think that this one is the best, their Iskender is superb, just the right balance of yogurt versus meat versus pitta. The Church Street Special is a mix of charcoal grilled meats so tender and so tasty. Skip desert and wait for your bill and the apricot surprises that come with it. In fact stay there all night.

The Spice Bazaar, Eminonu, Istanbul

The Spice Bazaar is an experience: a huge covered market space full to bursting with stalls selling almost every spice known to man since 1660, for sale by the gram, kilo or tonne. It’s a bit of a hectic placing, brimming with nervous energy, the sort of place pale faced western women like me are advised against wandering about by themselves.

Negotiations go on loudly between locals, tourists and stall holders alike. If you are inclined or practised in the art of bartering it’s probably as good as free in comparison to English prices. I, however, am a bit of a chicken. I lurk about trying to look inconspicuous and not scared witless for a while but eventually get snaffled up by a persistent stall holder into his liar.

He demands to know what I am after, confusion and panic force me to say Turkish Delight and from nowhere, as if by magic, trays upon trays of the stuff appear for tasting. I eventually settle for a rosewater flavoured bag and an orange selection (this is out of at least fifteen options, I feel I’ve done well getting it down to only two). The stall owner tells me I want some nuts, of course I do, think I and more tasting occurs until I choose some roasted chilli nuts and a bag of fresh pistachios.

On we move to the teas, I having some tea obviously, any form of protest is pointless. More trays appear and I am made to sniff a dozen varieties before I am allowed to choose apple or orange, kettles and samovars then appear and I am given a demonstration in the art of making tea. I settle on the orange one and it is cleverly vacuum packed for me and I am eventually allowed to leave. Strangely as I pass back through the bazaar, now armed with my various packages, no one comes near me.

Seven Hills, Tevkifhane Sok 8/A 34122, Sultanahment, Istanbul.

The Seven Hills Hotel and Restaurant is a bizarre one. Location wise it can’t be beat. If you time things well you get to sit with the Blue Mosque on one side and the Sofia on the other as the sun goes down over the city. It looks amazing but beware it can get surprisingly cold in the evenings, though if you don’t come prepared the owners bring you Turkish wraps to keep you warm and make you look like you’re wearing a magic carpet.


Food wise, our starter of Calamari took over an hour to arrive during which time we saw several other tables get up and leave out of frustration at not getting served. Our main course arrived in a slightly shorter forty five minutes. I had a swordfish shish which was beautiful with fresh spinach, yogurt and pitta sides.

The bill took three attempts to get right (well it still wasn’t right but I gave in after the third attempt). It would win a prize for the worst restaurant in the world if the setting wasn’t so dramatic and the food, when it turned up, was actually quite good. The problem seemed to be they lacked any kind of system, there were no table numbers, food would arrive and nobody knew where it was supposed to end up. No waiters were assigned to table groupings and it was in all a bit of a free for all. We were probably lucky to served in under three hours really. It is definitely worth going to look at the view, just don’t go if you’re in a rush or lack patience in the extreme.