Open Mon–Fri midday–2.30pm and 6pm–10.30pm, Sat 12.30pm–3pm and 6pm–10.30pm
I should be clear that my visit to Chisou (with my very own blonde) occurred on the day after Mr AA Gill’s less-than positive review of the restaurant had appeared in Sunday Times Style. Seeing as Chisou’s sister restaurant in Mayfair has an excellent reputation, I expected to uncover a Chiswick equivalent. Instead I found a team of quivering wrecks and hurt faces. As you would expect, the Japanese culture would take a negative review very badly. I somehow felt it was my duty to undo any ignorant wrongdoing and, as a real lover of Japanese cuisine, give Chisou a fair review.
I make the point of being a ‘real lover’. My fellow reviewer (can I call him this when he is so influential and I am relatively new to this game?) admits ‘I don’t swoon for sushi’ so I am not sure he was the perfect person to head west for raw fish. Needing some cheer, we accepted the kind offer of Martinis; one wasabi and the other ginger. These were unusual but nonetheless quite delicious. The mood lightened a little and we felt ready to move on from the Japanese humiliation and order the Chisou specialities. King crab tempura, with real Himalayan rock salt grated over the top (£20.50), yellow-tail sashimi, served with ponzu sauce (£19) and baby spinach salad, topped with spicy prawns and sweet carrot (£9.50) were brought out one at a time, so as not to steal the other’s thunder.
My Blonde felt the Chilean wagyu rib-eye steak in teriyaki butter sauce, served with shittake and shimeji mushrooms (£33) was so unbelievably tender, that perhaps we might return in our old age to eat it without teeth. I think you can always tell a sushi restaurant by its salmon sashimi: the way it tastes, the way it has been cut and its aftertaste. Chisou’s definitely impressed.
Not all of our dishes were of this calibre though. The fried aubergine in dark miso paste (£7) was heavy and overly sauced and the Californian rolls (£7.60) were super-sized, which made for uneasy eating, and were a little dry.
Then the soul searching returned. We heavily praised the staff and reassured them that we had enjoyed our meal, but the scars were there and no amount of bowing could undo the damage. I hope Chisou’s Chiswick branch picks itself off the cutting floor and gets rolling, as some of their culinary delights are spectacular.
One final point to Mr Gill; Chiswick is not the alternative Shoreditch.
