Sumosan restaurant review

Nobu and Zuma dominate London's modern Japanese dining scene, gaining column inches as much for their celebrity clientele as for their food. Sumosan is something of a modest younger sister flying slightly under the radar.

Tucked away on a quiet side street off Green Park next to a Vietnamese art gallery, Sumosan's light, airy space is decked out in tasteful beige and lilac. The pared down interiors are very zen-like and calming.

I visited on a Wednesday lunchtime and the place was reassuringly buzzing with a mixture of wealthy Russian expats (the restaurant is Russian owned), office workers and ladies who lunch. Bypassing the á la carte menu offering the likes of seasonal Toro stuffed with foie gras, and sea urchin risotto, I opt for the reasonably priced five course lunch menu for £22.50, with a side of rock shrimp tempura.

Lunch begins with a refreshing cup of miso soup with tiny shiitake mushrooms, that serves as the perfect palate cleanser. Next up is a delicious, umami-rich Kaiso salad crammed with sesame seeds and peanut butter, which I enjoy with a glass of Domaine de Joy Ugni Blanc from Gascony. The rock shrimp tempura doesn't disappoint - made up of heavenly chunks of fried shrimp, lifted by the citrus Yuzu dressing.

A sashimi selection follows, featuring the usual suspects: salmon, tuna (which is air-shipped from the US at -80 degrees), prawn, and richly flavoured white bait, all of which match incredibly well with my crisp, lime-fueled 2008 Hunter's Riesling from Marlborough, New Zealand.

For the main event, I go for the Black Cod with Miso, keen to see how it fares against the Nobu version. I was slightly disappointed by its diminutive size - call it the Kylie Minogue of the fish world, but what it lacked in size it made up for in flavour. Sweet and rich with a melt-in-the-mouth texture, there are few flavour experiences that top that of well cooked Black Cod. It's all consuming, transcendental even, and I feel almost beatific reverence for the fish and the pleasure it produced. A tricky one to match with wine, my 2008 Tasmanian Pinot Noir from Devil's Corner, whilst not harmonizing completely, far from jarred.

Pudding is a decadent affair. I choose Sumosan's signature dish - a white chocolate fondant, which arrives in an exquisitely crafted golden cage made of latticed sugar. Gooey and toothy tinglingly sweet, it tastes like liquid Milky Way and matches surprisingly well with my Thienot 2002 Champagne, for which Sumosan are the sole suppliers.

Although I chose to drink wine, there's an extensive saké list to experiment with. Head Sommelier Jean-Louis Naveilhan offers eight different sakés by the glass, and saké flights – three sakés by the glass for £10.50. Naveilhan is adamant that the rice wine, which should always be served chilled, can be enjoyed throughout the meal, from apéritif to pudding.

Sake tasting at Sumosan

Wine and the City caught up with saké expert Jean-Louis Naveilhan, head sommelier of Sumosan restaurant in Mayfair, to find out how saké is made, from polishing the rice to the importance of the spring water. Like grapes, there are dozens of different varieties of rice, and only the best are used for making saké.

Seven sakés were on show at Sumosan, from the Grand Cru of sakés, Betsukakoi 2009 Junamai Daiginjo, made from rice polished down to 50% of its original size, to the crowd pleasing Pink Nigori Saké Jyunmai that tasted like strawberry milkshake due to the white peach yeast. As with wine, there are entry, mid-priced and premium sakés, and if Naveilhan's sales are anything to go by, the popularity of the transparent drink is soaring in the UK.

Sushi for beginners

My introduction to sushi was something of a baptism of fire. I was a teenager and temping in Grosvenor Square. Feeling incredibly sophisticated in my new role, I decided I needed a suitably grown-up lunch to match.

I picked up a pack of sushi from M&S and took it to the park. Opening the little black box, I was surprised to see a dollop of avocado next to a few pink flecks of ginger. I scooped it up on my chopsticks and munched it. A second later my mouth was on fire. It wasn't avocado, but wasabi! In a panic, I spat it out on the grass with a gasp, much to the dismay of the city boys and girls elegantly nibbling around me.

I've since learnt my lesson, and approach the little green dollops with caution, but after my fiery introduction, sushi has come to be one of my favourite foods. Imagine my delight then, when I was invited to a sushi-making class at Tsuru, a sushi restaurant inches from my office.

Snow-flecked on arrival, I'm quickly offered a warm cup of saké – Honjozo non vintage. It has a sweet nose of vanilla and licorice with hints of aniseed. The palate is totally different - salty and savoury like a Fino Sherry. It's smooth, medium-bodied and dangerously drinkable. After two cups I switch to sesame tea, fearing my knife skills may not be at their peak if I indulge any further.

Our teacher is a tall Thai guy called Yod Bovron, who tells us to handle the rice the way we would a lover. Strips of seaweed are passed round and we work on the rough side, so the shiny side is in view when you eat it. First up we make cucumber maki rolls. Wetting our hands with water and slapping them together like Sumo wresters, we grab a clump of rice and cover the seaweed with it, leaving a space at the top for folding. It's harder than it looks, and I make a royal mess.

We then sprinkle the rice with sesame seeds and strips of cucumber. Now for the hard part: folding. Yod grabs the ends of his bamboo sushi mat, and folds the seaweed into a neat roll in three quick movements. My rolling techniques are not up to scratch and my maki doesn't meet in the middle. I turn it over and put in on the tray before anyone notices.

Next up are California rolls, which I have more success with. We cover a strip of seaweed with rice and decorate it with fiery orange flying fish eggs, that burn like jewels in the light. Flipping it over, we decorate the other side with avocado, strips of salmon sashimi and special sushi mayonnaise. I give mine a generous squirt, then roll it quickly, so the seaweed disappears, covered by the outer layer of rice. It looks mouthwatering, but we have more sushi to make before I can try it.

By the time we're onto the nigiri (strips of sashmi on a ball of rice), I'm on a roll. Yod shows us how it's done, adding a dab of wasabi to the sashimi, then squishing, poking and prodding it into shape. We're all too hungry to resist temptation, and pop them in our mouths. They're delicious. Last on the menu are the prawn tempura hand rolls. I make a bed of rice across one side of the seaweed and add asparagus, mayo and the tempura, then roll it from corner to corner like an ice cream cone.

We're given our maki and California rolls back. They look so pretty on the plate, it's hard to believe I made them. They don't stay on the plate for long, as I'm ravenous. The hand roll and California rolls are particularly delicious – must be the mayo. Sushi only stays fresh for four hours, so it's perishable personified, but if you can spare the time to make it, your tastebuds will be richly rewarded.