Sitwell stirs it up

‘Each dish was so tantalising, we kept needing more sake to keep up with the f

William has a confession to make to his editor

Edamame Scallop carpaccio Tuna carpaccio Seared salmon sashimi, spicy truffle yuzu miso Grilled aubergine, saikyo miso and sesame Eel nigiri Tuna nigiri Octopus nigiri Crunchy hot stone roll Picanha wagyu Black Tiger king prawns Steamed rice Yasai salad

IT’S a permanent insecurity that keeps writers – well this one anyway – on their toes. You bash out your copy, attempting to combine fruitiness and detail in balanced measure, then after a couple of reads, a tweak here and there, file to the editor.

Once lobbed at them you hide. You hope it’s OK. But you never quite know. You wait and you are once again that schoolboy. The feeling for me is so real. I am that boy at my Neanderthal prep school – Maidwell Hall in Northamptonshire; daily canings or slippering from the headmaster, abductions and torture by the older boys in a makeshift cavern with a corrugated roof in the wilderness. Mr Flower is flinging back our homework. Literally. Our little schoolbooks are thrown at us at speed. Sometimes you duck to avoid injury, sometimes you catch it.

Then you open up the book and your heart sinks as you see the lines through sentences or sums. Your work is shredded. If it’s maths or French another nought out of 20, which inevitably means another trip to the headmaster, a thrashing and more disappointment from the parentals.

But look, here and now. Back comes an email from my editor. Thumbs up. Phew. In goes the copy and all that remains is the abuse on the comment section online.

Today there’s an additional pressure when filing copy: expenses. Hence my preamble – wholly relevant I assure you – to this week’s review. OMG, I shuddered when the bill came at Hot Stone. How the hell will that get through?

You see, encouraged by my pal Joe – an aficionado of Japanese restaurants – we had been sipping sake by the glass. The plan had been to go easy on the Japanese rice wine, what with carafes seeming a little pricey.

So a small glass of sake could be sipped for flavour and effect, and a glass of wine to quench the thirst (we did also drink water). But Hot Stone in Islington – which deals in steaks and sushi – is so good, so authentic, every dish so tantalising in looks and flavour and the dishes so multitudinous that we kept needing to order more sake to keep up with the food.

So, most beloved reader, please see my foolishness as acting on your behalf. I tread adventurously so you, having read my report, can either not bother, or do so with confidence.

Please dine at Hot Stone. But for God’s sake, don’t order sake by the glass. And go steady as you plough through the menu, tempted by all those little plates, because as with the greatest Japanese restaurants, the bill could shock you. Unless you have yachts and hedge funds, or design Apple watches or own Amazon.

We started with scallop carpaccio which came in a large shell, with a dose of plum sauce and edible flowers. They slipped down dreamily; a delicate taste of the sea, that lesson in how seafood and fish barely need heat to bring further flavour. There was seared salmon with a perfect balance of truffle and yuzu. Other selections of sashimi and sushi revealed the extraordinary fact that when fish is cut differently, it creates a different texture and flavour.

We cooked beautiful little cuts of Australian wagyu beef on a hot stone and popped on king prawns as well. And we ate an aubergine so good that I would fight you for it. Cut lengthways, the heart was rich and sticky, the skin with some bite but tender enough to eat.

Hot Stone is a classic Japanese place of dark wood, sharp edges and prompt, efficient service. It is genuinely fabulous. And that sake list: incomprehensible to my wee brain, but glass after glass dangerously wooing me into a gorgeous lull of goodwill and happiness. Until that bill hit me…

Sorry Amy (she’s my editor). But will this do? He files and hides…

£180.50 drinks or service)