Restaurant review Naamyaa Café, London.

When, about a decade ago, my mate and I found ourselves in Bangkok goodness knows how, a funny thing happened on the first night. It was 6pm and we went in search of oxygen in a local park, trying to get away from the smog and stink of the main roads, and eventually alighting on a park bench. There, my friend extricated some tobacco and crumpled Rizla from a pocket, and started to roll a cigarette.

Hardly had he applied the sealant lick when – Gong! – a giant bell was struck, and the loudest sound I've ever heard reverberated through the whole city. Everything stopped. Joggers jogged no more; cars halted and switched engines off; even mad dogs obeyed the prevailing peace; and then, rather beautifully, the national anthem played.

It was like that moment in The Shawshank Redemption when Tim Robbins' character plays "Duettino Sull'aria" from The Marriage of Figaro to a courtyard full of prisoners: elevation and epiphany amid the chaos and crackle. And it was possibly the most transcendent and memorable moment of my life – so much so, in fact, that I feel teleported back to it while sitting in Alan Yau's latest venture.

What a beautifully designed restaurant this is. It has a very high ceiling, populated by gently whirring fans, and to the back is a vast wall, covered in shining-white tiles with blood-red-and-gold depictions of scenes from an ancestral, Oriental life. The kitchen – managed by the excellent David Thompson, founder of Nahm – is visible and the bar is attended to by glistening crimson bamboo chairs. Charming staff hovercraft between tables; there's a gentle hum to the conversation; and the streets of north London are within sight but out of mind. You could almost be in a park in Bangkok.

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