Restaurant review: Sushi des Artistes, London.

'If Pee-wee Herman went into catering he might come up with something like this'

The tides of restaurant trends move in pre-ordained patterns, dictated by the gravitational pull of the major metropolises. So Manchester and Glasgow copy London, which apes New York, which in turn cannibalises its own past, rose-tinting and sanitising and twirling its moustaches.What I've never encountered before is a Marbella restaurant deciding to branch out to London. And not a Spanish one, either, but a "creative Japanese restaurant" with "unique chefs" offering "A TOUCH OF ROMANCE" (their caps). What's that word again? Oh yes: hubris.Unlike in the theatre, you open in London, then move to the provinces. The rare occasions when things happen the other way round are generally met with sniffiness: a Manchester outfit recently landed in London's Piccadilly has drafted in Aldo Zilli to help its marketing push, deaf to the hoots of derision from the capital's restaurant-goers. Sushi des Artistes is heroically ugly: dark and moody but sheeny-shiny, red-and-black stripes everywhere, huge TV screen belting out Yo-Yo Ma or the Bee Gees, light fittings either bowler hats or the kind of coloured chandelier usually found in teenage girls' bedrooms. It's the absolute antithesis of the calm, serene Japanese restaurant model, like eating inside a migraine.And who wrote the vast menu? A Chuckle Brother? Sashimi assemblies are called things like "Salmon and Garfunkel" and "Love for sale"; appetisers "A kiss with edamame" or "Love me tender". If an item can feature truffle, wagyu or foie gras, it will. Prices cause me to lose all feeling in my fingertips.

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