NOBU, no way.

Chefs brigade at Nobu.

It’s one year exactly since I last ate at Nobu in Cape Town.

The experience was so bad that it has taken me a whole year to be able to brave another trip.

One year on, and recession afflicted, the One and Only, leopardskin wearing, top hatted door staff are now only too eager to valet park your car.

Inside, 10 drinkers sat at the enormous bar which dominates the lobby. Staff flitted aimlessly around, rushing importantly from place to place. Used drinking glasses and debris littered the tables.

I descended the stairs and entered the dark brown gloom of Nobu.

The waitron shouts “Irasshaimase!!!”. The staff all shout back, “Irasshaimase!!”.

This is Japanese for “welcome to my house!”. It’s novel when you hear it first, but then it begins to grate on your nerves. Last year, 8 days after it opened, the staff weren’t responding to the greeting and I watched as a front of house manager came down to admonish the staff for not shouting it back loudly enough. Cultural divide I suppose.

Just a few words about Nobu Matsuhisa himself. He is a sushi master who shot to culinary stardom on opening Nobu, New York, in 1994. He trained as a sushi master in Tokyo, and here’s the interesting bit, at the age of 24 he headed to Lima in Peru to open up a sushi eatery. There’s no doubt about it, Nobu is inventive. He’s on to his 25th restaurant now.

What you are really dealing with here is an upmarket restaurant chain.

I’ve eaten in the New York Nobu. It’s a buzzy place with wooden floors, plenty of daylight, natural textures and very minimalist Japanese in style.

Browns, mushrooms and dark wood dominate the interior design.

Nobu London has lots of blond wood and cream leather seating, and, of course, that very famous broom closet where Boris Becker got up close and personal with a waitress. Talk about a bang for your buck.

Nobu Cape Town is a dark brown moody place with every morsel of atmosphere sucked out of the air. It reminds me of a lobby in a 1980’s hotel in communist Eastern Europe. 

They could liven it up a bit by putting candles and white linen table cloths on the tables. The staff add to the gloom, dressed in black from head to toe, like an unction of undertakers. They need white aprons.

The music was disco from the 70’s. It was loud, and pounded incessantly. Boogie Nights thumped and pumped, followed by a blast of Burn Baby Burn. I couldn’t believe it. To add to my woes, the restaurant was chilly. Centrally controlled by the hotel, the staff couldn’t do anything about it. They brought me a silk wrap to keep me warm.

And so to the food. My companion ordered the Bento Box special for R200. It comprised three cold dishes, and three hot ones.It looked promising, and he was delighted with the Japanese halibut (all the way from Japan, according to the waitress). The rest of the contents left him underwhelmed – a bit of sushi here, a bit of sashimi there. The “rock pool shrimps” were tasteless.  Bland fast food from Japan.

The bar in the lobby, beam me up Scotty.

Tempura was the cause of all my problems on my last visit, so naturally tempura was what I was going to order again. I had white fish and vegetables. I am delighted to say the food was delicious. A radical departure from the soggy under cooked tempura of a year ago. On pointing this out to the waiter at that time I was cheekily informed by the manager that “Chef said it was ok”.

At that point I got up from the table and walked out. A year later the chef seems to have gotten a handle on his tempura but I suppose a year is a long enough practice period.

The tone of the staff  a year ago was back chatty, insolent and arrogant. On this recent visit the staff seemed to have changed their tune. Empty tables are a humbling experience. Our wine was kept in an ice bucket 6 metres away from us. Our glasses emptied and we were forgotten, despite being served by 4 different staff on the night.

As we ordered the bill the tables began to fill. 20 diners were seated as we left, just before 9pm on a Friday evening, mostly non locals.

That’s been the problem for Nobu, the locals have deserted it in their droves. It is perceived as expensive, in fact a bit of a rip off. Early hassles included the parking nightmare and the eye wateringly expensive price of drinks at the Starship Enterprise bar in the lobby. When you then factor in the cost of eating at Nobu, the lack of ambiance and character, the disco music and the very ordinary Japanese food you understand why it’s not working for them.

The bill arrived, R666.

A message perhaps?

The damage.

Nobu at the One and Only, Dock Road, V&A, Waterfront. 021 431 5800.

Starters R42-R150, Mains average R150. Oysters R120 for 6.