Aya

Clarendon Street, Dublin 2
www.aya.ie

Long, long ago, when I was young and idealistic and yet to be corrupted by nutcases and karaoke bars, I lived in Stuttgart, Germany. Even writing it like that – name, country - makes me understand how much time I have spent in North America since. But this was 2000, I was in my Euro phase, and I didn’t have to distinguish between homologous towns in Germany and the US.

Anyway, to the story: I was hanging out with my new cosmopolitan gang, including Rosa from Chicago, Ronit from London (via Amsterdam, Tokyo and Tel Aviv) and Ana from Ljubljana. When these three asked me to come for a sushi lunch, I didn’t wish to appear ignorant and so told them: oh yes, of course I LOVE sushi. Yes, let’s go. Truth be told: I had no idea what sushi was apart from some sort of raw fish that cats might sniff at and walk away from. We ended up at a little place on the corner of Kalverstrasse, and sat around the belt. A waitress brought us some condiments. I thought: “Ooh, green mayonnaise”, and had a good old lick of it.

Wasabi.

I had devoured the whole lot in one go. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak. My skin went puce. The others were in shock as I walk behind the bar and helped myself to two pints of water. It could have put me off sushi for life.

As anyone who knows me can corroborate, however, it didn’t. Canada was a great Nihon gastro development for me, with a sushi place every few yards across the country … Ho Su, Sushi Island, Wasabi, Guu, Hapa Izakaya … I could sashimi my way along the TransCanada Highway if required. And so it was great to get to sit at a belt in Dublin and feed the withdrawal symptoms I’d been having since my return seven weeks ago.

Sam and I turned up to Aya at about 18:30. You have to press a sort of “wheelchair access” button, and the glass door of the restaurant slides back electronically. Once inside, you see plenty of tables towards the window, and a conveyor belt that runs nearly the length of the aft of the restaurant. There are booths in front of the belt, perpendicular to it, and chairs strung out along the side furthest from the door. This is where we sat.

Mondays at Aya is advertised as the “What’s Happening in Tokyo Show” night, with a virtual DJ and what I understood to be some sort of interactive video show. When I clicked through the links (the Aya website is frighteningly poor, by the way), I got a podcast and something about Toronto. Coincidence, surely, but no closer to giving me the info I wanted. Really, we didn’t notice much of a show in real life either – mirroring the cyberspace dead ends.

At any rate, the glass cabinet at the front door of the restaurant contains all you need to know. And really, the Sushi 55 is the only thing you need worry about. Concept: all you can eat off the belt in fifty-five minutes (except the platinum plates, of which there were few anyway), plus a glass of wine, beer or a soft drink, and it costs you €29. However, on top of this they levy a €2 “seating charge”. Makes you wonder if they’re part of the Ryanair empire. Surely if the cost is €29 including a drink, they could either: a. charge €31 and get it done with (and nobody would bat an eyelid), or b. charge €29 like advertised, and stop messing around with made-up expenses and annoying all their customers with pettiness. If I had stood the whole time, could I have organised a refund, I wonder? Shame good ideas always come to me after the time they’re actually needed.

I was slightly concerned about quality before eating: Aya in Dublin is linked in people’s minds with the chilled counter in supermarkets where they deliver plastic boxes of sushi for office lunchtimes, and which don’t have the greatest reputation for inventiveness. Turns out, I needn’t have worried. The belt carries the usual things you’d expect, but all are of high standard: sushi, various maki, some salmon and tuna sashimi (nice inclusion in an all-you-can-eat option), and nicely seasoned edamame. Sweet red pepper was an unusual ingredient to see on one maki plate, but pleasant nonetheless. At times it was difficult to determine which plates were blue, silver, white, or platinum, as they often carried traces of at least two of these colours. Nonetheless, we managed to stack them up fairly shamelessly, before both diving into chocolate mousses that we’d been eyeing up for ages as they passed on the belt. And I managed to avoid the wasabi all evening.

Something I really liked about Aya: although we had finished eating within the hour, we sat back and had some more of their excellent white wine, and a really good laugh about nothing. And the bill was not adjusted for spending more than the allotted 55 minutes at the belt. Finally: a restaurant that treats its customers like paying adults rather than freeloading schoolchildren.

Oh sorry, meant to say: I was berated by Sam after the Market Bar review, as I detailed the alcohol intake of the meal. I’ll have to watch myself in future.

PS. She had three glasses of wine tonight.