PIRANA London

Although in reality, the piraña (piranha) is a South American omnivorous fish, in popular culture it’s a flesh-eating (human) killing machine and to be avoided at all costs. Its name conjures up an exotic frisson, perhaps a glamorous danger, most certainly a presence which implies unforgettable, quite possibly terminal, adventure. From the company that turned Mahiki into Tabu, a Yakuza inspired underworld and made The Reign of London the denizen of Dom Perignon, Piraña is Strongarm’s newest venture. Located at the bottom of St James, where the legendary Avenue held court for many a year, Piraña presents an exotic mix of Peruvian and Japanese cuisine. 

A disarmingly friendly bouncer unclasps a blue VIP rope outside the venue. A couple of steps inside and the reception doubles as a cloakroom. The long bar which leads into the restaurant is ribbed with wavy wooden slats on its side and ceiling. The effect is reminiscent of a whale’s gaping ribcage. The bar’s square lightbox tables display abstractions which could be seashells or certainly sea shapes.

If this part of Piraña is oceanic, crisp and clean, its dining space is cavernous, dark and atmospheric. Most impressive of all is the right side wall, probably 25 metres in length and 7 in height. With its rugged crannies and steps, it could be a sheer granite rock face or a Leviathan’s skin and is a bold visual statement although about what, it’s hard to tell. 

We have a two-hour window and are seated in a corner furthest away from the entrance. Our waiter chooses our menu and brings us a Spice Fire and Lady cocktail. The former is a Tanqueray 10 Gin fused with apple liqueur and juice. It’s decorated with slices of red pepper and a purple flower, is slick and refreshing. The latter is a longer vodka drink, and, containing raspberry purée and raspberry powder, is much fruitier and thicker.

Plantain crisps are served as an appetiser with a tomato and chipotle salsa. The starters come fast and thick. The edamame have a moreish and salty char-grilled flavour.  The sea bass ceviche is decorated with a dried, pinkish/purple sweet potato leaf and has dollops of more traditional coloured sweet potato purée. As well as the sea bass, large kernels of corn add an extra texture to the overall zingy flavour. The spicy tuna maki rolls are filled with avocado and strips of cucumber whilst the tuna on the outside is decorated with finely chopped scallion. 

The outstanding plate is, initially, the most confusing. It might be a dish of desiccated octopus tentacles. Under the dim lighting, they look uncanny, scary almost, like malevolent bugs, like they might suddenly creep or crawl, like they might bite back. Like something out of Cronenberg’s Naked Lunch. Even something conjured up by HR Giger. They consist mainly of curved bobbles. Our waiter tells us they’re ribs but even this doesn’t seem quite right. We sprinkle the lime and neither jump nor dive but cautiously dip our fingers in. Glazed with a caramel brushing we’re supposed to taste the squelch of chewy but flavoursome corn niblets. The cob is cut vertically for the boney, rib effect and an unusual, if not in London, unique serving of a corn on the cob dish. 

We take a quick breather and more of the same cocktails before mains. Four chunks of chicken are tender and succulent, chargrilled with skin for additional texture. A smooth green jalapeño sauce adds a subtle spice if you’re so inclined. The salmon teriyaki is also succulent and its honey/soy glaze, thick. Tender stem broccoli are sprinkled with sesame seeds and served with a pleasant sesame sauce dip. 

A DJ plays throughout the evening and the music is a kind of benign house. I wonder if this set up is similar to that of Sketch which opened back in 2003 and, in its own way, revolutionised the dining experience by clearing the floor of tables and turning the restaurant into a night club. No. Unfortunately not. A shame because the central space is large enough and the DJ decks positioned to make such a scenario work. At one point the ceiling, loaded with complex rigging, even flashes with glee. But literally for a second; a warm, orange/blue glow. It’s as if the ceiling wanted to work in a nightclub but its parents would let it. I ask our waiter if anyone does dance; apparently sometimes, by the space near the toilets. 

We share a dessert which consists of three quenelle-shaped scoops; a chocolate ice cream, a matcha ice cream and a yuzu sorbet. Time suddenly seems to be on our side and we still have half an hour to spare. Piraña has an extensive Espresso Martini menu which we peruse for a second dessert. Beyond the classic, there’s a Rum infused Gouté, a Luxury one with gold coffee beans and gold flake and a Mezcal one. I opt for a Tiramisu which is a heady concoction and exactly as you’d hope; like drinking a Tiramisu pudding. As well as Baileys and fresh mascarpone, it’s delivered with a small circle of edible rice paper with the restaurant’s logo stamped on it. My friend has the Choco & Orange. It’s served with a slice of orange peel held onto the glass with a dainty clothes peg. The fusion is less harmonious than the Tiramisu but it still packs a welcome punch and practically makes us want to dance.