Juno Omakase vs. Somssi: Mexican-Japanese Fusion Meets Korean Omakase

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Juno Omakase vs. Somssi: Mexican-Japanese Fusion Meets Korean Omakase

London’s omakase landscape is evolving quickly, and two names are defining what the next generation looks like: Juno and Somssi by Jihun Kim. Both revolve around the intimacy of a chef’s counter, a fixed series of plates, and a devotion to craft. Yet they diverge in influence, scale, and flair.

One is a Mexican-Japanese firework hiding in Notting Hill. The other is a serene Korean-Japanese expression, orderly but rich in depth. The choice is less about which is better and more about which mood you’re in.

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Juno Omakase

At Juno Omakase, tucked away inside Los Mochis in Notting Hill, the intrigue begins before a bite even arrives. Access is by reservation only and leads you into a moody six-seat counter, a kind of secret theatre where Chef Han presides.

The experience lasts two hours, offered at set times through the week, and you’ll need to pre-pay £230 per person before entry. The format is deliberately tight, intimate, and charged with personality. It’s omakase that isn’t content to stick with orthodoxy.

Mexican peppers, yuzu kosho, chipotle, and jalapeño slide into the structure of Japanese courses without hesitation. A slice of bluefin tuna arrives under a pour of jalapeño ponzu. Wagyu nigiri lingers smoky with chipotle. Later, a miso caramel flan seems like dessert from a parallel universe, softly savory but sweet enough to linger in memory.

Each of the 15 courses feels like performance—creative and slightly theatrical—yet technically exact. Reviewers call it “a tiny omakase doing things differently,” which sums up its playful originality.

The room itself is a crucial part of the experience. Six seats mean every gesture from the chef is seen, every question answered directly. Lighting is low, atmosphere calm, but there’s an unmistakable hum of intensity. Service is deeply personal, with staff guiding each sake or wine pairing in sync with bold flavors. Yet there are caveats: vegetarians, vegans, and those with allergies won’t find flex here, the menu is linear and uncompromising. That rigidity underscores exclusivity; this is not for casual diners but for those ready to surrender to a chef’s precise vision.

Somssi by Jihun Kim

Somssi, by contrast, unfolds along a wider counter, typically 8–10 seats, allowing for more social energy. The aesthetic is minimalist and elegant, drawing your gaze to the chef’s movements rather than décor. Here the narrative is Korean heritage meeting Japanese discipline.

Menus run to 12–15 courses and the price hovers a little lower than Juno, around £180 to £220 per person. Pairings might include not just sake and wine but also thoughtful pours of Korean soju. The chef’s pedigree usually spans Michelin kitchens in Seoul and Tokyo, and the food reflects that dual lineage.

Where Juno sparkles with contrast, Somssi leans into harmony. A bowl of uni rice kissed with Korean spices nestles beside wagyu tenderloin brushed softly with ssamjang. Sushi might be layered with pickled daikon, blending sharpness and umami. The emphasis is less on spectacle and more on quiet depth.

Each course layers familiarity with subtle surprise, balancing warmth of Korean flavors inside the frame of Japanese omakase craft. It is comfort, but elevated, with a communal feel reinforced by the slightly larger counter. Conversations can spark between guests, yet the focus never strays from the performance in front of you.

Reservations here too are essential, and like Juno, pre-payment holds your seat. Staff are polished, informative, and softly attentive, engaging diners with provenance and process but never distracting from the chef at work. The crowd is similarly eclectic: industry insiders joining tables of adventurous foodies, all leaning forward in anticipation with each plate.

The Verdict

Juno is intimate, secretive, and exuberantly boundary-pushing—ideal when you want to be surprised and swept into a theatrical collision of cultures.

Somssi is refined, elegant, and resonant with balance, perfect for those who prefer a reflective exploration of dual traditions in a social counter setting. Both are extraordinary; choose Juno for fire and flair, Somssi for calm and clarity. Either way, London’s omakase scene has never been more thrilling.

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The Art of the Bareback Jean: Duran Lantink’s Cheeky Paris Moment

Duran Lantink has never been shy about pushing fashion into provocative territory, but his Fall/Winter 2025 Paris show landed with a particularly playful sting. The standout piece: the “bareback” jean, a literal cut-out that left models’ derrières on full display. It was cheeky, yes, but also deliberate—a nod to body confidence and a challenge to what counts as tasteful in the high-drama world of runway spectacle.

The collection, titled Duranimal, leaned into exaggeration. Think sculptural prosthetics that gave models oversized muscles or cartoonish busts. These pieces pointed straight to childhood toys and action figures—the kind of plastic exaggerations many grew up with—and reframed them as commentary on how we perform gender and identity in public. If fashion is performance, then why not dial the costume to the point of surreal humor?

The staging carried that surreal note forward. Instead of a polished catwalk, Lantink chose a Parisian office space mid-renovation. Models wound through half-built cubicles while a live choir delivered dissonant, avant-garde harmonies. Look closer, and this sonic layer matters: the choirmaster, Frédéric Sanchez, drew inspiration from 1970s experimental soundscapes, giving the runway a haunting, immersive edge that contrasted with the comic bravado of the clothes.

Even within all that drama, the jeans stole the headlines. Model Danilo Marković wore the bareback design “unwaxed and all,” a detail that made the point crystal clear: this was not about polished perfection but about unapologetic authenticity. For Lantink, comedy becomes a lever to loosen cultural stiffness—an exposed backside can be both joke and manifesto.

Textures across the collection oscillated between wild and familiar. Animal prints sat next to classic plaids, all twisted into unexpected silhouettes. Sculptural knits bulked out forms, while upcycled skins and deadstock fabrics anchored the production in sustainability. Lantink’s reputation as a designer who marries waste consciousness with theatrical disruption was on full view.

Add to this the collaboration with Mark Borthwick, the influential photographer who captured the show in real time. That image-making element shifted the event into multi-layered art performance, blending live runway, sonic experiment, and photographic exhibition. For the audience, it was less about finding a winter coat and more about inhabiting a provocation: how do we dress when the rules keep dissolving?

Ultimately, the bareback jean is unlikely to hit your local shop floor. But its moment in Paris was about more than market viability. It asked whether embarrassment and humor might be rewired into tools of empowerment. Would you dare to wear it in public, or keep it as a runway memory? That hesitation is exactly where Lantink wants the conversation to live.