Tokyo’s Sushi Showdown: Sumi vs Sushi Like by Kintan

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Tokyo’s Sushi Showdown: Sumi vs Sushi Like by Kintan

Londoners have long adored sushi in every form, from roll-packed lunch boxes to singular omakase counters, yet few rivalries capture the city’s sushi divide as cleanly as Sumi in Notting Hill and Sushi Like by Kintan near Oxford Circus. Both are firmly grounded in Tokyo inspiration, but they interpret it through wildly different lenses: one polished, serene, and steeped in Michelin lineage; the other brisk, value-driven, and refreshingly democratic.

Together they frame how Japanese food philosophy evolves in London: precision versus pace, intimacy versus accessibility, craftsmanship versus casual mastery.

Sumi: Where Tokyo Precision Meets Notting Hill Ease

Sumi is the casual sibling to Sushi Kanesaka, one of Tokyo’s most respected Michelin-starred sushi institutions. From the moment you walk in, it’s clear this Notting Hill favourite takes pedigree seriously but never stiffly. Soft light filters through minimalist interiors of blond wood and pale stone, where an open prep counter centres the room. Guests perch at the counter or sink into low tables, observing deft hands sculpting rice into art. The team trained under Sushi Kanesaka’s ethos: that simple perfection lies not in invention, but in subtle harmony - each grain of rice, each cut of fish, a deliberate stroke.

The menu unfolds accordingly: omakase nigiri that changes with the tides, melt-in-your-mouth otoro (fatty tuna) that glistens with perfect marbling, and sashimi served with almost meditative precision. Portions arrive in quiet rhythm, small bursts of ocean flavor presented against minimalist ceramics.

The omakase menu, typically £60–£120 depending on market catch, remains the highlight, with the chef guiding diners through sequences of tuna belly, fluke, scallop, and sea bream, each brushed gently with soy or dusted with yuzu zest. It’s an experience that teaches patience: to slow your eating, to taste the temperature of rice, to feel its soft crumble against the clean cut of fish.

But Sumi, despite its roots, doesn’t treat tradition as a trap. Creative side dishes—crisp tempura, comforting miso broth, and Japanese pickles lining elegant dishes—make the place more approachable than its Michelin-bound parent. The balance between ritual and freedom is striking. You can sip sake from a small wooden masu or pair your sushi with light white wine. The staff, knowledgeable without condescension, weave detail into their service quietly. When describing an otoro nigiri, they’ll mention the supplier or the aging process, always with a note of pride but zero pretense.

There’s a fluid sophistication that fits Notting Hill’s rhythm: a blend of neighborhood ease and gastronomic ambition. Conversations murmur softly but never hush the space; couples, birthday groups, and solo sushi enthusiasts find comfort here. The crowd leans toward discerning locals and food lovers seeking an authentic Edomae experience without the formality of a tasting counter hidden in Mayfair.

Reservations are wise, the demand for tables can outstrip supply, especially on weekends when the omakase counter fills swiftly. Many guests consider Sumi a gateway to fine sushi, a place to learn the language of omakase, before plunging into Michelin hushedness.

Sushi Like by Kintan: Fast Hands, Fresh Rolls, No Fuss

A 20-minute tube ride east lands you near Oxford Circus, where Sushi Like by Kintan hums with a completely different energy. Small, efficient, and downright practical, the restaurant operates like a Tokyo commuter stop transplanted to central London. Its concept? Democratising great sushi.

The space is compact: polished counters, slim wooden stools, tight walkways—but everything moves with rhythm and efficiency. You grab a pencil, tick your choices on a menu sheet, hand it over, and within minutes the temaki begins to roll out. It’s high-speed precision, done with heart.

Part of the Japanese-owned Kintan group, best known for its yakiniku restaurants, Sushi Like emphasizes freshness and speed over ceremony. The focus here is temaki: crisp seaweed cones filled with freshly made rice and precisely seasoned ingredients.

The 6 Temaki Set (£25) is the star draw, stuffed with creative fillings: tuna, enoki mushroom, prawn tempura, fatty tuna with pickled radish, aubergine, eel, each offering a swift, satisfying crunch-snap between seaweed and rice. There’s delight in the simplicity: bite, chew, enjoy, move on. The seaweed remains crisp to the last roll because each temaki is rolled to order.

At these price points, the quality astonishes. The tuna has brightness, the eel sweet smokiness, the otoro surprisingly rich depth. Pair it with karaage chicken (£5), a scatter of seaweed salad (£3.80), or a simple bowl of miso soup (£3), and you’ve got an entire meal under £20 per person. There’s occasional flair too: uni on otoro making special appearances when available, instantly selling out on social media. You might find yourself sitting next to office workers in suits, a shopping couple sharing hand rolls, or solo diners enjoying a quick lunch before diving back into Oxford Street. Everyone moves with swiftness but somehow without chaos.

Service at Sushi Like by Kintan mirrors Tokyo’s efficiency. Staff dash gracefully behind the counter, sushi boards arriving seconds after order slips. Yet despite the speed, there’s courtesy baked into the system. Smiles, quiet greetings of “irasshaimase,” and perfectly packed takeaway boxes.

Where Sumi’s dining room breathes measured calm, Sushi Like buzzes with small bursts of energy. Reviewers adore it for what it achieves: hand rolls that stay crisp, rice perfectly seasoned every time, and fish that outpaces most high-street sushi in freshness. For many Londoners, it sits in the sweet spot between quality and cost—a perfect late lunch, pre-theatre bite, or midweek treat. And though queues may snake down Margaret Street during peak hours, that line tells you all you need to know.

The Verdict

Two restaurants. Same city. Both fulfil the Tokyo philosophy that good sushi should express purity, timing, and care. Sumi enchants with serenity and intention. Sushi Like by Kintan, on the other hand, invites everyone in: no reservations, no prolonged rituals, just human connection through freshness and flavour. Ultimately, Sumi and Sushi Like by Kintan reflect London’s plural personality: one restaurant where sushi feels like performance art, another where it becomes part of the city’s daily rhythm. And therein lies the beauty of London’s Japanese renaissance, it doesn’t force a choice between reverence and accessibility. It celebrates both.

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Halloween’s Global Evolution: From Celtic Rituals to Worldwide Costume Craze

Every October the world glows orange and black, streets fill with cobwebbed doorways, and jack-o’-lanterns flicker from São Paulo to Seoul. Yet the celebration that now fuels billions in candy sales began as something far quieter and far older. Halloween’s roots reach back more than two thousand years to Samhain, the Celtic festival that marked summer’s end in ancient Ireland and Scotland.

For those farming communities the night was both an ending and a beginning, when the boundary between the living and the dead was thought to thin. Fires were lit to ward off wandering spirits, and people disguised themselves in animal skins for protection rather than play. This was not about fright for fun; it was about keeping harmony with the unseen.

When Christianity spread through Europe, church leaders tried to pull those pagan traditions into the new faith. All Saints’ Day on November 1 and All Souls’ Day on November 2 reframed Samhain rituals as respectful remembrances rather than mystical fears. The evening before—All Hallows’ Eve—kept its air of mischief but gradually softened in meaning. Over centuries, practices of lighting candles for the departed merged with community gatherings and seasonal foods. Apples, nuts, and grains—symbols of harvest—became central, while masks persisted, evolving from animal forms into playful anonymity. It was a slow shedding of superstition and a drift toward celebration.

Across the Atlantic the holiday changed again. Irish and Scottish immigrants carried their Halloween customs to nineteenth‑century North America, where new urban settings turned rural rites into street parades and neighborhood fun. Pumpkins replaced turnips for carving in the United States because they were plentiful and easier to hollow. The jack‑o’‑lantern gained its now‑iconic grin, glowing on porches rather than in fields. Children’s door‑to‑door gatherings began as community “souling” or “guising,” asking for treats or prayers for the dead. By the 1920s these became fully secular events. Candy manufacturers, costume companies, and filmmakers discovered the holiday’s marketing potential and shaped it into a cheerful night of sugar, ghosts, and imagination.

Look closer, though, and the old rhythms remain. The obsession with transformation—the chance to become something other than yourself for a night—echoes Samhain’s ancient disguise tradition. The bonfire’s protective glow lives on in candlelit pumpkins. Even the communal aspect of sharing food links to harvest feasts of survival and gratitude. Halloween became a mirror that reflects both continuity and reinvention, always shifting to the culture that celebrates it.

By the late twentieth century, globalization carried Halloween far beyond the English‑speaking world. In Japan, theme parks and fashion districts reinterpreted the costumes as street performance. In Mexico, Halloween interlaces with the Day of the Dead, standing beside rather than replacing it. In the Philippines, families clean graves and share meals while children adopt Western trick‑or‑treating. Each country bends the celebration to local rhythm: a commercial carnival, a family remembrance, or a costume art form.

Today Halloween is at once ancient ritual and global pop spectacle. Social media has accelerated its exchange, where viral makeup tutorials and cinematic horror aesthetics travel instantly. Yet its enduring appeal is surprisingly grounded. Beneath the masks and candy, Halloween explores how people face nightfall, the literal change of seasons and the larger reminder of mortality, with humor instead of fear. In that laughter at the dark, the old Celtic wish survives: to move safely from one season, and one realm, into the next.

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