Hosokawa, and how budgeting and dieting are both doomed to fail
Last week, I did a very Dutch thing. Or at least, I tried to. For the first time in a decade of living in the Netherlands, I decided to collect those little stamps they always try to give you at the cash desk in Albert Heijn. Aptly named “Restaurantzegels”, ten of these stamps entitle you to a 2-for-1 meal at dozens of restaurants all over the Netherlands. Surely a no-brainer for a freelance food writer who attempts to budget the way other people attempt to diet: with much effort and little success?
So I filled up my card (remarkably quickly – it seems I shop at Albert Heijn more than I thought I did) and hopped online to book a restaurant. Only it wasn’t that simple: the places I’d starred all seemed to be mysteriously unavailable. I checked a few other restaurants at random to see if my experience was an anomaly, but even the humblest of eetcafes only seemed to have availability at 9.30 on a Wednesday night. Seriously – are these places even open at 9.30 on a Wednesday?
And then my Dutchness failed me. I gave up with the whole zegels business, threw the card in the recycling, and instead booked my first choice of restaurant at 7.30 pm on a Friday – for full price.
Like I said, budgeting is much like dieting: even the best of intentions generally go to shit pretty quickly.The chef at work at Hosokawa’s teppanyaki grill
Friday night came, and off we went to Japanese restaurant Hosokawa – it had been recommended to me a while ago, and Albert Heijn’s Restaurantzegels website had reminded me of my intention to try it out. None of the places I recognised on the website were particularly expensive, so I assumed Hosokawa wouldn’t be either. Clearly I was wrong. We’d booked the teppanyaki side of the restaurant (there are separate tables for sushi and teppanyaki), and a quick glance at the menu confirmed that we weren’t getting out of there for much under €100 each. The set menus came in at a minimum of €66, and you’d struggle to find a bottle of wine for under €30. It was like a re-run of our Yamazato experience.
Still, we were there now, so we had little choice but to crash on and worry about the bill later. In some strange attempt to add value, what happened next was very strange: a waitress came over and tied bibs around our necks. The Honey Badger was not amused: “Never in my adult life have I had to wear a bib at a restaurant!” I took his point. Especially as I didn’t consider anything we ate that night to be particularly messy.
An unamused grown man wearing a bib – and not on a stag do…
The meal started with a small dish of cold egg custard with a few slices of vegetables set into it. I wasn’t convinced. While the teppanyaki chef prepared our fish course, we chugged a small bowl of miso soup – trying to get it down before the fish was ready. The salmon and sea bass were undoubtedly fresh, and both they and the onions and courgettes that were fried up at the same time on the grill were “done” about the right amount. But that’s pretty much all there is to say – it’s like a giant indoor BBQ without the rubs and marinades.
The fish course: salmon, sea bass and vegetables, straight off the hot plate
What I will say is that the dipping sauces were fantastic: we had a nutty, rich miso sauce; a simple soy-based sauce; and a tart, vinegary dip laced with daikon and spring onions. The chef told us which sauce would go best with which part of the meal, and he was right.
Kizami salad – a good palate cleanser between courses
After the fish came a light salad of raw veges and sesame seeds that was dressed perfectly. It cleansed the palate before our main course of beef with vegetables and rice. I opted for the sirloin (arguing that I’d saved us a whole €4 by not choosing the tenderloin!) which was expertly prepared in front of us with fresh and smoked garlic, as well as a generous glug of Cognac that lit up the room (for full flambé effect, watch my 10-second video on Instagram). It could’ve done with more seasoning (although the sauces made up for that) and I had to ask the chef to chop it up into smaller pieces (because large slices and chopsticks don’t mix), but other than that it was a decent dish.
Sirloin of beef from the teppanyaki grill
Dessert was as uninspiring as I’ve come to expect from Asian restaurants: fresh fruit, mango and lime sorbets, and a dollop of whipped cream in the middle. We sipped our green tea, taking bets on what the bill was likely to come to. To say that we were pleasantly surprised to pay €90 each would be true and untrue at the same time: we’d anticipated three figures, so we were happy to stop at two. But was it worth €90? I don’t think so.
I left feeling much as I did when I left Yamazato: like I just don’t get it. I’ve never been to Japan, so I make no claims to be an expert. But I neither do I understand how grilling a few pieces of fish and meat can be so expensive – no matter how good the dipping sauces are. Those bibs had better be designer…
