"Luna Omakase is a gluten-free omakase spot, that’s also kind of a Mexican restaurant, and above all else, is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Here’s the thing: if you pre-pay over £200 per person for dinner, there’s a strong chance that you, and your dignity, are going to need to believe that it was exceptional. Or at the very least, good. You won’t want to face the cold, hard reality, or, for that matter, the cold, hard sweet potato taco shells rammed with enough caviar to cause stratospheric sodium levels. Like many of the City’s most ominous stories, it starts in a lift. You’re whisked up nine floors to Los Mochis—a sort of monied Disneyland take on Tulum—and herded along a corridor to a room where you can hear other people’s laughter unfolding through the walls. It’s a beautiful space, all relaxed wooden curves with 12—wink, lunar cycles, wink—seats. But what follows is less omakase experience and more one long game of fancy ingredient bingo. Just in case you start to question whether that triple-digit investment was worth it for a heavy-handed wasabi ‘taco maki’ and a photo op with some toro. video credit: Heidi Lauth Beasley video credit: Heidi Lauth Beasley Pause Unmute Not only has Luna Omakase perfected the art of name-dropping “sustainable Italian caviar” like it’s a close personal friend, they’ve also mastered dinner by way of distraction. An asteroid of truffle is passed around in a shell that looks like a set piece from Eragon, the sommelier is “our rockstar of wine”, wasabi is performatively grated by the charismatic and charming chefs, and depending on who your fellow diners are, you might be blessed with House of Commons-style guffaws. A slide of hand and you could miss the fact that the delicate piece of trout in front of you has had an unfortunate encounter with a blowtorch and hyper-sweet gochujang-style sauce, and thanks to the gluten ban, the wagyu sando is having a breakdown. video credit: Heidi Lauth Beasley photo credit: Heidi Lauth Beasley photo credit: Heidi Lauth Beasley Pause Unmute There is exceptional raw fish at Luna Omakase. It just, tragically, goes through a lot of salsa verde and citrus aioli flavour play before you get to eat it. The £230 (minimum) missing from your bank account will make swallowing the truth feel like dry-glugging paracetamol in the midst of a migraine, but the truth is this: Luna isn’t up there with London’s omakase greats. It’s just an expensive experiment in “innovation” (ahem, fusion) that isn’t worth the price tag. Food Rundown There’s only one option at this spot—the 12-course, gluten-free omakase menu. Here’s an idea of some of the dishes you can expect. Amberjack Crudo Luna Omakase plays by opera rules. Dishes start off slow and gentle before getting loud with a Himalayan sodium-crash salt block crescendo. Ironically, the best dish here is the subtle opener. The razor-thin slices of light, buttery amberjack come in an orange ponzu that’s a bit zesty, a bit sweet, and surprisingly gluggable. photo credit: Heidi Lauth Beasley Sweet Potato Shell With Italian Caviar This is around the point where even the most devoted caviar lover will start to question their loyalty to fish eggs. Sure, it’s so salty it’s like being water-boarded by the Red Sea, but eating this also unlocked a new career highlight—Googling “can you overdose on caviar?” The shell cracks into sharp shards that feel like an edible fable about the potential painful risks of capitalism. PlayMute video credit: Heidi Lauth Beasley Taco Maki Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Is it a taco-temaki hybrid that defies the laws of spices and overwhelmingly tastes of wasabi and salsa verde at the same time? Tragically for all involved, it’s the latter. photo credit: Heidi Lauth Beasley Hamachi Onigiri Superfluous truffle syndrome is alive and well at Luna Omakase. The combination of yellowtail and akita rice is light and lovely, but the potent truffle top hat entirely takes over. photo credit: Heidi Lauth Beasley Wagyu A5 Sando Credit where credit's due, crafting gluten-free bread is very difficult. Parallel parking levels of difficulty. But this is one unhappy tapioca and rice flour imposter that doesn’t come close to a sweet, fluffy Japanese shokupan. It falls apart quicker than the average freelancer in the midst of self-assessment season. photo credit: Heidi Lauth Beasley" - Heidi Lauth Beasley