CLAP doesn’t open with a whisper it opens with a bang. The starters alone feel like a prelude to excess, a runway show of flavour designed to set the tone for the night.
The grilled umami chicken wings arrive glossy and irresistible, coated in a Peruvian anticucho honey sauce that clings to the fingers like lacquer. Then comes the crispy rice with avocado a clean, green jolt of comfort, textural and restrained, a pause before the next crescendo. The rock shrimp tempura follows with theatre: each bite crunching into a rush of spicy chilli mayo and a confetti of chives, indulgent but balanced, Knightsbridge glamour translated into food.
But CLAP’s heart beats loudest in the Hyojun Platter — 27 pieces of choreography in raw form. Sashimi glistens like jewels: salmon, akami, and yellowtail sliced with almost architectural precision. Nigiri is all about restraint the buttery richness of chutoro, the clean silk of seabass, the familiar warmth of salmon. Then come the rolls, where discipline dissolves into indulgence: the salmon volcano roll spilling fire, the shrimp tempura roll delivering crunch and comfort in one bite. It’s abundance served as spectacle, but with a precision that anchors the drama.
For dessert, the CLAP chocolate fondant is unapologetically decadent, a molten heart that spills into sesame soil and goma ice cream, marrying East and West in a finale that is both sultry and soothing. It’s the kind of dish that makes conversation pause, as though the night itself has leaned in closer.
CLAP is not about restraint; it is about theatre, excess, and the pleasure of surrendering to both. Walking out into the Knightsbridge night, one feels lit from within exhilarated rather than heavy, as though the evening had staged itself around you. This is not dinner. This is seduction. And seduction, in this postcode, is the truest currency.
