"Just follow your nose," said the assistant in House of Fraser on being asked directions to the branch of Yo! Sushi recently installed in the store. There was a rueful edge to his advice, such as might be heard in a nurse pointing out the skate park that had just been built in the middle of ward four. Every ounce of the scandalised astonishment that wage slaves feel towards the boss class was there in the dismissive roll of his eyes. The forehead-banging absurdity of siting a sushi restaurant next to the chi-chi wares of an upmarket department store couldn't have been more evident had he been carrying a placard.
He was correct, at least, about how to locate the place. As you progressed through the perfume department, the musky mists of Stella McCartney yielded in increments to top notes of soy sauce and fried prawn. There was one spot, I swear, where when you leant back you got Calvin Klein's Obsession and forward you got chicken yakitori.
Lots of nice department stores have restaurants, of course; Harrods, being that bit better, has 28 food and drink outlets. Typically, though, these are tinkly champagne-and-crustacea restaurants located on the top floor, and they sell the same visions of refinement and elegance as the womenswear and the jewellery departments. Things are rather different with Yo! Sushi. It has all the elegance and refinement of a gang of Japanese teenagers frisbeeing CDs around the room. It's a sit-down disco with condiments, basically.
You may know about the gimmicks: the circular conveyor belt that carries small plastic dishes past the booths and high stools; the astronaut's workstation of chopsticks, wasabi jars, water spouts, napkins and pickled ginger that is built into every table; the dishes priced by colour, usually between £3-£5.
That's why we go to Yo! Sushi, for the gimmicks. It's a grotto for grown-ups. From early life, dining tends to be a prescriptive experience; parents and partners choose the menus, restaurateurs determine the portion sizes. At Yo! Sushi, all that is pushed to the side in a mounting frenzy of bowls and flying noodles. There's an agreeable Willy Wonka-esque touch of naked greed to dining there.
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Particularly here, in this quasi-respectable, department store branch. Usually the chain sets up shop in airports and shopping malls and eating there can feel chilly and expedient.
This one, though, is full of families and Japanese students and snazzy cream leather booths. The food is variable, obviously. Avoid the stuff on the belt; those lonely chunks of tuna and salmon flank craving acknowledgement like the last turkey in the shop.
Go, instead, for the stuff you need to order and wait a few minutes for: the "hairy prawns" that are basically seafood wrapped in Shredded Wheat, the silky, Nobu-inspired black cod, the katsu selection of crispy prawn and chicken bits in a breadcrumb that seems to feature some derivative of opiate.
The flavours are brassy and bright, even if they are wholly subservient to texture. Some of it, mind you, is best avoided altogether: the spicy pepper squid that is essentially the bits off the tops of pencils dipped in cod liver oil and fried; or the prawn yakisoba, a tired, ailing post-pub-pavement mess of noodles and weird prawns. Don't worry if you choose badly, there'll be another dish along in a minute.
Yo! Sushi, House of Fraser, 45 Buchanan Street, Glasgow, 0141 413 2231, dinner for two with drinks £55