Yukari and John

After last week’s Belfast fairy-tale, the magical month of March finds us back in London, projecting our misguided need for love and happiness in troubled times on Yukari, 29, a freelance motion designer, and John, 31, a furniture sales manager.

Because of course it does. Read the full account of the date on the Guardian website and then return here for whatever gets caught up in the sieve. Fingers crossed it’s gold and not just a bit of carrot.

Yukari | John

What were you hoping for?
Dating in a big city can be such a slog, so I was really just hoping for a connection. It’s always exciting to be set up on a date in a different way.

I feel this in my soul. This is why speed dating took off in the late nineties, I suppose. Just something, anything different from the endless slog of being introduced to friends’ boyfriends’ mates who wiped their bogies under the table in the pub and tell you, as soon as you get in their car, that the seats ‘go all the way back’. Or the friends’ dreary brothers, or the guys from work who makes your skin crawl but you eventually let take you out because it’s either that or have him pester you for all eternity and make the stationery cupboard a permanent no-go zone.

Just settling because it seemed there was no way to bring a handsome stranger into your life other than get run over by one or get arrested. And now the apps, and their ilk, have become that shrinking matchmaking circle and everybody is holding out in case someone better comes along, as if the government is going to notice the situation and bus in a slew of hunks from Wales or something. So, yes, exciting to be set up in a different way.

What were you hoping for?
A nice surprise and a push out of my comfort zone.

A nice surprise – someone jumping out of a cake, maybe? Dynamite landing in your lap with each course?

First impressions?
Great hair. As someone with straight, flat hair that does nothing, I was envious. And he was so friendly that I knew we were going to have a good evening.

A proper first impression. Strange how most of us covet the hair of another at some point, isn’t it? I decided, aged 16, that my hair was not meant to be the mousy brown with blond bits at the front and flecks of red here and there that I was then enduring – it should be black. So I had it dyed. It looked… well I looked a little like Hilary Robinson from Neighbours to be frank, but I was happy to have had some control over my appearance, and kept this look, with a slightly nicer hairstyle eventually, for three years. The next thing after that was hating my wavy hair and introducing GHDs and, ultimately, hair relaxant into my life. And then I hit 35 and thought, you know what, I’ll just let nature takes its course. Which it did, with devastating effect.

First impressions?
Her excitement for the food was infectious and made me stop playing it cool and get excited myself.

This is an overall first impression, but I will let it go to discuss the idea of ‘playing it cool’, which I hate, so I’m glad John abandoned this plan. Who are we trying to impress when we dial everything down? Why do we look down on excitement, or keenness? Can’t we just… be? The Fonz is not watching, we have left high school, there are no Mean Girls at the next table.

What did you talk about?
All first date basics: upbringing, career, hobbies, John’s aversion to mustard and salt …

US puddings versus UK desserts. Music. Where we were on the day of the Brexit vote. London – its pros, its cons, and its architecture.

All fairly solid ‘no idea what to say to each other’ first date conversation topics. I would probably have left Brexit until another meeting – but I suppose you do need a speedy indicator of just how frightening a new person’s politics are – and it’s nice to see moaning about London make a reappearance.

Most awkward moment?
I was quite vocal about my distaste for German food – and then learned of Yukari’s German heritage.

I think you do have to be careful when dragging any aspect of a different country and not just because the person you’re talking to might have had a great-great-grandmother who was born in Mannheim or something. I mean, what do you want these rants to say about you? Do you want to appear worldly and open to trying new things – and, yes, risking not being fond of them – or do you want to sound like a Reform MP walking into a delicatessen and accusing the bratwurst of trying to get UK residency? I’m sure it was all very lighthearted but, you know, with the world being the way it is at the moment, we need open minds, not one-track ones. (I have been to Germany and liked it, for the record.)

Good table manners?
Incredibly good.

Impeccable, we shared everything.

Best thing about them?
He’s a dessert sharer – he let me have the last bite of the sticky toffee pudding.

Her lust for life – and dessert menus.

I’ll gloss over the food sharing. The thought of their cutlery clanking as they each prod a chunk of sticky toffee pudding around a too-shallow bowl as splashes of sauce spray the table and the dollop of ice cream on top collapses into a milky puddle, though. Ugh.

Instead, congrats to them for bonding over pudding. I am not a huge pudding eater – ice cream and yoghurt don’t count – but if sticky toffee pudding is on a menu I will always, always order it, even if I am full, even if I have to have it loaded into my mouth by a crane because I’m too exhausted to lift a spoon. For some reason John’s ‘her lust for life’ in the middle of a scene about sharing sponge cake has made me hysterical. Goodness knows how Yukari was demonstrating this lust for life in a north London pub – did she do a lap of the bar in a giant foam Guinness hat? Scale the walls in aid of disadvantaged children? No idea.

Describe John in three words.
Kind, considerate and adventurous.

KIND, like you’re trying to be to your nan at the moment because her favourite celebrity is the Pope.
CONSIDERATE, like a pickpocket who takes the cards, money and photos out of your handbag, but leaves you the keys to your Tesla, because even a common thief has standards.
ADVENTUROUS, like someone who, when enjoying a free meal, orders two sticky toffee puddings, rather than sadly poking at one while the other person watches you try and fail to manoeuvre a gloopy chunk of it onto your dessert fork. (The photo taken on the date suggests they got two puddings and shared both, before anyone writes in.)

Describe Yukari in three words.
Warm, kind and sweet-toothed.

WARM, like your nan’s lounge in July, heating turned up to Brazilian rainforest proportions.
KIND, like your nan, when she pops 20p into the busker’s hat, and removes 15p change.
SWEET-TOOTHED, like your nan again, spending an hour trying to work a mint imperial into a grain of sand with her tongue and not get it stuck to her dentures.

What do you think they made of you?
He was difficult to read, but he probably thought I took pudding way too seriously. I know we both had a good time though.

A rambling, picky eater.

I’m going to be honest here – there is too much food chat. I feel like I’m trapped between two pages of one of Jamie Oliver’s cookbooks – ‘Dead Easy Munches in Minutes’, perhaps, that claims you can rustle up a saltimbocca all romana in 10 minutes using stuff bought only from the Tulse Hill Co-Op seven minutes before it closes on a Sunday.

And … did you kiss?
That was off the table the moment the burnt aubergine dip arrived. It was full of garlic and delicious, but not conducive to putting faces together.

It was more a hugs, smiles and waves kind of evening.

Is it *really* the burnt aubergine dip that got in the way or… something else? Is this the first time a dater has accused the actual meal of being a cock-block?

If you could change one thing about the evening what would it be?
Nothing – it was great.

A bit more of a spark and crossover of interests.

Oh.

Marks out of 10?
9.

8.

OH.

Would you meet again?
Yes, I’d be down to see John again.

I’d be very glad to share another dessert, but sadly we don’t have much in common.

Unfortunately, we have no idea what these culture clashes are, because all they talked about here was what they ate. If I could hazard a guess, I suppose John was maybe embarrassed about his German faux-pas – or should that be Fehltritt – and the evening never really recovered. Or there was some other huge clanger that each of them have declined to mention here or that one of them was oblivious to.

Or maybe, just maybe, watching someone take the last bite of the sticky toffee pudding, when you didn’t really mean to offer it to them, is enough to make you want to draw a veil over the whole evening.

A lesson to be learned here.

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Something to remember about the review and the daters that I put at the end of every post

The comments I make are based on answers given by participants. The Guardian chooses what to publish and usually edits answers to make the column work better on the page. Most things I say are riffing on the answers given and not judgements about the daters themselves, so please be kind to them in comments, replies, and generally on social media. Daters are under no obligation to get along for our benefit, or explain why they do, or don’t, want to see each other again, so please try not to speculate or fill our feeds with hate. If you’re one of the daters, get in touch if you want to give me your side of the story. How was the sticky toffee pudding – you don’t even say whether it was nice!

Yukari and John ate at St John’s Tavern, London N19. Fancy a blind date? Email blind.date@theguardian.com