Nobody would go for sushi with me so I went by myself.
The sun shimmered on the wet streets and I avoided soggy piles of leaves as I walked the five blocks, happy to be outside, happy to be walking, happy.
It was early and I was the only customer at the sushi bar. Only a few plates traveled around the little conveyor belt, plates of strange combinations and some sushi rolls with salmon and cream cheese inside, which strikes me as odd and unappetizing although normally I like cream cheese with salmon. Blame it on a sense of propriety.
I seated myself and watched the three chefs piece together the rolls and the bricks with slabs of bright pink fish, tempura-fried shrimp, and some strange orange mushy stuff I know from past experience to be very spicy, like Thai spicy, which also does not comform to my sense of "sushi." I prefer the cool creamy buttery delicate flavors, no added flavorings or spices except wasabi and soy sauce.
I love wasabi, the quick rush and then the drop back down and soon your eyes stop watering. When I go with S & we sit in a booth I feel no qualms about pounding the seat with my fist as tears stream down my cheeks, face flushed and his obvious delight at my self-inflicted pain, but here alone at the bar with the three handsome chefs I controlled myself.
The one preparing the batter-fried shrimp sushi rolls asked me if I wanted anything in particular, and I immediately asked for unagi.
He brought me a plate with two bricks covered by some of the best unagi I've eaten, nice big thick strips and good tangy barbeque sauce drizzled over the whole thing. He laughed soundlessly as I popped the whole piece in my mouth and I obliged his laughter with big eyes and mock-surprised eyebrows.
He brought me a tempura-fried shrimp to sample and pointed at the plates he had constructed, and I enjoyed the sample and vowed to come alone more often, but had no intention of eating more. I counted four plates and that was plenty for my tummy and for my pocketbook.
It was a nice stroll back to the office. Happy.
The sun shimmered on the wet streets and I avoided soggy piles of leaves as I walked the five blocks, happy to be outside, happy to be walking, happy.
It was early and I was the only customer at the sushi bar. Only a few plates traveled around the little conveyor belt, plates of strange combinations and some sushi rolls with salmon and cream cheese inside, which strikes me as odd and unappetizing although normally I like cream cheese with salmon. Blame it on a sense of propriety.
I seated myself and watched the three chefs piece together the rolls and the bricks with slabs of bright pink fish, tempura-fried shrimp, and some strange orange mushy stuff I know from past experience to be very spicy, like Thai spicy, which also does not comform to my sense of "sushi." I prefer the cool creamy buttery delicate flavors, no added flavorings or spices except wasabi and soy sauce.
I love wasabi, the quick rush and then the drop back down and soon your eyes stop watering. When I go with S & we sit in a booth I feel no qualms about pounding the seat with my fist as tears stream down my cheeks, face flushed and his obvious delight at my self-inflicted pain, but here alone at the bar with the three handsome chefs I controlled myself.
The one preparing the batter-fried shrimp sushi rolls asked me if I wanted anything in particular, and I immediately asked for unagi.
He brought me a plate with two bricks covered by some of the best unagi I've eaten, nice big thick strips and good tangy barbeque sauce drizzled over the whole thing. He laughed soundlessly as I popped the whole piece in my mouth and I obliged his laughter with big eyes and mock-surprised eyebrows.
He brought me a tempura-fried shrimp to sample and pointed at the plates he had constructed, and I enjoyed the sample and vowed to come alone more often, but had no intention of eating more. I counted four plates and that was plenty for my tummy and for my pocketbook.
It was a nice stroll back to the office. Happy.
<< Home