Sushi Night!

Along with a brand spankin' new stamp in my passport, there was one thing I yearned for on my trip to Japan. The one single quest that was to fulfill my desires and longings. It's name is Sushi. After all my years of wasabi- wannabes and Itamae-imitators, some passable, some grievously disappointing, I was finally going to have the genuine article, the Real Mc-Koi, the Raw Deal. True Japanese Sushi.

We ventured out late, our quest seemed simple enough: Find a Sushi Bar in Japan. Eat. We found a regal looking establishment and entered. That was the moment our quest became much more difficult than we had naively anticipated. How to order?... We demonstrated our pointing and grunting skills with the agility and dexterity of a Julliard mime, yet there seemed to be an endless agenda of specifications and choices that had to be made:

Sake or beer? Set or Ala Carte? To share or individual orders? How many pieces? Which kind of pieces? Sashimi or Maki-mono or Futomaki? Did somebody say Miazaki? Red bean miso or mushroom miso? Fatty tuna or lean tuna? I'm sorry that is not available in the set you ordered, please return to the second question and begin again. ...God, I'm hungry. At one point, thinking it would exempt us from making further decisions, we tried the risky "Just Surprise us" . But they thought we were asking for rice.

This of course all transpired in a mixed language of Japanese and gestures, "Japantomime" if you will. But nonetheless the endeavor was successful and we did achieve our goals forthright. Sean was apprehensive, but willing to try. Punk and I indulged with delight.


You can do it Sean!