Ambiance

Last night we went for birthday sushi (33! wow!) at the place where everyone yells hello at you the minute you walk in the door, and so loud that you consider walking right back out. Or at least ducking.

Simon likes the place for its all-you-can-eat option, $20 even, and although I still order a la carte because I never get my money's worth of buffets, we can sate ourselves and then keep going for half of what we spend at our other regular fish joints. And so, in the wake of mortgages and property taxes and holiday travel and Christmas-birthday-Valentine's all in a row, this place is becoming a practical favorite.

Last night there was one employee who seemed to be minding everybody's business but his own, but in a good way. In fact, I suspect it was his job to act like that. As soon as our sake was delivered and poured, he accosted us--"SAKE!"--and, to my surprise, immediately accepted Simon's offer of a little nip of our low-grade selection. He took the cup, shot it back, turned his glass upside down and opened his mouth (to show us both were empty, I presume), and then he disappeared again until our first plate of sushi arrived, at which point he reoriented my plate for proper presentation and then poured just the right amount of soy sauce into our shallow dishes. Such service at such a cheap joint! Great...thanks...now could you stop buzzing around like a mosquito? Although it was all well-intentioned on his part, for the rest of the night I admit to being a little on edge, expecting him to sneak up behind me at any second and yell in my ear because still, after all these years, I use my chopsticks with as much skill as a walrus and I should be ashamed.

As we were winding down, the largest Japanese man I've ever seen walked in and started drinking sake. He sat down next to the only other patron at the bar and poured him a cup from his own bottle. When the mosquito buzzed him--they seemed like old friends--he poured a cup so full it overflowed all over the table and had to be mopped up with three napkins. Then he poured a cup for one of the sushi chefs. And then another chef, another cup, and then second cup for the first guy, who saw me and Simon watching all of this and offered us a taste of what they were drinking. Poof, a man appeared at Simon's side and he, possibly the smallest Japanese man I've ever seen, tried to open a fresh bottle for us but with no success. Without a beat, without a word, he handed the bottle to the large guy at the bar, the one who was well drunk by now, and in one swift motion the bottle was open, handed back to the small man, and pouring out into one cup for me and Simon to share. (Would an American man ever ask another man to open a bottle for him like that?) It tasted like whiskey. We made obvious our approval. Everybody smiled. We took a picture of the bottle with our camera phone for future reference. They offered us another taste, but we had to get going. From the second we stood up to leave--while we gathered our things, put on our coats, patted our bellies, stretched our arms above our heads to "shake it down"--to the moment the door closed behind us, a barrage of voices assailed us with "bye-bye"s and "Happy New Year"s and who knows what else. At the very least, their tone let us know they really, really meant it.

[Having trouble posting pictures and stringing together thoughts on recent adventures. This is me trying to grease the wheels by tackling something a little smaller than vacations and birthdays and reproduction.]

wrote Leah at 12:04 PM | Comments (18)