Zen and the Art of Speedskating

It was a slow night for him, the restaurant was full, the waitresses were running around like crazy, but the catered party was not ordering from the sushi bar he stood behind. He had a very Japanese face, with a low, softly modulated voice that with his particular, hesitant English diction, made everything he said seem thoughtful. His eyes only enhanced the effect.

My wife and I were sitting at his sushi bar on the Ithaca commons, enjoying both his company and watching his sushi creative skills.

His hands worked with precision and speed, born from uncounted years/thousands of rolls. Blizzards of Rice, delicate slices of the freshest fish, crisp nori, a scattering of sesame seeds, mist of vinegar, swirls of decorative sauces, arranged wheatgrass shoots; his expertise made art disguised as food.

We were one of his only customers this evening and he spoiled us rotten. The sushi he made for us was too pretty to be subjected to destructive mastication and digestion, but to not eat it would be offensive.

As he topped our rolls with perfect tiny scoops of fish eggs, each scoop a different, vibrant color, for the first time in my life, I wanted a camera phone so that I could take a picture of it and send it to someone saying “ha! see what I get to eat tonight!” (or even post it here!).

I asked him “when you make sushi for yourself here, what do you make?” and his answer surprised me to the depths of my westernized romanticisms. He said “I don’t really like sushi at all, I love cheeseburgers. Yes, cheeseburgers and good beer. Have you ever been to In-n-Out burger? Mmmmmmmmm!!”

I thought at first he was joking, but the hungry glint in his eyes at the mention of this California based burger franchise, and his following detail of how he only likes the smell of sushi, not the taste, convinced me of his sincerity. He also went on at length about how he loves the iron chef, “Those chefs are really good, the best, but the show is all about entertainment, not about their skills.” He then proceeded to artfully slice up an Orange, and drizzle plum wine across the slices, as a freebee desert for us! Wow….. Jess and I were speechless, and quite full by the time we waddled out of there.

His new place in on the Ithaca commons, in the old Rosebud Diner location. I highly recommend it.

It was a good evening. It helped me take my mind off of the unease I feel under my still injured right kneecap. My knee works, but with a sensation, like an engine warning light in a car’s dashboard that pops on mysteriously when you press a little too hard on the gas pedal. But my warning light is a sharp pain, a warning light to the brain. I have been known to ignore “check engine” lights on my car dashboard, but I can’t ignore this warning light.

Filed under: from home