Sushi Boats and Big Cigars
Yesterday I tried sushi for the first time. I had held out for so long, but the stars finally aligned in such a way that I felt uninhibited enough to pick up a piece of raw tuna with chopsticks, dip it and actually swallow. To my surprise, it was actually completely non-fishy tasting - kind of velvety in texture. I might even be convinced to try it again. Especially if it were to make me smarter and healthier.
A group of us went out last night to Edohei. We sat at a traditional Japanese table and ordered 4 litres of sake. I love hot sake. Funny how the word for salmon in Japanese is also sake. I studied Japanese for about a year and a half, but I fear I’ve forgotten everything I learned. Anyway, back to the dinner. Our friend Bart ordered for everyone - he knows sushi. I chose my own dishes, as I was the only non fish aficionado (or should I say, afishionado). I had tempura and agedashi tofu (no Bonito flakes!) Bart is well-known at the restaurant, so the owner/head sushi chef sent a couple of complimentary dishes over to our table: monkfish liver and a big fishhead. Hmmm…I hate to think of what he would have sent over had he NOT liked Bart. Mike and I discussed the possibility of a Japanese version of The Godfather, with a fishhead in the bed instead of the horsehead, but perhaps the effect would not be so startling if the film producer character just exclaimed “Yum!”
It was a wonderful meal (the sushi arrived on a big wooden boat), and I was feeling very pleased with the world after 2 bottles of rice wine and a bowl of green tea ice cream. I love going out to dinner and drinks with friends. It’s one of the few urban pleasures left to singles in their thirties. Aah, two months ago I was still in my twenties. There is no going back now.
Anyway, let’s get to the cigars. After leaving Edohei, we went to one of the few truly classy places in Winnipeg - the Palm Room in the Fort Garry hotel. The waiters are wonderfully snobbish, but do appreciate the odd witticism. A bowl of nuts is complimentary, providing you order a fine scotch or brandy. I don’t think they bring you the nuts if you just order tap water or a glass of Pepsi. The waiters would definitely shrink you into a shrivelled worm-mass with their withering glances if you tried. The atmosphere makes me long for days which I have never seen, a long cigarette holder and a white silk gown - something like Kristen Scott Andrews would have worn during the ballroom scene in The English Patient. A piano player was tinkling away the night (not once did he plays Feliz Navidad or Mack the Knife - that’s class!!). Two table over, there was a fascinating, staggering drunk Mordecai Richler-looking lawyer with baggy eyes, wearing a red sweater vest, jacket and tie, hanging his head over his table and later kissing his companion’s watch. Very maudlin, he was; at times, angry. Katrina and I called him Morley. He was drinking red wine.
I confess I have exaggerated the importance of the cigar in this story. There was a big man smoking a cigar at the table east of me. That’s about it. I can’t remember if he had his legs crossed or not. (I doubt it.) Cigars are smelly; I will never be able to appreciate them. They remind me of dirty Chevrolet Winnipeg cabs more than expensive suits and fine whiskeys. Context, my dear, everything in context.
Posted on December 14, 2001 03:56 PM