sushi sushi sushi

It's almost slightly embarassing (and gross) to admit, but the first time I tried sushi was while I was living squatting in Moscow, Russia, in 2002. Actually, it's not so surprising considering I grew up in the 1980s and 1990s in small-town Minnesota, where the addition of a Baker's Square in 1995 (or was it 1996?) was enough to set the town aflame (although, I'll admit, their French Silk Pie was near perfection). Anyway, in Moscow, we used to frequent a place called Yakitoria (um, worst name ever?), which was one of the few sushi places there that didn't utilize mayonnaise and dill as routine ingredients (trust me, that sh*t used to happen). Truthfully, it was pretty good even. Or at least it wasn't bad...

When I moved back to the States, I figured out that sushi was much better than I ever thought. I moved to Boston and was soon introduced to what apparently is called "Snappy Sushi" (which, before literally five minutes ago, I had always referred to it as the "hole-in-the-wall cheap-ass basement joint on Newbury"). Not only were the prices right and the food tasty, but it was super refreshing not to have to worry about Russia's national condiment and spice sneaking into my meal.

However, since moving to DC, my sushi-eating has curtailed greatly to my (and my ass's) dismay. For the longest time, I just couldn't find a good, affordable place. Once in a while I'd tap my local Giant grocery store for a quick lunch (it's not as bad as it may seem, actually), but after a bad experience with a couple pieces of unagi, I went cold turkey, er, eel? In other words, I gave it up...until Tuesday.

I don't know what it was. Perhaps it was that I was in Boston the weekend before, in such close proximity to Snappy Sushi, and failed to stop by. Or maybe it was simply because sushi is effing delicious, especially in warm, sunny weather. It's also a healthy alternative to just about every other dish offered up in U.S. restaurants. It's pretty perfect, actually.

But I had no idea where to go. Luckily, my friends are smarter than I am, so they pointed me in the direction of Sushi Taro. And thank Poseidon, because that sh*t fish was tight. I started off with the miso soup -- delicious. Next I split an order of soft-shell crab tempura with The Law -- delicious. Then I scarfed down an Alaska roll, two pieces of tuna, some eel and some scallops. I wasn't kidding when I said I had a craving...um, for everything on the menu.

But possibly even more awesome than the deliciousness of that meal of food, was the service. We showed up around 7:30 pm without a reservation, at which point we were told it would be a 30-minute wait. The Law, with her nimble thinking, gave the receptionist her number and we went next door for a libation. Well, about 10 minutes later, the receptionist called. Uh...what about our booze? We wanted, nay, we needed to finish that. So again, The Law, with her quick thinking, explained the situation and what happened? The receptionist said, "No problem. We'll call you back in 20 minutes. Do you think you'll be ready by then?" The Law answered in the affirmative, hung up the phone and we continued to get crunk.

What just happened?! DC is renowned (at least to me) for its poor customer service. What in the goddamn world just happened?! Is Sushi Taro embedded in some kink in the space-time continuum? Did we somehow pull an Ed Markey and teleport to another dimension? (Sadly, in DC, it often seems more plausible than not that some rule of physics has been broken when something actually goes your way.) However, when I looked to my right and saw that even the gays were dressed badly (which again, was pointed out to me later that night by a gay friend from Chicago), I realized that nope, this was indeed good ol' khaki-clad Washington, DC.

But at least I know I have found a little oasis in this dimension in the form of Sushi Taro. Also, they serve gigantic beers. Tiiiiiiight.