Sushi

My passion for sushi waxes and wanes. Over the past four years, it's been waning more than waxing which seems a bit odd since I live where sushi originates. There are a few places that I enjoy, even when all I get is vegetable makki and ebi. One of them is Edokko Sushi in Kanda. It's quite fantastic. The chefs are friendly and the patrons are characters from all walks of life.

Last night, a middle aged man and his cheery, white haired mother sat at the end of the counter near us. As they left, the elderly sushi chef called out to the woman, "Grandma, I work the early shift on Tuesdays and Wednesdays." They were of similar age--was he hoping she'd meet him when he got off work?

Around the bend of the counter, a couple in their early twenties ordered ala carte. The fashionably dressed, neatly coiffed woman looked slightly ill at ease as her date slouched over and ate with gusto while proclaiming opinions about the food. I'd say these two are not well suited to each other.

But the man and woman next to me certainly were. They ate quietly, sharing their selections and ordering things I'd never seen before: a literal pile of sashimi tidbits; a soft, pale beige eel served with ginger and sesame seeds; a gorgeous crab lag twice as long as the plate it rested on. They knew what they were ordering and enjoyed every morsel.

I enjoyed my steamed shrimp sushi and pickled gourd rolls as I people watched.