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Sushi Right

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November 24, 2004

I'm at work, but I'm not working. I've just read the whole way through Stephanie Klein's blog, hoping, praying that I'll be able to come up with the right words to describe dinner at Sushi of Gari last night. The adjectives may come flying out, but much like the migraine story, this is one that you will never quite understand until you try it. Let's start with the man himself. Gari is a bald-headed, white-goateed Japanese man, with the build of a former wrestler and the guileless joy of an artist who still doesn't quite get what it is he does with food. He is almost like you would expect Buddha to be, without the pithy sayings. He is happy that you're happy and is not at all like the Soup Nazi, which for whatever reason, was precisely what I was expecting. I nodded and mock bowed (probably offensively) to the host, the waiter, and anyone I could to make sure I got the very best cuts of fish. And we did. Wow, did we. Words, even if they conveyed these sensations, have long left my brain. Instead, little snippets. You know how when someone gets a really good piece of food, something nourishing and addictive, with just the right amount of everything? How those people, they just stop and, no matter how polite and genteel they might be, just have to ooh and ah through their mouthful? The sounds, wordless, indicate joy and happiness, and you can tell through the wild gesticulations of their eyeballs that they cannot possibly indicate how amazing the food is? Now imagine if those people are taken to a higher level, to noiseless satisfaction. The food goes in...and the eyes roll back in the head. Every instant satisfies and must be savored, every chew simultaneously conveying the flavors and textures into the brain and forever erasing them in an instant. Where you're nearly afraid to chew for fear that the next bite won't be as good. And then it is. Just watching S take a bite and mime for me the sensations I was experiencing on my side made me realize again how much I love her, because she fundamentally understands me, even when I'm paralyzed and unable to utter a word. Her raised eyebrows, widened eyes, and still body perfectly mirrored my own focus on my upper half. I had had a growling belly, but it was silenced, not by its satiety, but by my brain's decision to willfully ignore it. All brainpower, all sensation, all focus, was dedicated to the feelings on my tongue, the crunch under my unfeeling teeth, and the warmth and zip on my palate. I've had my share of sushi. I shudder to think of just how many tuna have been harvested on my behalf alone, how many giant salmon I could have eaten in my time. And I've had it all over--exotics like Sushi Samba, fakers like the Columbia University dining hall (but just that once), and in Japan itself. I've been to hyped-up, out of the way places, solid local establishments without a name yet with great fish, and places where you swear they got theirs from the mass-manufactured Home Sushi Making Kit. I won't claim to be an expert, but this is not the word of a new convert's zeal. Gari does fish. I mean, in the sense that he seemingly makes love to the fish. Not being dirty at all--just that fish was so damn tender, so flavorful without being "fishy" (apparently, that's bad). He really knows what he's doing when he gets the fish. I daresay that he could just pick the fish, cut it (and there is a boatload of talent required there) and sell it as is. The fish would probably still get out of its minced place and sell its own self. But then the sauces, not just amazing in themselves--a jalapeno sauce lightened with citrus, a tofu sauce that made toro sing, miso flavoring that transformed cod--but harmoniously matched in a way that you wish internet dating could. The staff was friendly, courteous and genuine, and although cramped, the place was lovely. That's it. My first restaurant review.

This was Luxuriant , and it appeared on November 24, 2004 2:46 PM.

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Posted by: StephanieKlein at November 29, 2004 2:10 PM

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