Monday, May 25, 2020

You Say Walnuts, I say Coconuts

A couple decided for their 25th wedding anniversary to go to Rio where they first honeymooned. 

On their nostalgic tour it turned out that the risque' nightclub they had visited way back when was still going strong. 

Years ago one of the acts on the bill featured a man who cracked Walnuts open with his large, stiff member. Now, so many years later, he was still at it. But he was cracking Coconuts.

After the show they went backstage and approached the man. They gushed that after all these years he was even more powerful than when they first saw his act. 

"Oh, no. It's not that I've gotten stronger ... my eyesight isn't as good as it used to be."

Sunday, May 17, 2020

Mine is Best

Religions. They all seem to have some claim to exclusivity attached to them.

Who's right?

Religiously speaking, if it works for you — to have words, concepts, and narratives attached to your relationship to the Ultimate — then pick the one which suits your temperament and mentality.

Select yours from among the main choices:

Muslims: There is only One God ... and, Muhammad is His Prophet [and, he's ours!]

Christians: Jesus is Lord [and, he's ours]. 

Catholics: Only Catholics go to Heaven.*

Jews: We're the originals, the chosen people [which makes us the best].

Mormons: We have the latest, and the greatest. In gold too!

Hindus: We have the most gods and goddesses.

Buddhists: Never mind. There is no god.** Suck on that!

Atheists***: We believe in Science [only what can be seen].




*Played down nowadays.
**We just choose to not put a name on it.
*** Oh, yes. It's a religion too.





Thursday, May 14, 2020

SUSHI BOY

It must be a particularly Japanese thing. Costumery. Dressing up. To the hilt. Think Geisha. Kabuki. They like to do it up. Admit it. You know they do. It seems like every iota of things are turned into some kind of ceremony in that land. But this isn't about any of that. Well, not entirely not, either.

Introducing young Ichiro Ito. He is the first, and only son of his parents. There's high hopes. Devilishly handsome. Kavorka up the yin yang. Rather tall too, somewhat out of the cultural mold.

Now, mind you, said parents are steeped in traditional sensibility as are most of  their generation. Like I said, The Japanese have a reputation for turning everything into a ritual. Or, implied, anyway. Hey, how many steps in the Tea Ceremony, anywho? Six, if you must know. Did you know in times way past in the sword making trade an apprentice would spend years cutting the wood for the tempering furnace. That there is some spiritual initiation huh?

Anyhow, young Ichiro is not quite cut from the same cloth. Well, spiritually, yes. But in how he expresses it; not so much. He's up with the times. A real zeitgeist enthusiast. The boy likes to hang with the Bลsลzoku set. That's the retro rockabilly gang for you less travelled to get up to speed. Bad-A, mofo greasers.


The Old Man and Old Lady are thrilled. Not. At. All.

Just so you should understand, those boys and girls carry their sensibility on the surface. For the most part. Underneath those leathers, they're really rather good kids. No, really.

Like in the mid last century when we had those mods and rockers and frats and greasers, there's that other side of the coin in Japan nowadays too. Harajuku fashion. Again, some nice kids who wanna dress a bit. It's as if, though, they took the idea of "nice" to the other "not nice" extreme. How ironic. But, you have to wear it unironically to be truly ironic. Are you with me?


Now you see what I mean about costumery in Old Nippon?

So, you should have surmised the folks are not too keen on young Ichiro's selection of accoutrement. Albeit, even that other demimonde, the Harajuku set, is too, too even for him too. In other words, you won't be seeing him in a tutu, any time too soon.

Back to the folks. Oh, boy! What to do with their wayward son. What's to become? Problem is that there's no way living in Tokyo to keep the kid from those bad influences. Maybe a change of venue?

Aha! Uncle Yamoto. He lives in New York City. Owns and operates a Sushi Restaurant. Make that an acclaimed Sushi joint. Maybe he could take our troublesome Ichiro under his wing?

Family ties being what they are, yes, Uncle will accept the young man to apprentice. Not without more than a little cajoling. Remember, he's at the top of his game. Chefs with his chops have no shortage of willing aspirants. And then there's our feckless Ichiro who doesn't even know what awaits him when he lands in the US of A.

It'll be some awakening when Ichiro finds himself picking over grains of rice day in and day out. Only with the more depressing prospect of being promoted to washing the rice ... day in and day out. So it goes in among traditional Sushi chefs. A whole galaxy removed from all those overnight Sushi makers now everywhere, in most supermarkets even.

On the day of his departure, a cacophony of mixed emotions. The parents as you might expect, all dewy eyed and sad seeing their one and only off to strange shores and who knows what fate. But, not without a tinge of relief. Staying in Tokyo he most assuredly was going to go to hell in a handbasket. A rather well made one to be sure — made in Japan these days is not what it used to be like around after the Big One — but the inevitable destination not something one would want. Especially, once you get there.


Well, tragedy diverted. The boy takes a plane to the Big Apple. Nothing eventful on the way, except maybe for being initiated into the Mile High Club by a randy coed from Sweden. There was some turbulence. However briefly.


It was his first time. Yet, as they are wont to say, like a duck to water. Must be hard wired into the biological system. "Zen-ish". The Zen of "Getting it on". What happened behind closed doors, we can't say. There were smiles all around when they took their seats.

But this isn't a story about illicit sex in the sky. [Though if you think about it, with all those slippery jet airplanes plowing into all those soft clouds, it is sort of like that old train goin' into that tunnel metaphor. No?]

At the international arrivals at Kennedy our lothario was greeted by one of Uncle Yamoto's apprentices. Yamoto, you should know, is too high up the ladder to be schlepping to the airport to pick up some green kid just off the boat. And, besides, he's rather busy at Sai Sushi. That's the name of his Sushi joint, you should know. Really. Genius marketing. Interesting how such a traditional minded guy would set upon such a punsy name. [We'll see Ichiro's own slant on that later in the tale.]

Uncle is a proud man. He deserves to be. Top Sushi restaurant in the top Sushi snapping town in North America. Probably only eclipsed, but by only a few, in Old Nippon. Tradition reigns in his establishment. No plates, please. Your Sushi is served on a geta. Misoshiru, in a genuine lacquered bowl. Wasabi. No, not that stuff from packaged powder, or paste. Fresh and organic, flown in from Washington State and grated fresh to order on a de rigueur sharkskin oroshigane. Tsukemono, all pickled in house. The young Ginger too. There's a whole dedicated refrigerator filled with Nukazuke pickles fermenting in Rice Bran.

Standing in — photo at Kurumazushi actual #1 in NYC with Head Chef Toshihiro Uezu

And, by now you probably have a hint where this is going vis-a-vis Ichiro, and his dealings with Yamoto. Clash of generations, clash of cultures.

You don't get rich in the Sushi biz. Even a chef as on top of the Sushi world as Yamo. Sure you can hike up the charges for being the best of the best. But, there's a limit to that. You have to stay competitive. After all, how good can Sushi get? A slice of fish, some Sake infused sweetened rice. Then there's the cost of things. When you insist on only the best and freshest ingredients and employ such a large staff, it costs. And, let's not get into the rents in midtown. Oy!

All that to explain the humble — make that tight, Tokyo tight — living situation. The two bedrooms are already fully occupied; one for the Mr. and Mrs., the other for the girls. Twin sisters. Oh, and it's a bit of added expense for their gymnastic lessons. They're known on the circuit as the "Gymnastic Twins".


Rather talented, in fact. Super stretchy and bendable. And, of an age when exploring the world of boys is definitely an option. An eager one, Yamoto none the wiser. [You know how it is growing up in a family with an uber strict Daddy.]

Ichiro gets to bunk on a slender futon under the dining table. Welcome to America!

Picture this how we have here an explosive cocktail of a strapping young lad full of hormones and recently introduced to the charms of the fairer sex. And two young maids looking for adventures, of the boy kind. Did I mention twins. Gymnastic twins. No end of the options to explore.

Morning comes. Alas. Time to go to work. Young Ichiro was headed for a very rude awakening.

Because his Uncle was considered such a big shot, the boy figured he would get shoo'd in right at the top. Nooo. Not like that. Anyone with a sense of how traditional ways play in the Japanese mentality would know better.

Ichiro ... ah, callous youth! Clean up duty for him. After all you can't even have him sorting rice without first knowing if he is one to put himself into a task. Never mind if he is smart enough to know the difference between shit and Shinola. [Pardon the crude reference; but you get the point.] In other words, can he be trusted? Washing floors, cleaning pots and pans, polishing assorted what's and where's. First that. Then, we'll see. Bussing? Or, he could easily be sent packing back to the motherland. But, those twin girls were cute. He had some incentive there. Yes, they are cousins. But, did we mention, callow youth. Also, he does want to do his family proud. And, make his mark in the world. Even if it looks like being able to plunk down a perfectly made Sushi Toro.


Or, an exquisitely composed Temaki Sushi [hand roll].

Back to the clean up crew. Really, a rather important task. There's no room for debate there. Maybe some old geezer living all alone in the woods can keep using the same coffee cup day in and day out; but when you serve food to the public things have to be sanitary. Scrubbing and washing a pot is a Zen-like thing. You have to put your attention on it. Not like some long in the tooth seniority government bureaucrat casually marking time mindlessly rubber stamping papers or giving rote answers to incoming telephone inquiries.

Time flies. Ichoro has been doing well. Not without its inner struggle what with all the constant tedium. And the prospect of working as a Sushi chef so far away. All the boy could hope for at this juncture is a promotion to sorting and washing the Rice. Here again, only perfection would be tolerated. Practically speaking one little pebble in the Rice and a surprised customer complaint could topple the whole shebang. And, then there's the training aspect embedded in the very nature of the task itself.

There is where he had his first big struggle. Endlessly sorting rice really tests one's metal. Very easy to get bored. To fall into  going through the motions like some line server in a military chow line. Uncle kept an eye on the boy especially at this juncture. Periodic stern shouts like the prefect during Zazen who whacks sleeping meditators on the shoulders with a loud whack of a keisaku stick. Of course the Japanese invented Zen. But, really, isn't it all about paying attention. That's a universal thing, never mind that you give it a name. 

Ichiro is not a boob. His native ambition and too many stern wake up shouts from Uncle got him through his "rice phase". Next was ... cutlery. 

Those razor sharp knives. Here the stakes are even higher. Gotta be sharp. Literally, and figuratively. The entire enterprise stands on the edge of those knives. Other things too, to be sure, but without a sharp knife you don't "maki" the Sushi. Capisce? 


And, there's a knack to it: sharpening knives. Fortunately, unless you beat it with a hammer, the soft carbon steel has a forgiving nature and can be made right with more strokes on the stone. The downside, as it goes even with the best sharpening technique, is that the knife blade over time with repeating sharpening rather narrows. Tolerable, and expected with most of them, but with a santoku or chef's knife a worn down blade means scuffed knuckles. Just like car brakes, they're meant to wear. Just don't push it, either.

Many other steps along the way. Shopping. Yes, shopping. One should know fresh from not so. Yes? And, just what the heck is it in the first place? We're not hard wired with knowledge of foodstuffs. It's learned. If you don't cook, chances are you don't know Walnuts from Chestnuts. At first the lad just tagged along. Then eventually was schooled enough to be sent out on his own. 

Now cut some fish. Yeah! ... we're on the brink of Sushiness. Knife skills first, however. Numero uno: safety first. Razor sharp remember. Then the slicing. Slicing, slicing, slicing. Anything but fish, however. Skill with the blade is a long, hard won undertaking. Must be accomplished before getting one's hands on the real deal. If you don't know what we're talking about here, just try making a pile of noodle-like strands from thinly and evenly cut unbroken sheets from a cucumber. No spiralizer, you bet. It's called Katsuramuki. Dig.


Alright already. We get it. Ichiro's in for the long shlog to earn his chops. Just to make sure you get it that it's not just about time served. That time is spent in the service of developing skill. But, as the Buddhists would be quick to remind, there's skillful means AND wisdom; two wings on every bird. Hand in hand. Yin and Yang. The following video is included in this by now rather tangentially directed tale to illustrate the virtues of skill, attention, care, interest, and ... time.


One might wonder does our young apprentice have a life outside his daily apprenticement? Quite. Just when you thought with the seemingly endless challenging steps of his apprenticeship to land him eventually to work out front serving customers, one might expect to hear him cry "Uncle". But, no. The boy has pluck. Sticktoitiveness, as it is called. But, man does not eat by Sushi alone. No?

Things have been heating up back on the homefront. The twins have now made it a habit to sneak under the table and cuddle with their cute Cousin. The challenge of that, the sundry appeals notwithstanding, is even more daunting than at the shop. Except in this instance there's no room to call "Uncle!". Literally. It probably would have ended badly except along the way the girls, fickle as girls can be, found boyfriends of their own. Twins too. And, gymnastic. You cannot make this stuff up. Right? Now Ichiro is off the hook but left with a set of the ''blues" if you catch the drift. Fortunately, as it goes with any top athlete in training, the pent up energy the twins stimulated was quickly rechanneled into the Rice. No, not literally. Get your mind out of the gutter! Ug! Hard work, day in and day out. That's how you should understand it.

After a long while, how many days? Who's counting. Ichiro gets his big break. One of the regular hands behind the Sushi bar is out for the lunch shift and our guy gets to step up to the plate. On the right hand of the top dog. Placed there, not because he is the anointed one, more that there can be a close watch over his doings. Even so, he was not allowed to prepare the Nigiri Sushi, draped rice morsels, or the rolled Makizushi. Strictly Sashimi cuts for serving, as is; or on top of a box of Rice as Chirashi.

And, never mind letting him prepare those luxurious hand rolls. It's not just in the cutting, but in the presentation. You don't get it like at a clubby Manhattan Steak house where Shrimp cocktail is unceremoniously served as a fistfull of Shrimp with a generous dollop of spicy Tomato sauce on the side, sometimes even smothered in it. There's a traditional and artistic aesthetic in the Sushi universe.


To make a long story short ... our Ichiro done good. After a time — how much who's counting [some say it's a sure sign of spiritual progress when the question of how long doesn't have any purchase; but let's say it took a while] — he got his own permanent station at the Sushi bar. He made his Uncle Yamoto and parents most proud. And, when Yamoto decided to retire, Ichiro took over as the head guy. Not just slinging the Sushi, but running the joint; even training apprentices himself. Come on, you know the boy was good for it. Right?

Sai Sushi is still going strong and still at the top of its game in the Big Apple under Ichiro's rule. Yes, rule. He also picked up Uncle's stern guardianship approach. But, hey, that's what you gotta do to stay number one. And, he is Japanese after all.

Yet, Ichiro is still a modern man, with modern sensibilities. Up to the date, as it is said. 

Besides the flagship location in midtown and a satellite venture in Williamsburg, Brooklyn our one time street urchin has gone back to his nascent cultural roots. No, not right a way back to Tokyo. Back to the streets. And, can you guess? Food truck! That's right. A Sushi food truck making flash appearances throughout the city streets, hooked up with Facebook and Instagram you betcha. Did I say modern. Well done, my lad. 

What's more, plans are afoot to take the venture on wheels back to where it all began. Tokyo. Maybe even giving back in a way with a loyal following serving those Bลsลzoku greasers and dress up doll Harajuku kids. 

Nice name choice too. "Go Boy Swooshi." Think about it, if you don't get it right away. It's a food truck ... on wheels ... it moves ... Icharo after all is THE Sushi Boy.


To Whom It May Concern: 

If you're a Hollywood Big Shot, with influence, taste, and money ... looking for your next blockbuster project. Look no further. Gimme a call.  

Monday, May 11, 2020

Giving Mother Respect

I am thinking about how our mothers share in our lives. Our joys are theirs. And our sorrows.

Our sharing is not just in terms of outer events, like getting together and keeping in touch. Stories. But, in some mysterious way, more directly and intimately in the conduct of our lives and our experiences. It may be that our mothers feel us living inside them. Maybe not directly as such. But, in a shared resonance.

Also, Mother Earth, doesn't she also share in our lives. And, maybe, in a way more visible and apparent. When we live heedless of our surroundings, the Earth . . . that has consequence to the environment . . . in the air we breathe, the water we drink, the food we grow and consume.