PHOTOS BY MO RINGEY, HAVING HIJACKED JIM NEILL’S FABULOUS CAMERA. EXCEPT FOR THE PHOTOS OF MO, TAKEN BY THAT JIM NEILL. THAT ONE.
It was a dark and stormy night. It was a virgo night. It was our birthdays. We decided to get sushi to celebrate having made it through another year. We chose Moshi Moshi because Sam is ever so friendly and welcoming and because his wife Kimi remembers my name and is so sweet and stellar. And I have my own chopsticks there. They are girly. And Red. With abalone.
It was still a dark and rainy night outside and people walked by, as they will do. It was cozy and warm and dry inside. I like that Moshi Moshi is a single restaurant; owned by a person and not a group or corporation. I always wonder why parking lots of big chain restaurants are jammed with cars. I worked at a chain once - a large pizza chain - and executives would come from wherever they came from and inspect it. And us. If your tables were not set up exactly to corporate specifications you would get written up. I was written up once because my salt and pepper shakers were wrongly positioned. I asked what was wrong with them; they were full and clean and next to each other all nicey nice-like and they had logic. I was told that they should be centered such that from wherever the table was, the salt should be facing the entrance with the pepper exactly behind it. Why are those parking lots always so full?
I am generally a trifle confused. But color soothes. And raindrops. Real food, un-chemicaled, soothes. Delights. Love. It.
I read a short story once in Omni Magazine, back in the 90s, about a drunk couple on their way home from a party. They were abducted by aliens. Aboard the alien ship they continued their bickering; he accused her of flirting too much and too rampagingly, she accused him of drinking too much, and all the while the aliens were trying to get their attention and maintain some order. I can't find it now. It was a brilliant little story. Please send it.
It looks so sweet from the outside looking in. At the chain restaurant I worked at in Boston (ok--Framingham, but I lived in Boston, which is so much many less letters to type) the food came mostly pre-prepared from corporate headquarters in giant containers and had loads of preservatives and was made in giant batches. Maybe it was made of soilent green?. The chefs were really assemblers. Why are those parking lots so full? Sam's sushi is fresh and delicious. Fresh. Robert Parrish came in to pick up pizzas once at the Framingham chain place. We all stared. He was taller than me. by like, two me's.
Sam with a few of his creations. He is smiley. My Aunt Mary used to make the best pies. And she knitted crazy outfits for me, while she made pies. She multi-tasked. That had logic and efficiency. I'd wear them. The knitted things, not the pies. I had a purple knitted jumpsuit. I loved it. I wore it until it unraveled completely. Sometimes people unravel. That's why I am in therapy. It all started when my purple knitted jumpsuit unraveled. It was symbolic. And heralding-ish.
Sam has funny glasses. He sing-songs a hello to all who enter. Moshi Moshi means hello in Japanese. Ohio (not its real spelling) means good morning. I like spellings. But I don't know all the spellings. Life, the mystery. Tune in. Unravel. Cling to whatever shreds of logic you can find. Eat sushi. It is a cure-all. I am having sushi again tonight. I am housesitting for a house, two cats, and a dog. They are very nice. I have two eyes and a nose. I have two chipped teeth. When the housesitting people come back they are taking me out for sushi for my birthday. I turned them on to sushi and they now crave it. It's good to turn people on to sushi. I am getting spoiled. Maybe that will start a raveling effect.
Sam let us wear his glasses. Gosh. I think they suit Jim in a cartoonish way. This is Jim as a cartoon. Character.
We both got to wear them. Sharing is caring. Teasing Hurts. I love Sam's crispy tuna thingies. Like sushi taco-ettes. I think sushi should be a daily thing. I ran into Mike there. He goes there a lot. Restaurants love Mike. Mike loves restaurants. Reciprocity is nice. it has logic. Does Sarah Palin really believe global warming is a "farce"? Mike is elusive. He said why don't we hang out more. I said your elusivity eludes me, Mr. Forgets-to-call-back. I don't want to stalk you. He said please stalk me, I like it. I'll put that into the neurotic processing circulation file. I won't stalk. I will persist. That's how we get through life I guess.
Kimi. I am not sure if I spelled her name correctly. I am just guessing. But I like my spelling version. Kimi always remembers my name. Sam calls me JD. I tell him my name is actually in the name of his restaurant. My parents feed a raccoon family too. They are not shy, the raccoons. There is a mother and 3 babies. They climb over the fence and eat the food that is out. They walk right up the stairs when we are sitting on the deck and make expectant faces. So we clap to scare them just a little bit away. It's not good if they don't learn fear of humans. And they don't eat at chain restaurants. I bet they'd love sushi. After we scare them gently they go back down the stairs to the yard and we put the food down there for them. They use the water dish to wash their faces. Last night my friend kathy came over and she saw them. I didn't have my camera. Or Jim's, either.
We drank wine, in the shelter from the rain. I waited on Amy carter once when she was in Northampton summers a lot ago for that trail when they were arrested for protesting the CIA recruiting on campus at UMASS. One of her fawning co-arrestees ordered wine. This was when I worked at Joe's Cafe in Northampton which also real and delicious and un-fucked up food. I asked if he wanted it room temp or chilled. We served it both ways because the wine was kept in a not-wine-cellar temperature area and sometimes people said it was too warm. Red wine is meant to be at 57 degrees, they say, like a wine cellar. So room temp is a bit higher than the red wine likes to be. So this fawner made an extremely aghasted face and put his hand to this throat and said, "Only a BARBARIAN would drink red wine chilled." So I asked him for his I.D.
Sam's counter is decorated. With decorations. And a tip jar.I have a tip jar. I have decorations. I am like Sam and am therefor meant for sushi.
Reflecting on reflections somehow seems more logical than reflecting on life. And why people eat preservatives instead of real food. Without the polyurethane and shellac.
Those are the fried rice bombs. Sam invents crazy specials. We made assemblages of everything within reach.I took the extra ginger home. I love ginger. But I forgot to put it in the fridge. Please send ginger.
It was easy to go there because it was open. More logic. More welcoming. More pretty colors.
Oh my. Happy sushi birthday to us. Maguro is my favorite.
Sam works from slips from the waitperson, who was very nice. It is logical and has that logic thing going for it. Life is not always logical.
Fried rice bombs are the bomb. Those are my chopsticks. They are number 233. I think. Or maybe they are number 223. The number has twos and threes. It was a lovely birthday meal. I like being greeted warmly and feeling welcome.The end.