Sushi Counter

Shout out Australian Sushi...

It was my second day back in the kitchen and I had a sinking feeling that I wasn’t as sharp as I used to be. Obviously, I could have had more humility and acknowledged or perhaps anticipated this, but didn’t.

I just didn’t.

I assumed with hard work, a lot of Dunkin’ Donuts Coffee, and several late nights up in excel sheets working recipes and pick-ups that I’d be back on the bicycle. Every recipe I wrote and instruction I gave was misconstrued by the cooks in the kitchen and done in reverse.

There was a chili oil snafu where I told the cook to pour the oil at two different low temperatures over the chili and szechuan peppercorn powder, but he instead decided to pour all the chili and szechuan peppercorn powder into ripping hot oil burning it to a crisp.

I made a beef noodle soup trusting the amount of Thai bird chili that was handed to me was 1.5 oz, but was probably closer to 3.5 oz. When I served it to my partner, Dylan, his entire face turned Kool-Aid Red and at one point slammed a flat palm against the table trying to catch his breath.

At the end of the day, it’s my fault.

I should be able to eye 1.5 versus 3.5 oz and if someone doesn’t understand a recipe, then my instructions weren’t clear enough. If I choose any other perspective, the kitchen will continue to fail.

I stayed late, removed all the beef from the soup, adjusted the amount of the other ingredients, recalibrated the flavor and fixed the problem.

When Dylan came back from the gym, I made him a fresh bowl and it hit.

“You didn’t have to do this mate. The soup was good, it was just hella spicy.”

“No, I did. I don’t ever want you to worry about the food coming out of that kitchen.”

He appreciated it, we shook hands, then sat at the bar and sipped some cranberry juice before I walked the 38 blocks and 2 avenues back to my apartment.

Tomorrow, a food writer would be coming to try the menu and I had about 6 hours to get it done if I got in at 9am. I started to visualize every dish in my mind, who I could delegate certain tasks to, and how much time it would require.

Even if I didn’t have any help, I could put 6 dishes on my back and nail it, but at what level of stress? That’s the difference with age. You know what things are going to cost you.

The old me would’ve gone out drinking with Dylan, woken up at 7am cracked out, micromanaged everyone at work, sent them home for the slightest mistake because I was insecure about my own abilities on no sleep, and then done it myself to prove something.

But then what?

The food writer would love it, but how would we ever replicate that meal for 140 people?

Also that guy fucking sucks.

I had to delegate and I needed to be clearer tomorrow.

By the time I acknowledged that, I was on 14th Street and 2nd Ave.

I looked to my left and saw a Döner Haus in the old Baohaus location at 238 E. 14th Street; I instinctually just made a right and walked in the opposite direction, realizing I hadn’t eaten.

To the north was Stuy-town and to the South was Alphabet City, which had significantly better food options. Around 12th Street there were some Middle Eastern and Mexican food options with al fresco dining, but also servers. Seeing as it was 6:30pm — and my son goes to sleep around 8pm — I had about 30 minutes to eat and walk home, so something quicker would be better.

I saw a sign on 12th Street for a Sushi Counter with an arrow pointing east and immediately followed it thinking there was a sushi bar I could pop into for a few quick pieces of sushi before walking back to Murray Hill.

What I discovered was not a sushi bar, but a very simple window with logs of sushi hand rolls laid out on lunch trays in a refrigerated display. Outside were two folding metal tables, a couple food couriers, a handful of people waiting for orders, and an Asian woman that motioned for me to go ahead since she was perhaps waiting for a friend.

I got in line and was immediately discombobulated bumping into people dining in the window then accidentally stepping on someone’s shoe because I still had my headphones in listening to Whatmore Mii MUSIC on a loop, since listening to the same song for hours at a time helps me focus.

I took my headphones out and realized the world can actually be a lot calmer without a soundtrack sometimes. The cashier’s Australian accent immediately cut through the calm, but in a refreshing Matcha Lemonade kind of way.

“Hiya there! What can I get for ya?”

Without much thought I pointed at a Yuzu Yellowtail roll, a Spicy Tuna Roll, and started searching for a California Roll.

“Do you have a California Roll?” I asked not seeing one.

“No, we just took it off the menu for the Sunshine Roll.”

She pointed to a Sunshine Roll which looked like the sushi equivalent of a Hawaiian Pizza and I just couldn’t pull the trigger.

“I’ll have the Salmon Avocado Roll.” I said even though I had a sinking feeling I was about to eat some nasty ass farm raised salmon raw.

Fuck it. I’d been eating it all my life and it was delicious. I really got to stop learning about what I’m putting in my body, I told myself. What’s worse? The shit we’re eating or the stress we’re reading?

The cashier pulled the three rolls of sushi, put them in a small brown pouch with a packet of soy sauce, wasabi, and sent me on my way for $12 + tax & tip.

As I walked out, a very tall woman in a Hillary Clinton-esque suit pant and blouse combination walked in and ordered two rolls as well. By the time I sat down at the folding table outside, she was out the door and down the block with her brown pouch of sushi rolls as well.

The quality of the rolls was somewhere above Whole Foods and Hillstone, but below a neighborhood sushi spot like Tomoe. I’d say it was at the level of Sunrise Mart, which I feel is quite high for grab-n-go sushi, especially when it only costs $12 for 3 rolls.

As I finished my first roll, the delightful Yuzu Yellowtail, I noticed the Asian woman that let me go ahead of her was still outside. Before I could have a second thought, two middle-aged Asian women walked in remarking how much they loved this place, ordered, then sat in the window.

I hoped that the Asian woman outside wasn’t getting stood up by a friend since it’d been a while, but also wondered how good these rolls could be if the nori was still crispy. I guess it wasn’t the point though.

Looking at the Spicy Tuna and then the Salmon Avocado, I chose the Salmon Avocado next. In case the salmon was nasty, I didn’t want that to be the taste lingering in my mouth.

I took out the soy sauce, wasabi, and applied it liberally. To my surprise, the Salmon Avocado was fatty, unctuous, and as good if not better than the Yuzu Yellowtail.

I admired how quiet it was on an early summer New York evening in Alphabet City, how nice it was that there was still a place to eat seafood outside for $12 and be full. The Asian Woman’s friend showed up and they kiki’d over each other’s outfits, how much they missed each other, then back to their outfits.

“Where did you get that dress?”

“You won’t believe it. I got all of this at Uniqlo.”

“Stop. Should we go right now?”

“Ha, ha, ha, you’re so funny. Let’s try this place.”

“I’m dying to try this Australian Sushi.”

I didn’t realize this was an Australian Sushi concept, but should have since there were obvious signs.

Finally, I ate the Spicy Tuna and it tasted just like the spicy tuna rolls I used to buy from M2M when I lived on 12th Street and 3rd Avenue 20 years ago.

It made me laugh. The universe really talks to you in the most hysterical ways.

I sat back, watched the Citi bikers going down 12th, and thanked whatever Unfathomable Being is pulling the strings on this whole show.

At the age of 43, I’m constantly reminiscing about the past, but when I actually shut the fuck up and stop, it comes back to me.

I’ve accomplished a lot of things, but I couldn’t save the restaurant I loved during the pandemic and now it’s a Döner Haus.

This has bothered me for a very long time.

There’s not much I can do about it at this point.

But I’m still on 12th Street eating spicy tuna like it’s 2005 and that’s the great thing about New York. No matter how fast you’re running toward the future, you’re constantly bumping into your past.

Tomorrow, I will be in the kitchen and I will be better.

Maybe I’ll find the old me in there too.