Sakimura

I am not usually a patron of Japanese steak houses. I went to Benihana when it was all the rage, and It’s a show I’ve seen, but I was in Meriden, Connecticut to celebrate the birthday of the daughter of a friend.  The guest of honor selected a restaurant called Sakimura, so who was I to complain? 

The major feature of the décor at Sakimura is two full size plastic trees. One has green leaves as though it were summer. The other had orange leaves with autumn sunshine streamed through them from a spotlight attached to the ceiling.

I was ready for a drink, and when the young waiter came to take my order, I reeled it off.  The waiter said, “More slowly, please.” Enunciating clearly, said, “I’ll have a Tanqueray martini, straight up with an olive.”

He said, “Only drinks on menu.” 

“You mean you can’t give me a classic martini,” I said incredulously.

“Only drinks on menu.”

“I drink what I drink,” I declared importantly.

“Only drinks on menu.”

I hadn’t looked at the drink menu, but remembered hearing that Sakimura is noted for its scorpion bowl. “I want to talk to the bartender,” I demanded.

“Bartender not here.”

“How are you going to serve us drinks if you don’t have a bartender?"

“Shhhh,” said Annette. In my exasperation, I had permitted myself an increase in the volume of my voice. Heads were turning in my direction. 

I rose from my seat and headed for the bar.  There was a kid there.  It seemed that everyone who worked at Sakimura was a kid, but as I get older I seem to find that’s often true.  “Are you the bartender?” I asked.  He said he was.

“Do you have Tanqueray gin?”  I asked. “I see you do,” I added, pointing to the bottle behind the bar.  He got it down. 

“Do you have vermouth?”  He looked confused.

I glanced sideways at the autumn tree, wondering what rabbit hole I’d fallen down.  “Vermouth,” I said slowly.

A look of understanding came over his face, and he produced a bottle of Martini & Rossi dry vermouth.

“Good,” I said, “Please make me a Tanqueray martini. Do you have olives?”

 He nodded.

I returned to my seat.  In a moment the waiter approached, sheepish with loss of face and carrying the drink. I sipped. It was perfect. Annette, who had ordered  a mai tai, visibly relaxed. In a far corner of the restaurant our waiter was talking to a waitress and pointing at me.  I hadn’t made a friend.

 

 

When he returned, I ordered an appetizer called a Treasure Island.  It turned out to be an atoll of thinly sliced avocado surrounding a lagoon of mango puree filled with pieces of raw tuna.  It was beautiful and delicious. I passed it around

We were seated at a teppanyaki table with a grill surface in the center. Our chef arrived in a flurry and began juggling his knife and spatula.  Annette leaned toward me and whispered, “Go with the flow.” I nodded. The martini was working its magic, and I’d already decided I would. The chef performed his flashy routine that included an impressive blaze on his grill surface.  The food was heavy on carbs – lots of rice and noodles, but it was filling and tasty. 

Allysa, my friend’s seven-year-old granddaughter asked the chef.  “Are you from China?”  He said he was.  Her mother explained that Allysa was learning about China in school.

“What part?” the chef wanted to know.

“The great wall, “Allysa said, “They built that to keep out enemies who wanted to kill China.” 

“It is very old,” the chef said.

I believe the whole staff of Sakimura may be Chinese, and possibly the ownership as well.  Many Chinese know the restaurant business, and Japanese food is an area in Asian cuisine that is not oversaturated.  I saw that my early problems were caused by linguistic difficulties and not incompetence with the job.  It was a good restaurant all in all.

When I got home I visited my mother in the nursing home and sat with her while she ate her dinner.  One of her tablemates asked for a cup of coffee, and when it came she said it was cold. The waitress added some more from the same pot. “It’s still cold,” the woman complained.

 The waitress said she’d done all she could.  I suggested she take the cup to the kitchen and stick it in the microwave. 

“We’re not allowed to heat things up,” she said, “Someone might get burned.”

I can see that going with the flow is a virtue a fogy needs to cultivate. I’ll work on it.