Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head.

What a couple of weeks. What a month. 

Without really even recovering from that which was Thanksgiving, I caught a cold, and had some pretty big stuff going on in both work and home worlds. Although I had lined up dinner commitments for a good many of the nights, I also planned to spend all of my home-times meals concentrating on continuing to clear out and utilize all of the ingredients still left in the fridge from that which was Thanksgiving. There were no more leftovers, mind you, but a lot of ingredients that simply didn’t get used as I went a little haywire on that which was Thanksgiving and made enough food to feed greater Los Angeles. 

Since then, in my kitchen, there has been -– peppered between dining out on anything from an entire pig’s head (I ate the eyeball!) to beautiful, simple food, done right -- oyster stew, roasted heirloom carrots, a couple of filets, sausage over lentils, sausage biscuits, beef bourguignon, any number of pastas, some throw-together hors d'oeuvres for a small holiday soiree last week, and a roast chicken over white beans, leeks and garlic with sautéed rapini.

It doesn’t feel like it, but looking at that last paragraph I guess I’ve been pretty busy.
 
So now, I’ve got my tree up and decorated, wrapped gifts spilling out from underneath (Christmas shopping = done), the house is all holiday-y and lovely looking and smelling, it’s rainy and blustery outside, I’ve got a fire in the fireplace, a pot of chili stewing on the stove, a glass of Chilean Cabernet in my hand, my sweet dog lying next to me, and Christmas cookies baking in the oven (my first ever by myself). So what am I missing?
 
Sam.
 
I came home the other night after a decadent and extravagant holiday dinner with Uncle Dougertons, put on my jammies, clicked on the TV to find some completely banal movie on whatever channel it had been left on, which completely absorbed me. When the final credits rolled, the accompanying song was Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head. I didn’t see it coming. I was completely blindsided. I didn’t know why for a moment.
 
I was bawling.
 
Then I realized: this was one of Sam’s favorite songs. He even put it on a mix cd for me ages ago. That cd was stolen from my car in Atlanta about a decade ago. It was also the only thing stolen from my car that day that I cared even remotely about. Ironically, also the thing that probably got tossed in the trash almost immediately by whomever broke into that old Jetta.
 
So what did I do? I ran to my room and grabbed a bunch of my old photo albums to pore through, and even put a framed picture of Sam wearing a Santa hat on my mantle.
 
I was still bawling.
 
It was very late – too late to call anyone – so I texted Paz, Heather and Emma. I just wrote that I was overwhelmingly sad about Sam (they all knew him as well). I think I just wanted to talk about him to someone. Good things. I thought it would make me feel better. But everyone was asleep (I assume).
 
That moment has passed and I feel better now. I don’t feel like bawling. But I realized that that which occurred the other night was a really good thing. No, I could not touch, smell or hear Sam – and I desperately wanted to. But I felt him. I remembered him. I thought about him. And I realized, again, how fortunate I am to even have that. I’m not very good at crying or emoting in certain ways and moments like that night only occur randomly (and very rarely), when some obscure visceral trigger is hit. Then, wham-o.

I’ve written about Sam before – a little over a year ago. I’ll probably write about him again. I want you all to know about him, too. He was pretty great – and has had an enormous impact on my life, and very likely had a lot to do with who I’ve been and am, and will be.

Considering that it's now Christmas I was going to share a recipe for Christmas cookies. But considering A) I can't bake, B) My cookies looked ridiculous, C) everyone has a Christmas cookie recipe anyway (or one can just turn to Martha), and D) did Sam even care about Christmas cookies that much? I sure don't..., I decided to go a different route.

Sam ate oddly. He grazed a lot. Small nibbles throughout the day. He also seemed to prefer really basic foods. My strongest recollection was from college: the most common "meal" he would prepare for himself was spaghetti with a ton of butter, salt and maybe pepper. Well, clearly I am not going to - nor do I have any need to - share that recipe with you. So, I thought I'd do it up my own way. And I think Sam would dig this dish.
 
Happy Holidays and a beautiful New Year to Sam, where ever and however he may be, to Mary (and Jerry) Trice, and to all of my beautiful friends and family. I know how truly blessed I am to have each and every one of you touch my life.

Linguine with Pancetta Mushroom Cream Sauce

Serves 2

Ingredients
  


8 oz
 dry linguine
 
1 tablespoon
 olive oil
 
3 tablespoons
 Pancetta, cut in ¼-inch dice
 
1/2 cup
 1/4-inch thick slices of cremini mushrooms
 
1/2 cup
 Chardonnay
 
1/2 cup
 heavy cream
 
2 teaspoon
 freshly grated Parmesan cheese
 
2 teaspoon
 chopped flat-leaf parsley
 
Small pinch
 minced garlic
 
Salt and pepper to taste
1/2 teaspoon
 freshly grated Meyer lemon zest moistened in 1 teaspoon lemon juice
 
*Fresh lemon zest added at the last minute brings out the lemony nuances of a nice white wine, such as a Sancerre or Puilly Fume. I also suggest adding a pinch of minced fresh garlic just before tossing the sauce and pasta together.



Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Salt generously. Add the pasta and cook 8-10 minutes just until al dente.
 
While the pasta is cooking, sauté pancetta in olive oil in a large sauté pan over medium heat.
 
As the pancetta begins to brown, add the mushrooms and continue to cook, stirring occasionally, until mushrooms are golden brown and dry. Stir in wine. Cook until wine is reduced by half. Add cream. When sauce comes to a boil, remove from the heat and stir in cheese and parsley. Add garlic and salt to taste. Toss sauce and pasta together. Garnish with lemon zest and serve immediately.

 

Salt's Cure: The Little Kitchen That Could (And Does) - Parts 1 & 2

Part 1:

I am a saltaholic. I always crave salty over sweet. I salt everything. I carry my own salt in my bag so I don’t feel like a jerk asking for it in most restaurants. Almost no one can share my popcorn at the movies because of the almost comical abundance of the stuff.

I also like snackables. I love to graze. So you can imagine my delight upon hearing about the opening of Salt’s Cure this past August. Owners, Chris Phelps and Zak Walters, formerly of Hungry Cat, have created a simple, neighborhood café with a simple menu concentrating – but not limited to -  local, in-house cured meats, pates, rilletes, terrines and an assortment of pickled items. They are open for brunch, lunch and dinner, offering a compact and ever rotating menu of smalls to ginormous entrees that upon hitting the palate are anything but simple.

Finally, last Sunday, a mere five months after their opening, I had my first experience at Salt’s Cure over brunch with Brandon and his friend, Jeffrey. Interestingly I had been driving and walking past this building forever and never really noticed it. It’s an old, white garage-y looking space occupying the corner of  Santa Monica and Vista. And their signage is so small (and so very cute: a salt shaker!) that I had doubly missed it. But there Brandon and Jeffrey were, sitting at the table right by the large, almost floor to ceiling front window (not at the bar, sniff).

The room is small, modest, warm and welcoming. There are only a handful of tables and a bar that looks over their little kitchen. I’m guessing they can seat about 35 folks in the whole place (perfect). And always in that kitchen you will be sure to see Chris and/or Zac, cooking away.

Chris P., working away...

After the French press arrived ($5) and my mimosa, served just the way I like it: with one eye droplet of juice ($9), all three of us ordered the same thing for brunch that day. And how could one not? The 2X2X2 – bases loaded - two eggs; sunny side up, two homemade sausage patties (lamb when we went), a biscuit and two slices of thick-cut beef bacon, a ramekin of fresh plum preserves, and a couple of chunks of heirloom tomatoes in a bit of oil and vinegar ($13). We also ordered a plate of roasted potatoes for the table ($4). 

Delicious. Fantastic. Titanic in flavor. This was a perfect plate of brunch-ness. Even the tomatoes were reminiscent of the Hanover variety I vividly remember from Virginia – unparalleled. The biscuit was delicate and creamy, the eggs (Schaner Farms) were bold and nutty with a beautifully bright orange yolk, the house-made sausage was rustic and fresh, and the bacon… oh the bacon. *Swoon*. The potatoes were nice, but not as crunchy, smushy, crazy as I usually prefer them. I loved that they used a medley of different types yellow, red and purple. I will say that the caramelized onions accompanying those potatoes were outstanding. Brandon kept going on about them while spooning little bites of them onto my plate.

Plus, looking around the room, I kept thinking to myself (and saying aloud to Brandon and Jeffrey) that, not only the staff and owners (cute, cute, cute), but the clientele, all looked like my kind-of peoples. The ones who go to the farmer’s markets, the ones who read, the creative ones, the ones with genuinely slightly mussed hair (not cultivated), and big, kooky accessories (or none at all). I felt at home and knew it would be a very short time before my return.

Part 2: 

Less than a week ago, last Friday night, I met my friend Emma back at Salt's Cure at 7pm (told you so!) for dinner before she was meeting a first date at 10pm. And when I said this place was welcoming earlier, I was not just whistling Dixie. Zac literally opened the door for me when I arrived. He did the same for Emma and every other customer that night.

This go ‘round, I had my druthers and sat at the bar. Luckily, we secured my favorite two seats at any bar: the corner. Zac was to the left of me, greeting folks, quality control and whatnot and Chris was right in front of me, cooking epic portions of red meat. The room was warm and lively and smelled delicious. I was happy. I started everything off with a glass of champagne and Emma, a glass of sauvignon blanc.

While we caught up, we decided to order some cheese. Our server helpfully informed us that the cheese selection ranged from soft to hard (insert joke here (which I did that night)). The cheeses are $5 each or $13 for three. We ordered three: the Red Hawk (cow), the Winchester Sharp Gouda (cow) and the Pepato (sheep). The plate was served with some candied pecans, honey and a pair of oat biscuits. I was hesitant to order the gouda because I thought it would be too pedestrian. It was anything but. All of our cheeses were sublime, actually. This was followed by a plate of the pork shoulder ($8) served with walnuts and large, flat-leaf parsley, lightly blotted with a delicate olive oil. The meat was chiffony, tender, and almost melted on one’s tongue. I could have eaten mounds of it (I guess I did eat a mound of it).

This was around when Emma and I (round two or three on our glasses of wine) started obsessing about the enormous slabs of meat Chris was working on the grill. And Emma really started fixating on the Pork Shoulder-n-Beans ($18). Every time she saw it being plated (just about under her nose) she would squeal with delight about how amazing it looked and smelled. Then the two men seated next to us were served one of the gargantuan steaks ($62, serves two people). I asked if I could take a picture – they obliged – and we all ended up tasting each other’s food (the chocolate cake bite I had was outstanding) and laughing and chatting for a while: reason 2849606 I like to sit at bars.

Then Emma decided she had to have the pickle plate ($5) with foie gras pudding ($18) and grey snapper. Don’t get me wrong, no one was twisting my arm either. That foie gras was so light and airy and delicate, it was like a foie gras cloud. I actually screwed the lid back on to save it to take home and, of course, forgot and left it there (wine + karma = sucks). Emma was so blown away by the pickled onions, she ordered another plate of them (good move prior to a first date). It was all beautiful, elegant, yet bucolic. 

 

And then, Emma looked down in front of her, and lo and behold, Chris had placed a half plate of the Pork -n-Beans there, just for her! He had overheard her oohing and ahhing all night (how could one not), and obliged her with a treat of treats.

And this treat, my good people, was dazzling. Emma asked for a knife but immediately realized that it was unnecessary: this meat literally fell off the bone. It was simply prepared yet clearly tended to and thought about for hours and hours, if not days. As Emma was (still) going on about the dish, she offered a bite to the gentleman sitting to the right of her – he partook. Turned out he works there!

Oh, those crazy kitchen guys…

Listen – don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, this spot is so much, and then so much more. I hope they don’t get sick of me, because my eatin'-drinkin' self plan to make me part of the atmosphere more often than not.

The (It's Almost) Winter of My Content

Admittedly, I did not have a mission – a design – for this post until I put the proverbial pen to paper. The actual dish below is one I have made half a dozen times, now. I learned of it through Chris, about a year and a half ago via his favorite magazine, The Week. He made it the first time I ate it, but I have made it each time hence (but not for Chris).

It’s November. As I’ve mentioned, perhaps ad nauseam, it’s that time of year. Bring on the Snuggie version of foods. Unfortunately, but also not surprising, our fair city is throwing me some major curve balls in the weather department. During the days it’s Summer. At night it’s downright cold. So a meal that sounds good when I start planning my dinner (right after lunch) is not the same meal that makes sense once the sun has sunk into the horizon.

Why is this relevant? I guess it’s not. But I was thinking how it’s not unlike my hair this week. First of all, I always want long hair. I think most girls do. I have spent years and years of my life trying to accomplish long hair. And by God, every time I do I realize the same thing. Long hair simply does not look good on me. It doesn’t help that I don’t really know how to do fun, pretty things with my hair. I don’t own a blow dryer or a curling iron, or a flattening iron (or whatever that’s called). I'm not really sure how to braid, but Maggie did show me how to put twisty-twirlys in my hair.

But also, it’s almost Winter. It’s supposedly cold-ish and fireplace-ish and scarves-ish. So what did I do earlier today? What did I do after working on growing my hair out for the past three years? What did I do the week before the holidays? I got all my hair cut off.

It looks good and I’m really happy with it. I’m even wearing a jaunty hat right this minute. It looks good with the jaunty hat. I have even already gotten a few compliments! Well, all three of those people saw me very recently with my lots of hair. I guess they had to say something.

So back to the weather, and the food. A couple of evenings ago I did my grocery shopping for the week. It was a cool night and my menu planning was hinged around that. Big food. Warm food. Cozy food.

Then, the next day I was out, in the world, doing my thing – and I was downright hot. I was wearing a tank top and a skirt and was still all sweaty. All I wanted for lunch was a salad and buckets of water. THEN, a mere few hours later, I get back home, up in my canyon, the sun sinks and it’s cold again. I swiftly changed into my warmies.

This was all fortuitous as Dougerton was coming over for a cold night kinda meal that I had planned out on that recent grocery shopping night. This brings us to the dish Chris taught me from The Week – with a few twists and turns, of course. It’s not the prettiest dish in the world, no matter how you work it. But it is really delicious.

In the aesthetic department, at least I have my new, fun hair! And, of course, the jaunty hat... (You SO thought you were getting a picture of my hair, didn't you?!)

Sausage Over Creamy Lentils

Serves 4

2 oz. smoked bacon, thinly sliced crosswise
1 tbsp. unsalted butter
1 small onion, finely chopped

3 cloves garlic, smashed
1 small parsnip, finely chopped
1 rib celery, finely chopped
4 sprigs flat-leaf parsley
4 sprigs thyme
2 fresh bay leaves
12 oz. lentils, rinsed and drained
2 tsp. dijon mustard
1 tsp. red wine vinegar
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
8 fresh pork sausages, such as sweet Italian sausages
1 cup white wine
1 tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil

Cook bacon in a 2-qt. saucepan over medium-high heat, until its fat has rendered, about 6 minutes. Add butter, onions, garlic, parsnip, and celery; cook until soft, about 15 minutes. Tie parsley, thyme, and bay leaves together with kitchen twine; add to pan. Stir in lentils and 5 1⁄2 cups water. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to medium-low, and simmer until lentils are tender, about 1 hour and 10 minutes. Discard herbs. Stir in mustard and vinegar; season with salt and pepper. Cover and set aside.

Meanwhile, bring sausages, wine, and 1 cup water to a boil in a 12" skillet over high heat. Cook, turning sausages occasionally, until liquid has evaporated, 12–15 minutes. Reduce heat to medium; add oil. Cook sausages until browned, 6–7 minutes. Serve the sausages over the lentils.

Nonplussed

 

This past week I have been hit from all sides by episodes that have left me saying to myself, “Really?... Seriously?.” Did you really have to say that about me? Did you seriously put me in a position to have to answer that question? Did you really answer the phone that way? Are you really going to behave about this that way? Are you seriously doing that right now? Did you really have to zip three lanes across traffic on the 2 while driving 117365 miles an hour and almost knock my car off the road?

I’m having one of those moments, which we all have, in our lives when we wonder if everyone around us is a little crazy – or if we are.

It has rendered me exhausted.

It has also compelled me to take the bull by the horns and do and see things that I love in this city. Things that make me happy and comfortable. Things that are mine and no one can take them from me, by golly.

So last night, I met a friend, and I treated myself to my favorite martini at one of my favorite places in my favorite city: Musso & Frank.  I have been going to Musso since day one of my tenure here. That night, I struck up a conversation with the bartender, Rueben, about Orson Welles. Apparently I was sitting upon the very barstool that the erstwhile Mr. Welles sat upon as he essentially drank (and ate) himself to death – and also, as it were, ordered his martini exactly the way I did. Reuben and I were fast friends.

Over the years Reuben has regaled me with fantastic stories of the things he has seen from behind that bar over his past 45 some odd years there. Stories so amazing that those stories have stories. I know where Raymond Chandler sat and wrote. And drank. The same goes for Charlie Chaplin. I know about a producer from The Streets of San Francisco, who officially drank the most booze in one sitting that Reuben has ever seen: 24 vodka and Coke’s within about an hour. Oh, and this was in the late morning, prior to going to a court case!

Then there was the time Hunter S. Thompson asked Reuben, “Do you know who I am?” To which Reuben replied, in all of his naïve honesty, “A pimp?” I see Mr. Gore Vidal there on the regular. That dude loves his martinis as well. I could go on and on, but you should go visit Reuben and ask him yourself. Hell, he’s even got a story about me now… Go ahead, ask him.

Rueben and Musso & Frank always remind me of everything I love about this city. Its sunshine and shadows, its history and lore, its tragedy and comedy. We may not have very many old buildings or enormous historic events that have transpired here in Los Angeles, but go to Musso and you’ll immediately understand our version of history.

Then earlier today, I needed some silence that wasn’t in my home so I treated myself to a long lunch at the Chateau Marmont. This is another spot I’ve loved for a very long time. Long before I moved here, in fact. The Chateau is also a place that is saturated with LA history. It’s where John Belushi died of a drug overdose, Jim Morisson swung from the roof into the window of his room, Led Zeppelin rode their motorcycles through the lobby, Greta Garbo, Vivien Leigh, Jean Harlow, Hunter S. Thompson (twice in one post!), and Howard Hughes, to name but a scant few, all stayed there frequently, or in some cases, lived there. Britney Spears has been banned from the place. Helmut Newton died when his car crashed into the wall outside of their driveway while exiting the hotel. I was actually there that day. I’ve even got a few Christopher Walken and Sean Penn (separately) stories to tell, myself. Ask if you run into me. Humphrey Bogart famously said, “If you’re going to get into trouble, do it at the Chateau Marmont.”

Admittedly, I have gotten into my fair share of trouble there as well. But that was a few years ago, now.

When I have visitors from out of town I always make a point to take them to the Chateau for brunch, or at least a glass of wine. You can’t not love the place, but you’re also almost guaranteed a pretty great celebrity sighting (in fact, Johnny Knoxville is sitting next to me, right now. I have to admit it – he really is cute.)

While I have had late nights there, spent the night there a few times, enjoyed the pool, attended parties, and eaten every meal there, inside and out, my favorite thing to do at the Chateau is to take the paper or my computer, order a pot of coffee and camp out on one of the ginormous couches while doing the crossword or writing until it’s well into Wine O’Clock.

The food is not amazing or memorable (which I always really want it to be), but it’s perfectly fine, for the most part. Today’s choice was a glass of iced tea and a bowl of the French onion cauliflower soup. Quite good. I also wrote everything up to this point there. Loveliness.

So, after back to back Musso and Chateau times, I am feeling a little less nonplussed. We all have bad weeks. We all have external elements that make us feel like the world is against us. That everyone is crazy. Or that we are crazy because everyone else can’t be crazy, right? But after treating myself to some quality time at two of the places that remind me of everything that I love about my own microcosm, a few stiff cocktails, a lovely bowl of soup, and some happy writing times, I feel I have effectively exorcised myself of the yuckadoonies.

To celebrate, Chris is coming over for dinner and I am going to prepare him some handmade pasta that I have spent the past month, obsessively, mastering. Why? To prove a point to no one but myself. 

The Revenge of the Homemade and Handmade Pasta

Ingredients

1 cup Semolina Flour
1 cup All-Purpose Flour
1 tsp Olive Oil (or vegetable oil)
2 large Eggs
1 pinch Salt
1 - 2 tbsp Water

Directions

• Sift together semolina flour, all-purpose flour and salt.
• Whisk or beat with fork eggs, olive oil and water.
• Make mountain of flour on any flat surface, and form well in the center of it.
• Pour in ½ of egg mixture and begin forming dough with 2 fingers while supporting the mound of flour with other hand, adding in the rest of the egg mixture once the dough gets going.
• Kneed dough for 8 - 10 minutes, flouring surface with semolina as needed.
• Form dough into ball and wrap with plastic wrap.
• Let dough 'rest' in the refrigerator for an hour or so.
• Cut dough into 2 pieces with a knife or dough blade.
• Roll out dough into thin strips the thickness of a nickel. Hand cut as desired for type of pasta.
• If making ravioli: Fill with ravioli filling, brush edges with egg wash, then close and seal individual ravioli dumplings making sure no air is trapped inside them.

SugarFISH: Would Still Be A Deal at Twice the Price.

My dad was in town visiting a couple of weeks ago so I packed our schedule with all things food. I also scheduled October’s Dinner at Eight to coincide with his visit. So maybe I was showing off a little bit.

A few days prior to his arrival I received an email from the peeps at SugarFISH, inviting me and a guest for a meal. They were having a soft opening at their new location in a prime spot downtown, a stone’s throw from Bottega Louie. They officially opened on October 28.

I have been loving Nozawa’s sushi for the better part of a decade. Heather took me and my ex to Sushi Nozawa before we even moved out here and I have returned many times hence. I had not, however, ever been to any of his SugarFISHeseses – or, for that matter, heard a whole lot about them.

Oh, something to mention: my dad doesn’t like sushi. Or so he says. Yet, only the night before, I witnessed him happily devour a healthy slab of uni – an item that even many sushi lovers are wary of. So I figured, if I show Dad the freshest, most wonderful stuff I can think of and he still “doesn’t like sushi”, then that’s fair.

And so we begin.

Based on the website images of the other locations, I was expecting a big, open, si moderne sort of atmosphere (which is just not my cup of tea). Designed by Glen Bell of DEX Studio, to reflect the neighborhood which it inhabits, this SugarFISH is actually a fairly small space. And while it is design-y and conceptual, it maintains a certain intimacy. I dug it. The sleek combination of metal, wood and concrete, along with a smattering of clear, glass, pendant lamps suspended at different lengths from the ceiling actually give the effect of being at the bottom of the ocean with air bubbles rising to the top.

Oh, and while there is a bar, there is no sushi bar at this sushi bar. The chefs are back in a proper kitchen.

Immediately upon walking in we were greeted with a warm smile by one of the founders, Lele Massimi, who actually joined us for our meal. As we dined Massimi explained to us the driving force behind the SugarFISHeseses.

I mentioned Nozawa above. What I have not yet mentioned is that which is Sushi Nozawa. Number one, it’s exceptional. The quality of the fish is almost unparalleled. It can also be prohibitively expensive, especially to go on the regular. And then there is Kazunori Nozawa himself. At times referred to as the “Sushi Nazi”, Nozawa has become both lauded and feared for his omakase-style “Trust Me” menu and his extreme disdain for requests for California Rolls, cell phone usage in his establishment and any soul expecting special treatment (insert any number of A-list celebrities here).

And so the birth of SugarFISH: a streamlined menu hinging around three fixed price options with the same quality of fish without the same price tag. Nozawa still handpicks all of the sushi as the first in line at the fish market each morning (5am!). And while Nozawa himself is not preparing your meal, his son, Tom, is manning the kitchen. Additionally all players back in that kitchen have been directly trained by Nozawa.

As my dad and I looked between the “Trust Me” ($28.50), the “Trust Me / Lite” ($19.50) and the “Nozawa” ($35-$38), Lele decided to take matters in his own hands and told our sever that we were all getting the “Nozawa” (and then some).

And so, with my small bottle of Nozawa Super Dry sake ($9), and Dad with his Sapporo Light ($5), our gracious host, and dining companion, Lele, we dove into the food…

We opened with small plates of cold, organic edamame, which was light, lovely and crisp. This was followed by big eye tuna sashimi, which was drizzled with a delicate house-made ponzu and topped with thinly sliced bright-green scallions: diaphanous. 

Our next plate had a trio of sushi items: albacore, salmon and yellowtail. These were all supple and rich with Nozawa’s signature warm, vinegary rice (which I adore). I believe these were followed by an order of halibut sushi and an order of large scallop sushi. The scallops were plump with a beautifully sweet brine.

Next up was the toro hand roll followed by the crab hand roll. Sigh. So amazing. And we were informed by Lele to EAT IMMEDIATELY! Or the smartly crisped nori would no longer be smartly crisp. Noted. Always a favorite at Sushi Nozawa, and these did not disappoint tonight.

The item following the rolls was a surprise even to me: halibut fin sashimi. This is something I have never had before. The fin was firm and toothsome and swimming in that lovely ponzu. This was followed by salmon eggs, which were like big salty, oceanic bursty bubbles.

Oy. As you may well imagine, we were getting pretty full at this point. I was anticipating my usual ‘dessert’, uni. And so Lele had a couple of orders brought to the table. I often tend to judge a sushi restaurant by their uni and this did not disappoint. The Catalina sea urchin was creamy, briny and decadently delicious. Fortunately for me, Dad was getting so full that he could only eat one of his uni. More for moi!

We capped off our culinary adventure with the more traditional sushi “dessert”, unagi. There’s was just right: sweet, savory, warm and crunchy. Ooh, la la.

And so there you have it. SugarFISH has achieved their goal. They are serving up quality fish at a deal and a half. And guess what? Dad’s a convert! He loved it!

 All food and drinks were hosted.

Photos courtesy of SugarFISH.