Monday was one of the only nights I was able to see my cousin, who is all grown up and working a grown up job and has a grown up apartment with her grown up boyfriend. The years’ passing startles me every time I stop to think about it.
We ate at a sushi bar called East, which does conveyor belt sushi. Little plates, all color-coded by price, meandered by. It felt similar to dim sum in that one had to be careful about decision making. And by careful, I mean decisive. I am not a very adventurous sushi eater, so the element of mystery did not necessarily enhance my dining experience. But the company made up for my reluctance with the food, and we certainly all ate our fill. I tried eel (it tasted like dirt. I don’t mean that in an insulting way, I mean it literally. It had an earthy taste that I’m not sure I cared for.)
We had some good seaweed, and some hot, fresh edamame that was very tasty. At the end of the meal, we piled all the plates high to estimate the bill, definitely not how I was used to calculating tabs.
We walked home in the cool night, and although it was only Monday, I mourned the end of the week.