To Pace Down, to Talk, and to Be There

I was lucky enough to be invited to a meal at Cagen, a two-star Michelin Japanese restaurant in New York, located reclusively underground. My friend and her boy friend Zili, who made this call to me a month before they arrived in New York, confirmed with me that my schedule would be cleared for this day."Yes I will be available."An elegant young lady at the door took over our coats and bags. She guided us to sit down at the bar, where the chef could serve fresh sushi directly to us.We were the first group at the restaurant. Zili told me that only the earliest reservations could be fed Sushi because considering the flight that brought those sashimi ingredients from Japan to New York, the materials couldn't stand a longer wait before they were served to the customers -- all needed to be fresh, under a strict time constraint.There were only one chef, a senior gentleman with a light smile (or not...just seriousness) on his face throughout the whole time. I always held my breath when I was taking pictures, scared that the prestigious chef would despise my photo-taking convention. I did it anyways, in the lowest key possible.The tea was never cold. The lady host constantly brought new cups of tea instead of pouring more hot tea into my half-full chilled cup. The ginger was cut into slim rectangular chunks, looking juicy and sweet. I would never put mere ginger in my mouth before, but this time -- why not. The wasabi looks appealing too, ground right off from the small shark skinned base by the chef.The serve started. A hot appetizer dish of several Japanese roots. I heard that as the dish serving goes on, the flavors should get stronger and stronger so that each new dish brings a new flavor, instead having the very first dish bringing the salt threshold to the highest and making everything else later on taste blend. This marked the start, I suppose.Then came the sushi orchestra. The chef would make everything three times and allocate one of each on each of our plates. I had been mesmerized by how effortless he pinched the rice cluster into the shape of a sushi foundation within the three to four back-and-forths swinging his hands in the air.We put the sushi into our mouths with our bare hands one after another, never failed to respond with a different sound of exclamation. I never thought the next piece would come so delicious in such a different way. Once in a while Zili would ask the chef to make one more of the pieces that he enjoyed in particular. He said that it was possible because of their personal connection. I believe him. The chef, who rarely showed his smile, enjoyed Zili as his guest. Zili wasn't being extra polite, but was genuinely appreciating his work and having a good time.We were satisfied to the fullest. Two soup dishes, a soba, and a desert followed. Starting from one point of the night, I became too gratified with my memory to even talk about the dishes that came later. Every sushi piece was unique and indispensable, while maybe a little bit too much for someone like me, who gulps up the marginal benefits too quickly. I wish I had a more acceptant stomach that could help me hold myself together for a longer time on that bar table. And we'll talk more.