Sushi and Mayhem

First of all, let me say hola to everyone. We survived the 6-week holiday binge. I basically ate like Chris Farley—or, as I fondly say to a tempting treat in front of me: “I am going to go sooo Cookie Monster on your ass.” It was the pizzelles that made me pack on 6 pounds. Delish!!! Well, the twins had to choose a country to study at school, and they chose Italy. The culmination of this unit was “International Day” where all the kids brought in a food item from their country. I chose pizzelles for them to take—but I don’t have a pizzelle iron, so I went to Carfagna’s and picked up 6 dozen. I had told the girls how they were made, just incase anyone was curious—I didn’t necessarily tell them that we made THESE. Well, turns out Meg concocted a detailed story in front of the class regarding how she mixed the batter, poured them onto the griddle, pulled the lid down, and cooked them till they were brown…I was like, “Uhhh, Meggie, you didn’t have to LIE!”

We partied, feasted, and celebrated throughout November and December.
Oh—the very last CDU gig was in November. A typical VH-1 “Behind the Music” scenario: 45 minutes before the gig, our bass player (from 20 mins away) called and said, very casually and unfazed: “Ummm, my car won’t start.”

Matt was like, “Uhhh, should someone come get you?”
Bass player replied: “I’ll call you back.”

We didn’t hear back until about 15 minutes prior to the gig starting, when we were told Triple A was on the way. We were all in a panic.

The gig began late, but we suffered through—oh, with the exception of Matt’s guitar losing power during two songs…ahhhh, life on the road, man.

So here’s a funny story…yes, regarding another restaurant. (I see a theme here.) Last night, Russ and I went to get some sushi. Now, on a good day, this sushi place runs a bit slow—even when there are two tables, it’s quite a wait. So, I was prepared to grow a Rumpelstiltskin beard when we walked in and saw a full house and 2 bustling, stressing sushi chefs making those rolls so fast they were almost guaranteed to get a case of carpal tunnel. Still, I hoped for the best.

We sat down and waited—and waited—and waited. Finally, Waiter A scurried over and took our order. I promptly wrote down the 4 rolls we wanted. We waited—and waited—and waited. I grabbed Waiter B and asked for a glass of wine. He apologetically said he had no wine glasses. I said for him just to bring it to me in whatever he had. Ten minutes later, I got my wine in a water glass. By now, we had been here about 40 minutes.

Around this time, Waiter B stopped by and asked, “Have you ordered?”
I said, “Yes… a long time ago.”
He looked concerned, and I heard some tense Japanese shot back and forth as he consulted with the chefs.

About now, Waiter A showed up and said, “Did you order your sushi?”
I said, “YES.” (I mean, HE was the one who took our order!)

He, too, looked nervous and conferred with the chefs. The Japanese voices were raised a few more decibels. It was gonna be a rumble behind the sushi counter.

About now, people in the tables around us were grumbling too, because it was sooo slow. To appease the impending riot, Waiters A and B began tossing around soup, salad, and warm beans to shut people up and keep us munching and distracted. Problem was, we had nothing on our table—no napkins, silverware, or plates…so I began eating the salad with my fingers…finally I ate it leaf-by-leaf with chopsticks. (I tried scoring a fork, but finally gave up.) Russ commented our skeletons were going to be found in the chairs, chattering skulls like in Raiders of the Lost Ark.

Finally, Waiter A apologetically brought us back our order form and said, “You just order again, okay?”

I quickly and sternly marked my choices again, and he took off.

I watched the sushi chefs stressing HARD, and hoped there weren’t beads of sweat in my sushi. Waiter B zipped by and said, “Just one minute on your food…” Then Waiter A zoomed past and assured us, “You’re next….”

I replied sadly, “I’m never getting my food, am I?”

Waiter A clasped his hands over his heart and said, “Oooohhhhh….” As if I had shot him.

FINALLY—our tray of food arrived, brought by Waiter A. Russ and I ripped into it like hungry pihranas. (By now we had been sitting for an hour and 20 minutes.)

Two minutes later, Waiter B smilingly brought over…a DUPLICATE tray of food.
We all looked confusedly at the plate we were devouring, to the new plate, and back. He stammered something, and finally set the new plate down saying: “Uhhh—just eat it.”

Almost simultaneously, a war of words erupted behind the sushi counter as the chefs ripped into Waiters A and B when they realized what had happened. I assume Japanese F-Bombs were dropped as plates were slammed around, and I prayed to God the Ginsu knives were out of sight. Russ whispered: “They’re going to commit hari kari back there.” I’ve never seen more stressed sushi chefs.

We stuffed our faces as the bellowing continued behind us—so much for the diet—and Russ ate right off the tray because he didn’t even have a plate!! Still, fat and happy, we finally left at 9:00. Moral of the story: Call beforehand.