Weezee: What time did you go to bed?
Mommy: We go to bed at 3:30.
Weezee: Mommy, why'd you go to bed so late?
Mommy: We went to a party. I'm a pawwwwty animal. Haha. Mommy is a pawwty animal! You want coffee?
So, again today, I wonder how the hell that woman has so much energy? She went to a party? And she stayed up until 3:30 am! And worked the night before! Probably the whole day! from 9 to 11:30 at night. All I did was tutor some kid for 3 hours, get lectured by a 17 year old about what I'm gonna do with my life for the same amount of time, and attempted to apply for an internship that I probably won't even get! What's more, I fell asleep at like 9:30 in front of my computer. There's a way to spend a Saturday night.
But I'll be reasonable. It wasn't all fun and lame. There is some back story to this otherwise mediocre blog entry - like crying babies, obscure phone calls with Russian Grandmothers, and doors in houses where Russian Grandmothers probably keep crying (deformed monster) babies. But I'll be even more reasonable still. That's only a very small part.
One of the "youths" at the "youth" theatre I volunteer at forgot their wallet after a rehearsal; so, naturally, me, being the trouble maker that I am, volunteered to take the wallet home, hold on to it, and have the actor/actress call me early Saturday morning before I managed my prerequisite 11 hours of sleep after the usual Friday night of work (only a part of my usual 11 hour shift), debauchery, and early morning winding down, usually to some European game show called "Sexy Car Wash" - the name pretty much speaks for itself.
Anyway, call me they did. Needless to say, the conversation was an hour longer than it should have been, and an hour earlier than it should have been too. But it was kinda nice, and to be honest, I'm kinda hopin' I get more. Now it's just a question of finding more forgotten wallets.
I hadn't been out to eat in a while, and by a while I mean one week. Out to eat where you ask? Well, I had passed a place on the outskirts of town called Afro-Bistro several times, and had a hankering for small empty places lit by the seediest red lights you could imagine, and the ladies of the night that probably frequented them - probably for some kind of delicious combo platter including rice, ox tail, and a trick or two. Unfortunately, my friend was stuck studying midterms all weekend, and I was stuck on the phone with a 17 year old. A 17 year old who wouldn't, for the life of me, let me bring her her wallet until I admitted why I wanted to bring her her wallet. Which was, apparently, to see her. What's more, I had (with all intentions) called her "kiddo," which she, on the verge of 18, didn't like too much. Specifically because she was turning 18, sometime soon I'm sure (I should have checked her wallet). So, for the next 30 minutes or so, a little bit after being forcibly put on the phone with her grandmother (which probably wouldn't have happened if I hadn't asked what she had been cooking), I ended up spending a good portion of my morning begging the person on the other end to let me bring her wallet to her. Was this a bad breakup? It felt like one. Only I didn't know there was a relationship to begin with, only a wallet I really wanted to return. Apparently, I did want to see her. And talk on the phone for a good hour or so, yelling back and forth, ignoring the bike in the garage and the breaks that needed fixing, and the kid that I needed to get to to tutor, preferably by bike, because my car, which I affectionately nicknamed the Blue Bomber, finally blew, and was hauled to the junk yard the night before. And while I should have been thinking of a productive way out of the situation, all I could think about was sushi and inviting this kid out for sushi in order to get the wallet to her, which, now that I look back on it, has no basis in logic whatsoever. But it worked. And I eventually got the wallet to her. And I eventually got yelled at some more, by her - a 17 year old - for picking her up half an hour late, in the cold (in a car this time - not mine).
So, after some stellar arguments yet again, Tokyo drifting down the mean streets of downtown Kitchener, after stopping off to pick up some groceries (for me mam), and after getting kicked in the heel for taking too long to choose a good MSG free brand of oyster sauce, we were well on our way to choosing where, if anywhere, we wanted to eat that had dead fish. I said Niko's Niko's, she said Ye's; I said tomato, she said, "Fuck you, I want Ye's." That's where I drew the line. The kid would have to pay for her own meal, and "rock, paper, scissors" me for food locale. Unfortunately, I lost. So Ye's it was, and Ye's I will tell you about; though I'm sure you've been to a generic, sub-par, all you can eat sushi place, at least once in your food blog reading lives.
Ye's: an Anagram for "Ey"
Ye's Sushi has two locations: one in the nice, wholesome, sprawled town of Waterloo, Ontario; the other, in the mean streets of downtown Kitchener (beside Waterloo), where homeless like to meet up with friends and talk about who they beat to death with goonie sticks, and alcoholics who like to take time to sit on the street's benches and reflect about the beauty of dusk against the cityscape, all while vomiting furiously. I say it all the time folks, Kitchener is real. And the place with all the best food holes.Now, not to say that Ye's is a bad place, but I would have preferred to write about some place better. And not so generic. That is, Ye's used to be awesome - when it first opened, for its first couple of months, three years ago, when there was no demand, and friends and I could demand every flavour of ice cream and weren't charged for each can of coca-cola that we could knock back - yes, a Hong Konger's dream. UUUU!! And it used to have cool neon signs, and red booths to sit in, a strange buzzing noise, and loud clangs coming from the the kitchen. Now that's character. Now that's gone. There's no obnoxious neon signs - well, there might be one; there's definitely no red booths, and silver diner-esque tables. And that strange buzzing noise? Drowned out by all the people the place is crowded with, which proves that Ye's does well - but that doesn't mean it is well. It's all you can eat, and that's enough to sell anyone who likes to eat. But is it enough for someone who really likes to EAT? Ye's is a restauranter's dream, a foodie's disappointment; overwhelmed by it's own popularity and expansion, catered to faux fads of Asian interior design: bamboo trims, soft cream colours, fung shui, a lucky cat or two - nothing really Japanese about it. Except for the one really tiny picture of Hokusai's Great Wave Off Kanagawa, and the Mandarin speaking wait staff - wait, what? They could at least speak Cantonese - I hear Sushi is uber-popular in Hong Kong - it's true. All my Hong Kong friends told me.
But dear readers, I digress, it's all about the food isn't it? Not the fact that I was crammed into a corner beside a table packed with two or three families and their kids, all of whom kept giving me a one over with their strange shifty, baby eyes. Forget the fact that I had no chopsticks, or that me and the 'devoesjka were strangely surprised when we got food we were positive we didn't order. My favourite part though was sitting back to back with a really really big man - who I'm confident was eating alone - and feeling the convulsions in his spine when he swallowed. At one point, I think our chakras aligned and the food actually went down easier.
For the first time in a while, I liked Ye's sushi rolls . . . alot, which is strange because I'm usually such a strict food traditionalist/facist. Raw fish rolled in rice? How unorthodox! But you know, I could have very well felt that way in comparison because the sashimi itself was less than spectacular. White tuna was so wet that it almost felt soggy (how? I dunno) and the surf claim was so dry that maybe, just maybe, if I had combined the two together, and mashed them up into a kind of sashimi pâté, the situation might have jived better. The fatty tuna, too, also had its fair share of problems; but hey, no one expects top quality toro in an all you can eat sushi buffet. No one also expects there to be gray where white should be. The octopus (which was a new item offered on the menu - on weekend's only) was a pleasant change, not as tender as I would have liked it, but at least the suckers made a pleasant little face that said, "hey, how's it going? Your date looks pretty." She wasn't my date octopus, though it would have been nice.
Aside from all this, I'd say anything hot and fried (deep or not) is a good bet; nothing out of the ordinary, but something you can put your lips around. I swear, the kid must have eaten like 10 pieces of shrimp tempura. When it really boils down to it, any buffet is really hit or miss; that's part the fun of eating at them, guessing if you're gonna get something good, that and the crying babies, and the gratuity you pay for not finishing what you order. Awesome.
I would have eaten more, unfortunately someone had a curfew at 7 o'clock on a saturday night. And I was more or less tired of being asked what I intended to do with my life, and why I was 24 and still living at home. I'm almost positive at one point the conversation reared in the direction of me always playing my electric twanger. I was so delirious, I prayed with all my heart Twisted Sister would bust through a door, or wall, or anything and just start shouting, "We're not gonna take it!"
So, after attempting to say, like the Russian's say: "Yanayilsa," poorly written of course, I was "on eating" - eating as much as I could before the kid literally got up out of her seat, went to the register, paid, and complained. She'll make some man very happy someday, if not me.
So that was that. Found a wallet, returned a wallet, ate some sushi, dropped off "young woman," was offered tea by polite Russian Grandmother, politely declined out of teenager's embarrassment and angst, found out teenager didn't tell mother she was with responsible, Onizuka like character, looked like a creeper, and missed a stellar opportunity to discuss Chekhov in the original Russian. I did however, get to see a creepy door that Chekhov probably wrote about and predicted, and that I should not write about at all, it's creepiness being explanation enough.
Will I ever go to Ye's again? Well, let's just say, someone would have to lose a pretty big wallet.
Спокойной ночи и приятных снов!Ye's Sushi103 King W,
Kitchener, ON N2G 1A7
519-568-7566
583 King Street North,
Waterloo, ON N2V 2E5
519-888-6066
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