Monday, July 19, 2010

Tomu Sushi

Yeah, so what? I caved. You wanna fight about it? I was trained by a kung fu grandmaster; taught meditation by Laos monks; learned to cook from an old Thai woman; learned to eat from a kid from Hong Kong. So if I wanna write about a place 3 times, I'll damn well write about a place three times.

If you haven't already figured it out (assuming you're hopelessly devoted to my blog- which would be pretty stellar) I'm talking about none-other than that place I bitched about not even a month ago: (and if the title of this entry didn't already give it away) Tomu Sushi. Previously, Sushi Nara. Previously (in my mind) place that refused me cold radish soup. But hey, this isn't about my personal vendetta- it's about you, my dear food readers and eaters and everything inbetweeners.

Long story short: me Mam (that's folk talk for 'mother') had a hankerin’ for taking me out for dinner. It was a special occasion, that's all I'm sayin'. And she wouldn't take ‘no’ for an answer. This went on for a solid three days, and so, I caved and opted out for Tomu Sushi because (a): I hadn't had sushi in a while, and (b): my damned anal retentive workaholism had a hankerin’ for gastronomically deconstructing the F* out of this place. And deconstruct I will. Why else blog? To legitimize my eating? No way . . .


Typical layout: open concept kitchen with a bar for the more intimate sushi eaters (if you don't know what I mean, go to a sushi bar), a major dining area, and like any other sushi place, booths surrounding the restaurant for those ‘oh so intimate’ dining experiences. Sprinkle that with a typical array of cloth samurai and geisha paintings, some lanterns in place of lights and a kitchen staff of Koreans and you have the clichéd dynamic of a typical North American sushi restaurant, at least in this town anyway. Don't get me wrong, there are one or two restaurants claiming to be Japanese run by Japanese owners; and don't get me wrong even more, race has nothing to do with cooking ability, but do get me wrong when I say this: people do, for whatever reason, expect more authentic dining experiences if the cooks match the 'ethnic' cuisine being prepared, which in its own right is a whole-lot-a-hoopla, because there ain’t no such thing as authenticity in the Western, globalized world, comrades. You can pretend there is and impress a lady friend with your Bourdieuian tastes, but when it boils down to it, you is just kiddin' yo-self. My advice? Throw authenticity out the window, because you'll be pulling hairs otherwise. Just chase the flavours, friend, because though part of the dining experience may be the adventure of the space and the people making the food, Othering ain't even a good indulgent (and if that ain't a noun, it is now).But that's enough white guilt for one entry.

A part of me- a huge part of me- misses the decor of Sushi Nara, which was, more or less, a cold looking dining area with sea green coloured walls and booths, humble steel chairs and wood trims with a strange burnt motif, of which has still remained in the refurnished Tomu Sushi, now coloured with deep reds and dark blues- perhaps an expression of the freshness of sushi and the spiciness of Korean (ha, who am I kidding?). However, the new layout takes itself very seriously and makes it a more appealing dining spot for the contemporary, "oh my God I fear ugly places because that is a reflection of sanitation," diners.



Side dishes: the pièce de résistance.

A side note: when I say these next things, I may seem harsh, but at least I'm being honest. The wait staff was a wait staff. Overly accommodating at times, confusing at others; constantly switching servers on us. Confusing at times, and a little condescending with their baby talk comments. Baby talk comments? Whatever do you mean, Weezee? I mean this: when I break a pair of shitty disposable chopsticks and rub them together I am not trying to create fire, I'm filing off the shitty splinters. When I stir the miso soup (a typically overplayed inclusion with any friggin’ dumb meal at a sushi restaurant, which I friggin hate- did I mention that?) with said chopsticks, it is not the equivalent of an ape discovering some giant monolithic black slab in the middle of the desert for the first time. So I don't need overly mom friendly comments of, "that's right, you stir the miso soup with the chopsticks" from some Korean waitress who sees my whiteness as some signification of my ignorance about Japanese dining etiquette, because I'm willing to bet that kid never read Empire of Signs. No, no- me blushing wasn't because I was shy and proud, but because I was pretty damn offended. There are better ways to get tips. But hey, now I just sound like one big fathead. Of which I am. Maybe it was her first day, I dunno. She did seem to confuse requests for spoons with requests for forks. I sympathize, I do. I always do. It's tough manning a dining room full of what? 3 tables? Still, the wait staff wasn't all that bad. Service was rather quick, and when expressing displeasure with the salmon we had received, were immediately offered to choose from something else on the menu, and when refusing, humbly given a discount. A courteous call, not only on the wait staff’s part, but the restaurant as a whole. Though I'm positive the cooks probably heard about it later. And on that note, let's get to the food!



Hwae Dup Bap. I think it means 'delicious!'

For the most part, Tomu Sushi plays well to the Japanese dining experience: bento dinners, teriyaki dinners, sushi love boats, with only a small sprinkling of Korean influence placed in some meal combinations. But hey, what the masses don't know, don't hurt 'em. And like I said, it's all about the flavour. The pièce de résistance for this place however, though it was pawned off as a sushi restaurant implying Japanese cuisine, was the fact that it offered Korean side dishes with my meal. This was an exceptionally exciting surprise for me. Not because the side dishes were to die for- the seaweed was too fishy, the kimchi, not spicy or sour enough- but because they were offered at all. Period. We did get some pickled soy beans, which had a unique earthy flavour. Somehow, and I don't know how, even after being pickled, they still managed to retain that fresh flavour that often accompanies peas eaten right off the vine. I loved them! Unfortunately, side dishes are random, so when you go, you better hope the ones offered are good. There was also a Korean dinner section on the menu, which aside from the huge menu options, was a welcomed choice. So welcomed in fact, I ditched my original plan for sushi and opted for a hearty Korean meal of Hwae Dup Bap: essentially a salad characterized with hearty vegetebles- slices of carrots, radish, cabbage and iceburg lettuce- sprinkled with pieces of raw fish, accompanied by a nutty, spicy Korean sauce. And of course there was rice. I had my cake, and ate it too and finished it off with a warm bottle of sake. Like drinking hugs. For 12.95 the dish was more than satisfying. I absolutely loved it. The dish complimented the heat of the day very well (I should have opted for some unagi too- if you catch my meaning), especially when one often equates that kind of weather with freshness, and Hwae Dup Bap, with its astounding colour palette communicating freshness and tricking the eye into believing so. For 14.95 however, the salmon teriyaki was less than satisfying. Maybe it was just a bad night. As always, I like to give every cook the benefit of the doubt. Salmon is after all a touchy fish, especially when you commodify it into something that could easily be cooked and readied in a slim 15 minutes. Or maybe, just maybe, the quality is always the same. As me Mam says, the problem with people and dining out is that a lot of people who can't cook go out to eat, so anything is good. Anything goes. Ignorance is bliss and all that jazz. Truer words Mumzie, truer words. (Now you know where I get my harsh food criticisms from) I feel my mother, an Italian woman schooled in the art of domesticity and cooking for a large family knows a thing or two about eating and is justified in her response. The customer IS always right. Sure, if it was a fish she never ate I might have said otherwise. But let's not allow one bad food experience to dampen our palettes (poor metaphor Weezee, poor metaphor). With Tomu Sushi's extensive menu, there is something for everybody (price wise too). My mom just didn't find it yet. And I truly believe dining is in part the responsibility of the gastroneme. If you don't know how something cooks (like, salmon) you run the risk of being unawares of its complicated preparation and increasing your chances for a satisfying meal. Personally, I love being leery when I go out to eat. Maybe because I work hard for what little money I have and want every dish to be worth it. Then again, I also like a little adventure and playing Thai lottery when I can't read a menu, choosing a random number instead. Just be forewarned. Not all cooks are chefs. Not all cooks have Red Seals. Not all cooks have the passion! However, let's not stray too far. I can't talk food theory all day. I mean, I could. But I wouldn't put my dear readers through it. We did what we set out to do: get a solid experience at the replacement Sushi Nara. Tomu Sushi. Not bad. I do not however, have any motivation, like I did for Sushi Nara, of going back. Nothing really stood out that hasn't already been eaten somewhere else. Man, I wish I tried that cold soup.


Bill (for two, including sake, with discount off of displeasing meal): 28. 85.

Tomu Sushi
(519) 746 1566
347 Erb Street West Unit# 4
N2L 1W4
Waterloo, On

Mon: closed
Tues-Sat: 11am-10pm
Sun:12pm-9pm


Tomu Sushi on Urbanspoon

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Chippy Fishies

Now I admit, I've never had fish and chips. I have no nostalgic memories of driving to the coast of Canada, to back-woods, to whale watching conventions (like there's such a thing), all-the-while making short stops at quaint little stalls where one can gorge on fried clams or baked haddock or baked whatever. I consider myself, at self deprecating times, a rather diasporic eater. I like to eat; but wherever I go I never really amalgamate myself well into the dining atmosphere. People consider me a foodie fanboy. I know a lot about the food I eat, and like Tom Cruise ala Jerry McGuire, ala Tom Cruise crazy interviews on psychology: you guys don't even know the history of food, I do, I studied it! You don’t know what it's like to be ME out here for YOU? It is an up at dawn, pride swallowing siege that I can never fully tell you about!

Maybe, I should eat at more Italian places. Or maybe I should stop victimizing myself for the sake of propaganda, like some kid at G20 smashing windows for no apparent reason. Now I KNOW that wasn't too soon. I pay money, I get food. People aren't racist; I've never been kicked out of a restaurant. (Again though, I have been refused dishes based on my whiteness. I rebuke my previous statement.) Maybe if I wore a suit and tie and took a beautiful woman to a place with a room full of uglies I'd get a lot of stares, but why go through the effort of being something I'm not- which is poor, and hungry, and stupid with money when I'm hungry. After all, all I ever want to do is eat. This time, all I wanted to do was eat fish and chips, because A: I never had fish and chips before- that is, I never ordered fish and chips at a fish and chips restaurant (I always imagined in my mind they'd taste tangy and salty and crispy and like newspaper) and B: I was hoping- it was a long shot- I was hoping I'd run into the girl of my dreams- at an empty fish and chips restaurant, sprinkled with old people. It wasn't totally empty. Also, it was 3 in the afternoon. But it definitely felt like it was for old people. Wait, wait. That's too insensitive. The restaurant was geared more towards an older, family oriented demographic. Yellow walls, pastel coloured, fleur upholstered booths, faux wood grained tables and all around trims, IKEAesque paintings of flowers and meadows; did I mention the fake flowers? There was one bonzai tree. That was also fake. It was kinda cool though. I mean, I heard Koreans ran the place, bonzai plants are kind of Korean. Who am I kidding? I'm being totally insensitive again. I feel I can really salvage this word diarrhea by saying that the restaurant that is Fish and Chips- no wait... Golden Fish & Chips- the restaurant I am talking about- really applies smart business strategies when attempting to maintain a customer base and maintaining that same customer loyalty. Not only with good food, but with appealing (to old people) atmospheres. If I may justify this with a little academic referencing . . .

"Without offering these unique selling propositions based on the idea of culinary art many . . . businesses would cease to exist as viable concerns. . . . the art of presentation and overall packaging is one where the product (the restaurant) is imbued with a unique personality and identity . . . for it is not food alone that is important . . . but the complete dining concept which needs to reconcile artistic and business tensions" (Gillespie,Cailein H. "Gastrosophy and Entrepreneurial Fashion and Fiction," British Food Journal, 1994, 96, 10, 19-23).

That's why they pay me the big bucks!



The general layout gave me the sudden urge to play BINGO.

I had dreams for Golden Fish & Chips. Or rather, dreams of Golden Fish & Chips. I imagined that behind those plastic curtains, they'd have tiled floors, cool, florescent lighting, stiff chairs, and tables with plastic mats and a swinging door that gave way to the kitchen, of which I could, as I always do, peer into, happily watching the cooks. Alas, that poor swinging door was in fact, plastic drapes, which I eerily watched just for one glimpse of the kitchen. Instead, I glimpsed the waitress- too many times. And either A: flattered her, or B: made her feel terribly uncomfortable. I opt for neither. She was pretty complacent. It was probably a psychological effect of the boring colour scheme. Her service was good though- and that's all I'll say about that. Oh, and that she was very nice when I, for whatever reason, could not discern baked from deep fried. There was a point where she had to open the menu for me like a child. And THAT is all I will say about that. Again, very nice. Very helpful.












Ahoy, Matees!



So, for the first time in my life, at the tender age of 25, I ordered my first big boy meal of fish and chips. Salmon and chips actually, tenderly accompanied with a side of bland coleslaw (you too can imitate this treat by adding some plane boring mayonnaise and maybe salt and maybe sugar) some pre-packaged tartar sauce (too tangy for my wussy palette), and a cool can of coca cola- an unfortunate 1.50. The fish was good. I say that with as much 'meh' as is expected. Lightly battered, good, but nothing out of the ordinary, which should be considered as a win, assembled into one big chip. Indeed, I expected dainty fingers of little fishies that I could pick up and tuck snuggly in my mouth. I was forced to break that (good) flaky salmon up with a forked and knife. It was okay. I'm being picky is all. It's only aesthetics. Geez, listen to me. Only aesthetics? What's the point of eating out then? Honestly? Phhhhhhh. To be fair though, I received no fish nor any chips wrapped in newsprint, nor any kind of waxy paper- that was reserved for my company's fried clams, crispy on the outside, quite fishy and wet on the inside (maybe it was a bad day- maybe I hate clams- p.s., it was an appetizer and it was 7.49. Hey, whatever! Times are tough! BP man, BP. Killin' the oceans. And I DEFINITELY know that joke's not too soon). Instead, I got some ugly plate reminiscent of 70s dinnerware any friggin' hipster would eat the F* up! damn hipsters . . .

The chips, English slang (i.e., pertaining to those who live in jolly old England) for French fries- slang for potatoes cut into wedges and deep fried (i.e., not pertaining to those who live in fathead, Foucault loving France)- were the favourite part of my meal. Maybe because I biked all over town beforehand, fixed a flat tire, skipped out on breakfast, and needed some heavy carbohydrates to prevent me from going into some kind of shock; but now I'm just being really defeatist. I really liked the fries. I especially liked smothering them in vinegar and salt; they didn't seem to lose too much of their body. Crispy on outside, soft on inside. Is how it should be, I reckon. It was a satisfying meal for 9.99. Still, considering that, I would have liked a little more. Maybe it was the small side of coleslaw that got my attention. Or, OR! Maybe the chips were so delicious, I merely wanted more. Maybe I'm one cheap/poor/stingy son of a bitch. You'll never know. You only know me through my misadventures with food on this blog. Now, I've not much other spots to compare Golden Fish & Chips to (yet), but I'm glad I went (aren’t I always); it's been around for a while, and if it ain't gone, and don't look run down inside, then that must speak volumes for the place. I'm glad though that those fried little fishy cakies called me into that food pond like the sweet melodic sounds of some Sirenic beauty waiting to get the sexual innuendo eaten out of her. Man, I feel like a sailor.

Bill (with tip): a cool 14.98. Ouch, my wallet.

Golden Fish & Chips
 
(519) 888-6660‎
Bridgeport Road West,
Waterloo, ON 

N2J 2J9

Golden Fish & Chips on Urbanspoon

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Nara No More



Again, glad I had my cellphone (with poor quality camera) on me.

Apparently Sushi Nara is no more. Yeah, I would have found out sooner, except cash doesn't come out of my ass. Honestly, how am I, young kung food adherent, expected to make good reliable blog entries when dives never meet lease contract terms? Apologies dear readers. Apologies that I, your dear narrator didn't have the foresight to see this one coming. I'm as equally disappointed. I almost regret having past by leisurely this morning, only to view the new sign TOMU SUSHI (more or less with the same interior- at least, that's what I saw peering through the window). Now I'll never be able to try their cold radish soup. This is why owners should never refuse food for a patron even if they feel it's too cold for the season and the white devil can't handle it. I bet they're feeling "it" now now- not as much as they're feeling the pang of not meeting a payment. Such a sad thing to happen to a restaurant. Like I've said before they come and go, especially if they don't have the goods to offer anything original. But this place did! My worldview is smashed. At least until I check out TOMU SUSHI. Though I've the sneaky suspicion it won't measure up. It's more Japanese than Korean/Japanese (so I've read). And Japanese restaurants in these parts are notorious for bogus prices and small portions. Phhh.

Tomu Sushi
(519) 746 1566
347 Erb Street West (Apartment 4)
Waterloo, On

. . . like it even matters.