I cherish the ever-dwindling evenings like the one I had tonight - an evening when I was completely free, and had a fully staffed, but completely dead, city full of restaurants at my disposal. This reminds me of a random Tuesday evening five years ago, before traffic got so bad, and before I got so busy doing so many other things.
After dinner at Olives, I stopped on the way home for a quick dessert at Uni. An
Extreme Picante Roll ($6.95) is made with escolar, jalapeno, cilantro, and crispy garlic chips. And the real reason I ordered it was the last sentence of the description: "Chili powder on rice and burn with fire." I assumed they'd sprinkle chili powder on the finished roll for spicing, but what they did was squirt a little Sriracha on the plate (which also had a drizzle of cilantro oil), and blowtorch the roll, toasting the sesame seeds on the outside.
This was a good roll,
IF you can accept that the sushi rice had the texture of Thai sticky rice (which I like, and works decently within this spicy, busy genre of maki; I'm certain I wouldn't want it with o-toro).
A quiet moment of personal triumph came when I ordered a single-serving of
Namahage ($8.50), a sake with which I was unfamiliar, served in a white-wine glass in about a four-ounce pour. The nose reminded me of Cocoa Puffs, and then I began to remember the bouquet in a boxed sake I tasted for a
Washingtonian article I wrote a few years ago - the Kuromatsu-Hakushika Junmai Pack. Sure enough, when the check arrived, it said "Namahage (box)." It was like solving the Sunday puzzle in the New York Times, or finishing a particularly challenging Sudoku: It doesn't amount to anything, but it sure feels good at the moment.
But I came home and did a little research, and now realize that I was wrong: The "box" on the check referred to the single-sized serving, which is supposed to come in a little wooden box like it does at Makoto. This sake isn't boxed at all, and my moment of triumph has just fizzled and gone away like a rice puff.
Cheers,
Rocks."