First, I am probably years behind the curve, but sparkling shiraz rules. It's weird at first, but then fun like a strange alcoholic soft drink. Not sweet like a wine cooler. Husband was prepared for a sip of Boone's Farm with fizz, but agreed it was much, much better than that and actually not too bad. He still preferred a cold glass of Sapporo Reserve just the same.
Second, we are not cool. I know this because we arrived at a new and desperately trendy sushi place on Washington on Friday at what we were certain was the senior citizens' dining hour. After finding we are not allowed to park ourselves and spending a few never ending moments going the wrong way through various nonsensically directed drive aisles, we valeted, handing our keys to an exceedingly kind attendant, and approached the door. We found a largely empty restaurant and, surprisingly for happy hour, a fairly sparsely occupied bar area as well.
The hostess greeted us and asked if we were a party of two and whether we had reservations or not. We did not. She told us the next time she could seat us at a table was 8:00, or we could sit at the sushi bar. Incredulous, we said, "Really, not til 8?" To which her reply was "6:20... 7:20... 8:00... that's like an hour and forty minutes, if you want to wait that long." Honestly, this midget of a hostess with way too much eye makeup and impossibly black hair was actually counting out loud to figure out how long we needed to wait. So we said we'd eat at the sushi bar.
We enjoyed our meal tremendously (see sparkling shiraz above) and sitting at the sushi bar was actually really fun and fairly easy to manage with two people - except when I dropped my napkin and had to disembark from my stool to pick it up. Our server was nice, and there is literally an army of buspersons standing to grab empty plates and refill water glasses, which is perfect since we are big fans of the Red Devil Roll. Our usually chippy husband-wife banter was also spiced up by the opportunity to work inside jokes about the hostess into our regular repartee.
I will also mention that during our meal approximately 40% of the tables filled up. A row of 6 two-person booths both behind and to the left of our perch at the bar were never occupied.
As we emerged and waited for our car, the kind of couple I assume all those booths were reserved for had just arrived in a Maserati. All I remember about her is that she was so thin and small she could probably comfortably occupy one of my pantlegs. He was trying so hard - shaved head and five o-clock stubble, sunglasses at night, expensive blue jeans that didn't fit his womanly hips and buttocks as well as he thought, rhinestone studded flip flops.
They smoked and hovered over the valet attendant as he gingerly 16-point turned the automobile into park, fully occupying the fire lane in front of the restaurant. I found this amusing because surely the restaurant was close to bursting into flames as a result of the couple's collective hotness. Too bad we weren't cool enough to counteract it.
Second, we are not cool. I know this because we arrived at a new and desperately trendy sushi place on Washington on Friday at what we were certain was the senior citizens' dining hour. After finding we are not allowed to park ourselves and spending a few never ending moments going the wrong way through various nonsensically directed drive aisles, we valeted, handing our keys to an exceedingly kind attendant, and approached the door. We found a largely empty restaurant and, surprisingly for happy hour, a fairly sparsely occupied bar area as well.
The hostess greeted us and asked if we were a party of two and whether we had reservations or not. We did not. She told us the next time she could seat us at a table was 8:00, or we could sit at the sushi bar. Incredulous, we said, "Really, not til 8?" To which her reply was "6:20... 7:20... 8:00... that's like an hour and forty minutes, if you want to wait that long." Honestly, this midget of a hostess with way too much eye makeup and impossibly black hair was actually counting out loud to figure out how long we needed to wait. So we said we'd eat at the sushi bar.
We enjoyed our meal tremendously (see sparkling shiraz above) and sitting at the sushi bar was actually really fun and fairly easy to manage with two people - except when I dropped my napkin and had to disembark from my stool to pick it up. Our server was nice, and there is literally an army of buspersons standing to grab empty plates and refill water glasses, which is perfect since we are big fans of the Red Devil Roll. Our usually chippy husband-wife banter was also spiced up by the opportunity to work inside jokes about the hostess into our regular repartee.
I will also mention that during our meal approximately 40% of the tables filled up. A row of 6 two-person booths both behind and to the left of our perch at the bar were never occupied.
As we emerged and waited for our car, the kind of couple I assume all those booths were reserved for had just arrived in a Maserati. All I remember about her is that she was so thin and small she could probably comfortably occupy one of my pantlegs. He was trying so hard - shaved head and five o-clock stubble, sunglasses at night, expensive blue jeans that didn't fit his womanly hips and buttocks as well as he thought, rhinestone studded flip flops.
They smoked and hovered over the valet attendant as he gingerly 16-point turned the automobile into park, fully occupying the fire lane in front of the restaurant. I found this amusing because surely the restaurant was close to bursting into flames as a result of the couple's collective hotness. Too bad we weren't cool enough to counteract it.
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