Well inducted into the world of cold and interrupted meals with their two children, our daughter, Jana, and her husband Aaron planned an evening out with just the grown-ups.
The women wanted to dress up, the men wanted to go casual. The women wore newer jeans with new tops. The men wore older jeans with old shirts. We shaved, they didn’t. We have all learned the art of compromise in marriage.
Jana and I not only looked great, we both smelled great. I haven’t smelled like baby urp in about five years, Jana about five minutes. We got out the door unscathed to enjoy an evening as adult friends, not as parents and child. This new stage of relationship has been a blessing, and a relief. We have passed on the parenting baton with our firstborn.
One down, five to go. But, who’s counting?
They chose the Matsu Japanese Restaurant, where we ate very amazing, very hot, teppan-yaki food. It was hot because they cooked it in front of you. He even cut it into bite-sized pieces for us while he cooked. Parents who have cut up three meals a day into tiny little, non-chokable pieces, totally appreciate that detail.
My husband satisfied his raw tuna craving with the Spicy Tuna Roll. Yes, that tuna is raw, very raw.
The chef is part juggler, part entertainer, part stand-up comic. It isn’t just a meal, it is an experience.
Our fried rice was prepared then shaped into heartburn, then a beating heart, then Mickey Mouse.
A slice of onion became a flaming volcano.
Each part of the meal was prepared along with antics, including tossing, noise-making and flipping unused items, like shrimp tails, into his chef’s hat.
Like a gringo, I asked our chef if he was Japanese. He laughed, admitted he was born in Mexico, but assured me his Japanese name was Orlando.
I didn’t have to ask Hana, our waitress, if she was Japanese. I figured that one out all on my own.