It is, of course, the evening before a rather promising first date that I manage to take a headbutt to the forehead, raising a lovely welt above my left eyebrow.
I’m both thinking I need to find a new sport, and hoping she’s into beat-up looking guys.
Today, a moment of respite from the standard self-aggrandizing to aggrandize on behalf of two very good pieces of software I stumbled across in the past few months, both of which have since made my time online vastly more enjoyable:
The first, Mozilla’s FireFox web browser (previously code-named Firebird). If the constant security flaws of IE (or your latent desire to stick it to Microsoft) aren’t enough to tempt you over to the non-profit browser initiative formed in the wake of Netscape, features like tabbed browsing certainly should be. Come to a link in the middle of a page you’re reading that you’d like to check out once you’re done with the current page? Control click the link, and the new page loads behind the active one on a separate tab within the same window. If, like me, you frequently juggle multiple pages, it will make your life incalculably easier. Throw in pop-up blocking, integrated search, and improved navigation, bookmarks and downloads, and you’ve got the recipe for a nearly perfect browser.
Plus, their new logo rocks the proverbial Kasbah:
The second, then, is Knowspam.net. In the past month, 12,229 pieces of spam were sent to me. Literally none of them made it through to my inbox. I’ve finally started to again think of email as a useful tool. The process is simple. People you know can send email through directly; people you don’t, when they mail for the first time, have to click through to a web page to demonstrate they’re real humans rather than spamming robots. As the software allows you to upload your email address book, and pulls email addresses from outgoing messages, you’ll only harass people emailing you completely out of the blue, and then only once. Slightly obnoxious, but in my mind a reasonably price to pay for keeping 100% of the spam from you inbox.
They don’t have a cool logo. But you should sign up anyway.
Several months back, I spent a fair amount of time (arguably too much) thinking about the right sort of dog to get, should I decide to get a dog. As I don’t suspect I’ll be so doing at any point in the near future, that may seem an odd line of pursuit. But, to be honest, it was a question that had plagued me since moving to New York; if nearly all dog-owning New Yorkers look eerily like their dogs, was there a sort of dog that looked like me? More importantly, was I supposed to find a dog I looked like to begin with, or to find one somewhat similar and then hope it or I would evolve towards the other over time, until, perhaps, our relative appearances met in the middle, somewhere between where we both began.
Recently, however, I’ve begun to think the same rule also applies to people in relationships. Not necessarily that couples begin to look like each other (though, certainly, they sometimes do, especially if stooping to the faux pas of all faux pas: matching outfits), but that, over time, people become increasingly similar, in terms of interests, opinions and activities, to their significant others. A quick review of relationships past certainly bears the theory out at least in my own life. From swing dance to indie rock, socialist political views to dubious mental health, I’ve been swayed in all sorts of directions by girlfriends. And while some of the changes were rather temporary (leaving me, post-breakup, thinking things like: “you know, I’m much more of an indoor person than the last six months of hiking might have led me to believe.”), others have stuck with me permanently.
Which, with a handful of dates on the immediate horizon, is sort of a scary thought. Not only am I now looking for a girl I like, a girl who likes me, a girl with whom I can imagine a shared future, but also a girl who evolving towards over the course of a relationship won’t leave me scarred for life.
This morning, after several months off, I returned to Ronin Combat Athletics to resume mixed martial arts (i.e. “no holds barred”) training. I’d been working out regularly during my time away, so at least I was rarely left winded, but there’s no amount of throwing around weights that can prepare you for being actually thrown around yourself. I came home this afternoon with an assortment of cuts, bruises, aches and pains likely to stick with me for at least the next few days. By which time, I’ll head back in for another practice and start the cycle of suffering all over again.
No pain, no gain.
[Side note: oddly, though most of the people who train at Ronin are well over six feet and two hundred pounds, today was apparently the Lollipop Kid special. Aside from one really tall guy (who we nicknamed Gulliver for the day), the rest of the group was comprised of literally all the Ronin fighters under 5’8″. Which, while I would have though would be easier, was actually tougher, as we had apparently all developed the same dirty tricks and leverage-(rather than strength-)based techniques. That made squaring off against people my own size sort of like fighting fire with fire. Still, I can at least finally understand why the really big guys hate to spar with me; constantly keeping pace with fast-moving little pit-bull types really tires you out.]
New York City has a serious sushi obsession. And rightly so, considering it was here that Americans, some forty years back, first tasted the inimitable combination of raw fish and vinegared rice.
Only in the past few years, however, has the sushi trend really exploded. Now, new Japanese restaurants pop up literally weekly; Chinese, Thai and Korean restaurants have begun installing sushi bars as well, apparently courting the "all Asian people look the same to me anyway" corner of the market; even corner delis have gotten into the act, stocking their refrigerators with (rather disturbingly aged-looking) inari and California roll.
The question, then, is no longer "where do I find sushi?", but "where do I find good sushi?" Hence this guide. Armed with an expense account and fond, fond memories of the sushi I ate while living in Japan, I dined around New York City in search of the very best maki and nigiri, then summarized the best of the bunch herein. Itadakimasu!
Unbeatable:
After hitting nearly thirty-five different restaurants, three stood head and shoulders above the rest. Predictably, they aren’t cheap. However, sushi, even at its most expensive, is still well short of haute cuisine prices – a dinner at any of these three restaurants can be had for about $60 a head.
Sushi Yasuda (204 E 43rd St, 212.972.1001):
Without a doubt Sushi Yasuda is the king of New York City sushi. I said so when I first reviewed it, shortly after its opening two years back, and this year’s Zagat (unfortunately, from a reservations perspective) officially agreed. ChefMaomichi
Yasuda, (who trained at Hatsuhana at the same time Nobu’s Nobu Matsuhisa did, though now takes a much more traditional approach then his colleague),
starts with one of the city’s widest assortments of extremely
fresh fish, then serves up slightly smaller than average
pieces that literally melt in your mouth. Along with the
flawless sushi, try the nameko (mushroom) miso soup to start
and certainly don’t miss the green tea mochi ice cream for
desert. The perfection is in the details: the chefs vary
the size of the sushi according to the size of diners’
mouths; a different type of tea is served with each course;
the minimalist blond wood decor perfectly reflects the simple
perfection of the food. Book in advance, or learn
Japanese and kiss up to the Maitre D’ (my favored approach).Tsukiji Sushisay (38 E 51st St, 212.755.1780 ) :
Exceedingly good sushi that comes in a close second to Sushi Yasuda. The sushi chefs at
Sushisay are required to train for a minimum of five years at the
restaurant’s Tokyo branch, which pretty much sums things
up – sushi doesn’t get more authentic than this. With
a beautiful back room, Sushisay also makes a great location
for small private parties or business functions.Nobu / Nobu Next Door (105 Hudson St,
212.219.0500)
The sushi itself is perhaps a notch down from Sushi Yasuda’s
and Sushisay’s, and trying to book a table is a great reminder
that you’re not an important person, but the exceedingly inventive fusion dishes help Nobu
(and the essentially identical Nobu Next Door) live up
to the hype. As pretty much every restaurant guide says,
go "omakase," and take whatever the chef recommends.
More for the Money:
Fortunately, there’s excellent sushi to be had at a slightly lower price-point as well; both of these mini-chains serve up dinner for about $25 a person, even without a reservation made weeks in advance.
Haru (205 W 43rd St / 280 Park Ave / 433 Amsterdam Ave / 1327 3rd Ave)
In a word: reliable. The selection isn’t unusual, but the nigiri is always expertly prepared, extremely fresh, and reasonably priced. Nota bene: The lines are considerably longer at the (original) 3rd Ave location, though the food is equally good at any of the four.Yama (
122 E 17th St /
38-40 Carmine St /
92 W Houston St)
The lines can be (literally) around the block, and the atmosphere is more trattoria than traditionally Japanese, but the sushi is excellent, ridiculously large (perfect for those who complain about not feeling full after a sushi dinner) and fairly priced. The appetizers, too, are well above average – consider theJapanese eggplant with miso paste for a start.
Bargain Basement:
If you’re jonesing for sushi but will be paying with assembled change rather than dollar bills, either of these places can scratch the raw fish itch for under $10.
Takahachi (85 Ave A)
Worth the trip down to Alphabet City, as there’s certainly a lot of sushi for the money. As you might expect, lines can get ridiculously long later in the evening, so it’s best to either go early, or resign to the wait. While their sushi is remarkably good for the price, there’s also an assortment of similarly wallet-friendly high-quality non-sushi entrees – the beef sukiyaki and tempura soba, for example, are both strong choices.Go Sushi (982 2nd Ave,
511 3rd Ave,
3 Greenwich Ave, 756 9th Ave)
Frankly, their sushi isn’t terribly good, but for sushi dinners starting at $6, what do you expect? The fish is fresh if somewhat inexpertly prepared, so while your palate might suffer the lack of quality, your intestines won’t.
Not Sushi:
Believe it or not, the world of Japanese cuisine extends beyond the sushi bar. While a full summary could easily justify another entire article, here are two excellent (though not sushi-focused) spots more than worth the trip:
Saka Gura (211 E 43rd St.)
This one’s a bit tough to find, as it’s located in the basement of a nondescript office building. Brave the fluorescent lights in the building’s entry and the industrial concrete steps heading down, however, and you’ll enter another world entirely – a slice of 18th century Japan. More importantly, a slice of 18th century Japan that serves up the city’s largest selection of Sakes. Try the tasting sets, which give you little glasses of three or four
different vintages; if you’re looking for food as well, it’s all very authentic – the best bang for the buck are the exceedingly large bento boxes, a favorite with the Japanese ex-pat crowd.Hyotan Nippon
(19 W 52nd St.)
Like sushi, Japanese noodles (soba and udon) can be found all over the city. Nowhere, however, are they served better than this. Nippon makes their noodles in-house, using buckwheat and rice imported from their own fields and paddies. On icy winter days, take the noodles in soup to warm you through; conversely, noodles served cold are a traditional Japanese summer dish. The only danger: after eating here, you may no longer be able to stomach your corner noodle shop’s pale-by-comparison attempts.
Spent last night drinking vodka with a few compatriots in the mischief-making cause, coming up with a truly brilliant prank to pull on our fair city. Not since my Porn n’ Chicken days have I had chance to plot benign chaos at such a large level, and I’m absolutely thrilled to get the project underway. Naturally, I could write about it here, but then I’d have to track you all down and kill you.
On the way to a breakfast meeting this morning, I was thinking a bit about how we can adapt to nearly anything, how the initially painful eventually becomes so commonplace as to not even register with us.
In particular, I was thinking about the shower in my apartment; the building is rather old (built, I believe in the mid-1860’s), and it often seems the water heater was added not long after. During the winter, with hot water split between heating the apartments and heating water from the showerhead, the shower temperature fluctuates wildly, from literally scaldingly hot to so cold I’m often afraid the water may freeze mid-spray. As a result, my roommates and I have all developed elaborate shower dances, learning to leap back against walls when the temperature swings beyond the painfully tolerable.
Whenever we have overnight guests, they invariably complain – how can we possibly stand to use that thing each day? But, in truth, I rarely give it second thought. My little bathtub ballroom has, by now, begun to seem the normal way of life. If nothing else, all the jumping and dodging provides an easy morning workout.
“If you want to get into the movie business but you don’t have any special talent or ability, become a producer.”
– Monster producer Clark Peterson
“Anyone can do any amount of work, provided it isn’t the work he is supposed to be doing at the moment.”
– Robert Benchley
Colin and James, on our living room couch.
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