John Wayne Rescues the Indian

Not all incidents in my life are life and death, feast or famine, cherry or vanilla.

"'twere to consider too curiously, to consider so..."

Oh, I need a Horatio in my life - well, a full time one - to reel me back in, to talk me down.  Actually, between EH, the W's, C., my job and my left-hand mirror it looks like the job is covered.

Don't forget the damned cat as well.

One of the things that grounds me is having sushi at my local sushimat, namely "the King of the Roll".

It's located in Longfellow Square which is formed by the intersection of Congress and State streets.  The other notable occupant and the namesake of the place is a larger-than-life statue of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, reclining in a great chair and often sporting tasteful accessories that match the general season of the year - most recently a scarf and presents for the holidays.

The "King", as EH calls it, occupies a spot that has been a pancake place (I rather miss that), an Indian (sub-continental) restaurant, a home-cooking establishment and an empty mockery.  I think the current sushi place is doing the best of the lot.

It's run by a first-rate sushi chef bearing the improbable - but real - moniker of "John Wayne".

You can see the irony here, I think.

I tend to think of him as a sensei of the sushi variety.

The hospitality is genuine.  You can often be greeted by John himself behind the bar, with a bow and smile, a smartly clipped "Good evening" with just enough of a hint of an accent to both make you smile and promise a commanding display of the sushi arts.

Which he does.  The miso soup is always welcome, even on the warmest of Summer evenings.  He has a good solid sense of rice, its texture is such that getting it out of the bowl with chopsticks is a pleasure.

There is a patio for warmer weather that lets you watch all the activity in Longfellow Square, lets you call out to friends walking by and often leads to impromptu dinner parties as more delicious pieces of edible art get called to be shared.

EH, an Episcopal priest, will bring his sermons for me to look at - you really can't call it "editing".  His English is very good, my German is passable, at least enough for me to catch strange constructs that might leave his congregation a little dazed.

He's gotten much better.  Maybe it's the wasabe.  We'll have to keep going back.