Hobbit Hole Sushi

My goal tonight is to integrate every reference back into the holistic message I am trying to convey, in one small ball of Jefferson, Tolkien, and Scheuer, to explain my dinner. Last night, I meandered around my neighborhood and passed an innocuous sushi spot, housed between an alleyway and Bilbo Baggins bar; I vowed to return. Today, en route from the metro, I listened to a podcast featuring a Thomas Jefferson impersonator, who recounted TJ's admiration of the Roman historian Tacitus, who "never used two words when one would serve." Keeping with this theme, this entry will fit into one paragraph. As compact as my entry's aspirational length is the square footage of Momo. I snagged the last spot, a corner at the sushi bar. With some clever maneuvering, I had (but never at the same time) miso soup (always tasty), shrimp shumai, and assorted fresh/delicious sushi, including one of my favorites, saba (mackerel). The service was attentive and the sushi man generously gave diners tuna nigiri with spicy sauce/crunchy stuff/BBQ sauce (yum). And I read my Michael Scheuer book which, despite its erudite, was preferable to listening to an older becoming-drunk-on-sake pair and the young couple asking what the green stuff on their plate was. Sorry again; I have no picture. My choices must be too hole-in-the-wall-y.