Sushi Taro

With being 30, comes a revived sense of responsibility. I'd like to say that's true, as I am still at least five restaurants and multiple side events behind. The truth is, however, I'm only writing on a Saturday morning about a dinner I had more than a month ago now because I'm afraid to miss a hair appointment I've already missed once and am tethering myself to my computer until then. Thirty, schmirty.

I visited Sushi Taro (one month ago) with a new friend, one who thankfully had the patience to endure my ordering a nine-course tasting menu (and obnoxiously taking a photo of each one). The bad thing about lazily writing up multi-course meals ages after they're partaken of, though, is that I have no recollection of what I ate.

There were sea urchins, salted fishes, broths, and tempura-ed glories galore, but I'd estimate another 30 unknown ingredients that will go unmentioned. While begging for forgiveness, I present to you what I remember of a very good meal, where fortunately for me but unfortunately for you, the conversation was more memorable than the plate components.


I started off with pomegranates soaking in white wine. I don't remember what kind, but I do remember fishing out the pomegranates that didn't get swept out with the unknown wine. Next, I had the densest, silkiest bean curd I've ever had, heartied with a shallow pool of broth and sea urchin. I think. It, memorably at least, had the same consistency of my own tongue. Maybe it's good I don't entirely recall what I ate. But, I at least doubled up the photos to reduce the effort you expend to scroll. As penance.














Next, I had a fish tartare-stuffed persimmon with a shot of fruit juice with a skewer of tempura-ed... I don't know. I fail as a culinary Nancy Drew. I can better recall the exemplary tuna, salmon, and yellowtail that graced my tongue with more sophistication than an urchin and with the chewy yet forgiving tenderness that only fresh raw fish can offer.



















Then, I ate what could have credibly passed as an involved centerpiece or paintable Japanese still life. I feel less guilty, however, in being unable to recall this dish as the waitress had to repeat its contents about two minutes after she conveyed it the first time.

In the ceramic container, top left, were black edamame (soy beans in their shell). A real sea snail was in its shell at the top right (which I ate, while having cartoon-like visions of x's over my eyes). There were roasted (?) chestnuts, with nut meat soft enough to pull out of the shell in the middle. In the lower middle, I think I ate some caramelized banana (that doesn't sound very Japanese though) and I even unwrapped something from a banana leaf (I could be 0 for 2 on the final guesses). Then I perhaps had baked fish atop a bed of crusty salt on the right.



















Next, I had a type of Japanese fondue. In the small bowl on the right were fried pieces of fish, which I unsophisticatedly baptized in a a creamy soy milk broth with its own Sterno. At this point, I actively ceased trying to remember beyond the next course what I was eating. Further, every time the waitress placed a new dish before me, she giggled a little in delight at my mildly horrified eyes that yet another dish was coming that required at least 30 seconds of explanation. At that point, ingredient retention seemed futile. Next I had nigiri...well, what I could sample despite battling competing senses of accomplishment and exhauastion after a parade of plates.













Hours later, after robust discussions of work, men, and children (it's possible there may be a new blog cameo-er in the future), we had pudding with an exquisite flan-like sweet sauce at the bottom. I know I'll remember better next time because I've already gone.