Osaka Sushi and Hibachi, Roseville, Minnesota, 5PM. Feeling a bit nauseous, nervous, walking up to the entrance of the restaurant, mother and grandmother a few steps in front of me. Today was the day, I waited three months for, the day in which I get to try Japanese cuisine. What should be expected? What if it tastes less than desirable? Will my etiquette be correct? I prepared and researched several hours in advance regarding this. Once inside the restaurant, following closely, the three of us were seated at an interesting table; like none of other restaurants in the area. A large, open, flat-topped stove stands in the center, behind it, a chef stands, smiling as we sit down and open the thick menu of food items. Scanning the chef, noting his tall white hat, his crisply clean white apron, black uniform, posture, it’s not difficult to tell that he had been an employee for a significant amount of time.
Flipping through the menu, it was apparent the variety of sushi, sashimi and nigiri was overwhelming. Luckily enough, my mother and grandmother came into this with a plan. Initially we ordered our drinks, personally I ordered a Japanese soda, and when it was brought to the table I was surprised by the appearance of the bottle alone. A rather curved glass overall, the bottom portion was similar to that of other bottles of soda made from glass, but your eye drew upward. The similarity to the shape of the
number eight, a marble perched between this ‘pinched’ area and that of the