Tony

I was going to write a post titled “Naked and Afraid” but landed on Tony instead. I don’t always need to write about something sentimental. Enter Tony.

Tony was our Asian host and waiter this evening at a fancy omakase sushi restaurant in the East Village, borderline Alphabet City. The walk to the restaurant was wonderful. We pregamed with dumplings as a tide-me-over, collected sweet treats for our postgame, and ambled over to St. Marks. South of 2nd Avenue, St. Marks was shut down to cars and was pedestrian only. Not only that, the street was flooded with outdoor tables and 20 somethings occupying them. It was as if we had just been transported to Europe on a Friday night. But it was NYC on a Saturday night.

Sushi Mimi was nestled in the outdoor table traffic, the quintessential Japanese split awning swaying at its entrance door. The door was coincidentally locked when Alex and I knocked at 7:42pm. We had an 8pm seating. Tony let us in seconds later. And told us his name was Tony and asked us to sit and wait while he set the table.

After soaking in the unique and social scene outside, we were suddenly transported to a quiet indoor space, as the current only two patrons. Tony was setting the table and the chef was in the back.

We waited patiently and then went to our seats and met the chef, who told us he was Cantonese. Alex and I played the game of “who would be the worst and best people” to join us. Alex presumptuously assumed another couple. Ten minutes later, a couple walked in. “Goff” the gentlemen said to Tony. The woman sat next to me and Alex and Goff were the bookends of the four across the counter.

We settled in. Appetizers were fantastic. The spot prawn I took a picture of and Alex said it was hands down the best app. I on the other hand was very impressed with the scallop chawamushi.

As we got into the omakase tasting, Tony was relaxed and friendly. I must have said “Thank you Tony” every time he filled up my water or gave me a tea because he asked me “would you like anything else Michael?” most of the time. I like being polite. Big fan of it.

There was some natural discussion with the chef from both parties, and a little bit of couple crossfire. We found out they were from Philly visiting. We also found out that Goff had eaten at Noma in Copenhagen the night prior. And that Goff spends time in Tokyo.

I had been to a hoagie omakase in Philly and mentioned it, and Goff was familiar with it, knew the chef, knew the background, and told our chef about it. Our chef was less invigorated given he was neatly preparing delectable nigiris and didn’t want to be thinking about cold cuts. Mind you, the hoagie omakase is amazing so I don’t want to take anything away from it.

The meal wrapped, I tipped Tony 25% because he made what could have been a more sterile, mundane dinner much better. And of course I can’t tip Goff and his wife (Courtney), but we shook hands and went on our way.

As we traversed back through the shut down streets, still flooded with youngin’s, Pink Pony Club was blasting from something. Not the inside of the car, not a bar, something else. A party bus. But this wasn’t a for-hire party bus. It was riding low, covered in hundreds of colorful stickers, the driver was wearing a hat and a dress, and also had a block of ice that she was rubbing on her head to cool down. Alex and I were fairly certain it was not street legal and wondered if the cop car lights that turned on 5 minutes later were driving down to check out if it was indeed street legal. It’s a warm night in the city. Humid. But wonderful. Just wonderful. I don’t often applaud New York City (outside of its top notch food scene). But I am applauding it. Saturday night, June 28th will be remembered simply as that. A wonderful night in New York. With Tony.