Good Eats: Izakaya Hachi

You never forget your first time. But for any sufficiently thrilling activity, such as sex, or, even riding a bicycle, the real thrill comes at a point after which you've overcome the initial apprehensions of experiencing the unknown where your mind becomes forever altered by the epiphany that you haven't really been living without this feeling and that it needs to occur more. When learning to ride a bike, this time between being somewhat fearful and exhilaration is fairly short. Once you realize that you're not going to crash, and that your momentum should keep you going, the rush of travelling faster than you could on your own two legs, flying down hills, sets in and you ride, just ride up and down the street until your parents call you home for dinner. Sex can take a little bit longer, since most people tend to have a terrible first time, but our hardwiring keeps us going at it until, hopefully, it comes with the power induce a flood of brain chemistry rivaled by few other experiences. For me, eating sushi took considerably longer.

I've always liked sushi. I'm generally not a picky eater, I like fish, and I'm not afraid of raw, whatever the context. But until last night, my experience was limited to what I could find in Wisconsin, New Hampshire, and a few inexpensive New York sushi restaurants. My favorite had been bbq eel, or unagi, with spicy tuna a close second. Sushi was something I had very rarely; it was good, but unless someone else suggested going to Wasabi, or Yama, I would eat out elsewhere. And then I had it in California, and everything I knew fell away in a paradigm shifting 90 minutes at Izakaya Hachi.

True to history, eating Japanese was not my idea. I originally wanted to find some Korean BBQ for dinner, or visit a gastropub called BruHaus. But Gio and Badger pressed for Japanese, and I agreed. I believed, as most do, that California sushi is just better and I anticipated going out for it in San Francisco. But sitting there I figured, eh might as well get sushi. While my company was ordering freely from the menu, I wasn't quite so hungry after happy hour and decided on the "five assorted sushi pieces" option. What came over the Sushi bar from the chef forever changed the way I looked at the Japanese, fish, and even eating itself.

Our chef chose for me: salmon, tuna, yellowtail, squid and shrimp. I started with the salmon, something familiar, and immediately found myself unable to describe it. Despite all the rolls and pieces I'd eaten before, this was something new, exponentially better, able to at the same time cause a sense of loss and dismay at what I'd previously considered sushi and yet fill me with a fullness and assurance that I was was experiencing true Quality, something good. The texture was indescribable, unlike anything I'd ever had, forcing me to reevaluate my sense of texture in food. Badger supplied some words: buttery, soft, thought I'm still not sure they provide the right description. I don't know Japanese, but perhaps they have invented the correct words to encapsulate all that sushi is. As Badger and Gio related to me later, I just sat there, quiet, almost unable to respond to external stimuli. My mouth was a happy place, a sanctuary, and it was all that mattered.

I continued down the line. Shrimp was good, though not my favorite. Squid has little to offer in flavor, but a lot to offer in its texture. Tuna and Yellowtail were equally mind blowing as the salmon. As was the trend all day, Badger and Gio sat, waiting for me to finish my drink of sake as I contemplated shat had just happened, and how I was going to get more.