Dinner Détente

We quietly had an international incident last week. You won't see much coverage on CNN or Fox. There won't likely be any in-depth investigative articles in the Wall Street Journal or Los Angeles Times. The AM talk-radio pundits won't be lambasting anyone over it, and you won't be seeing the L.A. city council voting for any boycotts or bans. No, this incident will likely go largely unnoticed, but nonetheless, the delicate underpinnings of international diplomacy were sorely tried and tested on Wednesday evening.

Due to our kitchen remodel we've been without a stovetop or sink for several days, making due with the microwave and gas grill. On Wednesday I told Stacy that we would forgo the usual work-arounds and go out for dinner. I didn't tell her where we were going because I wanted to surprise her; I planned on taking her and the kids out to RA Sushi, a place that had catered one of L's school events and had impressed us. We'd been talking about trying out the restaurant for sometime now. All afternoon long I had visions of sushi-plums dancing in my head. Mmmmmmm, sushi!

When I pulled in the driveway my heart immediately sank - Poppa's car was there. I vaguely recalled Stacy telling me on the phone that Poppa would be coming by in the afternoon; I guess he decided to stay for dinner. Now, my sudden sense of foreboding was not due to Poppa being there, per se. Poppa joins us for dinner quite often and its always a great time - especially for the kids. But this time it was all about the sushi. Poppa is a "meat and potatoes" kind of guy. You might occasionally see him venture out for cod or salmon, but its always the very dead and very cooked kind. And given all the still simmering resentment over Pearl Harbor, I couldn't quite imagine Kirk and. Sushi. In the same sentence. (See what I mean?)

Sayonara sushi.

I walked in and Stacy, abuzz with anticipation, bounced to me at the door. "Where are we going!" she bubbled. After a quick hello to Kirk, who was watching a movie with the kids draped over him, I pulled her back into my office and explained my former plans and our present predicament. I could see the similar look of loss spread across her face. But Stacy's not one to take disappointment easily. After a minute a new resolve broke over her features. "He likes chicken teriyaki!"

The decision made, the movie paused, we all piled into our cars and headed over to Ra. The restaurant wasn't quite what we'd anticipated. More of a bar/club than a restaurant; the music was loud, the lighting dark. L and N were more aligned age-wise with the crowd than the rest of us. But we got a nice private 3/4-circular booth way in the back and it all worked out fine. Stacy and I ordered a number of sushi rolls, the kids split a yakitori skewer, and Poppa, seemingly a little out of his element, ordered the prognosticated teriyaki. Miso soups all around. (Figuring the evening was going to call for it, I also ordered a rather large Asahi Super Dry.)

After a round of potty trips and water-refills our food arrived. Poppa shared most of his miso with L and N. The kids ravaged their chicken skewer. Stacy and I fenced for sushi with our chopsticks, and Poppa picked through his teriyaki, offering rice and salad to the kids. (I, quite impressed, did not share my beer with anyone.) As the meal progressed L decided she wanted to try some sushi. Her petitions were picked up by her brother and soon there was pleading and begging. Now we'd gone down that route with them before, and not wanting to waste a lot of good sushi on finicky prepubescent palates, we sacrificed a single piece of the well-cooked lobster/shrimp roll to be divided equally between them. But this set a bad precedent for Poppa. Next thing he knew, Stacy was asking him if he wanted to try some and quickly the kids echoed her offer. No, no, Poppa protested, but eventually the prodding took its toll, and Kirk reluctantly agreed that he would try one piece.

The proffered sushi (again, our most "cooked" selection) sat momentarily on his plate as he contemplated it with evident angst. He picked it up tentatively with his chopsticks and it hovered mid-air for a few undecided seconds. And then summoning up the courage and conviction of Daniel Boone, Davey Crockett, or even John Wayne himself, he closed his eyes and did the deed. A tableful of mesmerized on-lookers held their breath. Poppa chewed and swallowed; the lighting was dark, but I can only imagine he looked a little pale. Then he clutched his throat and collapsed on N, much to the riotous laughter of both him and his sister. Mission accomplished! Objectives attained! Goals exceeded! Poppa, fully recovered, basked in the praise and hugs of his grandchildren and the remainder of the evening celebrated the significant milestone in foreign relations. As Stacy and I finished the sushi, we offered Poppa additional samples. But he refused wisely. No need. It would have been overkill. After all, they didn't have to tear down every wall in Berlin to forever alter the world; only one.