Last Thursday, after the Inka Heritage was voted out of contention by a coalition comprising of A and The Boy, we visited one of our favorite Madison eateries, the Wasabi on State Street. This campaign was celebrated by the victorious parties by chanting, first, “Wa-sa-bi! Wa-sa-bi!” in the car, and then, as the venue approached, “U-don! U-don!”, leaving the reason for the visit in no doubt.
The Wasabi is my favorite place in Madison for Japanese food. We’ve also eaten at the Edo, which leaves pretty much everything to be desired; and we haven’t yet managed the trip to the Muramoto.
Past visits to the Wasabi with the Boy have usually occurred on weekends and have often involved pre-medication at the Blue Velvet. The latter is, of course, an old haunt of mine and A’s, since the days she lived right behind it on State Street, and I on Morrison Street in the Wil-Mar neighborhood. The thing about the BV is that it has almost nothing going for it except that it’s a quiet place with no TV and friendly service, at least at those times of the evening that A and I went to it and settled ourselves at the end of the bar with our drinks, me with a martini (Bombay Sapphire, not too dry, with olives), and A alternating between a mojito, a margarita, or a side-car. In those early days, when we first met, the BV sessions could feature more than the planned-for single aperitif; on one occasion, we ended up going back to her place after rendering ourselves unfit to drive and eating ice-cream and cashews for dinner.
Needless to say, we could not wait to introduce The Boy to this romantic haunt. I’m not sure if the other customers look at us funny when we order up our usual and a Shirley Temple for him, but we don’t care. We behave ourselves, stick to the single drink plan, and proceed to the Wasabi in reasonably orderly fashion.
I’m glad to report that his chopstick skills are nearly as good as mine, although his palate will still not admit raw fish. But no matter; it’s nothing time won’t cure.
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