Life in the raw
Taking deep breaths while enjoying Pasadena’s O2 Sushi Restaurant
By Dan O'Heron 05/27/2010
The paper recently received several communiqués from readers praising midtown’s new O2 Sushi Restaurant. One of them, signed “Charlie,” indicated that “someone” from the PW who knew something about sushi should review the place.
Did I detect an undertone of scorn for that “someone” — me — as a critic? Did Charlie think that I was some drooling, driveling drip who didn’t mind his business and didn’t know much about sushi? If he investigated my background, he’d find it’s not true that I failed miserably at junior college.
Feeling vain and uneasy, I was prepared to borrow a sushi chef’s hagimaki, that knotted headband that the samurai once wore to announce they were prepared to battle.
Relishing a plate of O2’s shishito — sautéed Japanese peppers scaled with flakes scraped from bonito, the sea’s strongest-flavored tuna ($5.50) — I remembered why I was no longer as cold about sushi as a fish on ice. I also remembered how, in a long history of consuming, I’ve overcome misgivings and acquired not just a taste, but a mastery of the cuisine.
Some 25 years ago, I hadn’t tasted sushi and didn’t want to. My aversion to raw fish may have started as a leftover from childhood, borne of that unforgiving aroma of San Pedro when my dad dragged me to the pier to fish. Refreshed by that memory, it was a pleasure to ask owner/chef B.J. Kang for a plate of his fiery, highly scented yellowtail sashimi ($8.50). The fish and the peppers are cut so vanishingly thin that you can see the pattern on the china through them. The dish is unctuous with yuzu sauce, which is made from the rind of a Japanese citrus fruit and has a taste and delicious aroma that sets it apart from any Western citrus.
Even as I began to like Japanese food like tempura and veal cutlets, my trepidations for eating raw fish grew. Entering a restaurant, I had to look away from the sushi bar, fearful of viewing octopus legs, especially the ones obviously suffering from restless leg syndrome.
This night at O2, however, I suffered no outrage over seeing a sweet prawn wriggle on Kang’s cutting board before its head was deep-fried and its tail left raw.
And, back when I was learning about sushi, it didn’t tickle my palate when friends took me to Little Tokyo for what they called “fun food” — conveyor belt sushi. I was afraid that if they turned up the speed of the belt, it would be like working in a cannery from Steinbeck’s era.
Still later, among my urbane friends, I was like a country boy who had to get plowed with sake before I could manage any sushi. And think of it, on this night, with only hot green tea as a downer at O2, I would gobble raw hama hama oysters from Washington
and uni (sea urchin) from Santa Barbara like they were simple peas popping from an edamame shell.
It was in the late 1980s when my feelings for sushi did an abrupt about-face. This happened when someone fed me toro (tuna belly) and salmon with dewily glistening pebbles of red roe. Both of these are done perfectly at O2. Of the gem-like roes, the pick of the glitter is the wasabi-marinated, flying fish eggs — like emeralds from Oz. For added color, many of Kang’s dishes are topped with edible purple orchids.
You’ll get a chance to sample many items I’ve enjoyed — plus cooked meat, poultry and seafood — with lunch combinations ranging from $7.25 to $9.50 and dinners from $10.50 to $12.50.
As a bonus, when the ideal flavors of Kang’s dishes are brought together with his selection of fine sakes, you’ll find that the two synergize for a gastronomical treat more delicious than either alone can provide. Whether sweet or dry, sake, made of rice, is always smooth — you’ll never get scratched by the tannins like you do from many grape wines.
It’s a treat just sitting at the sushi bar, where quips among stool mates whirl merrily back and forth like a ping pong ball, and where Kang is always toasting his guests Most of the guests I watched at O2 — several from nearby city hall talking politics — seemed to know what they were doing. With all the hubbub, their manners were impeccable. They ate sushi with their hands, picking up morsels by lightly squeezing them between thumb and forefingers. But for sashimi they used chopsticks. And when transferring food from a communal plate to their own, they reversed the sticks.
And they didn’t leave food on the plate. Japan is country that suffers from scarcity and wasting food is a transgression. I’m sure my critic, Charlie, would put any leftovers in the pocket of his kimono.
And, Charlie, I caution you should never rub chopsticks together unless you want to start a fire As for the baran, that ornament that looks like a green picket fence and is made of plastic, don’t try to eat it.
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