Once in a while, like when a thunderstorm is unleashing a monsoon a minute and the lightning is putting on a meteorological firework show this eveing, we decide to order in. This evening it was Japanese, from the very respectable Fuji East, which serves up Japanese fare as good as anything available on that other island, Manhattan.
As Calvin sat on the windowsill entranced by the cascading rain, flashes of lightning and “big thunder,” we sentenced a poor delivery person to a soggy cycle between the restaurant and our apartment to deliver shrimp tempura, various salads, spicy salmon roll, pork katsu (breaded, deep fried pork cutlet) and mochi (balls of red bean, green tea or vanilla ice cream encased in rice flour.)
Calvin really likes shrimp tempura, though no matter how many times we tell him it’s shrimp, he insists that it’s chicken… (Maybe that’s where all the ‘tastes like chicken’ tropes start from!) Tonight he devoured it, Jay’s rice and then tried some of Jay’s katsu. Then he decided to try eat it with my chopsticks.
I got to show Calvin how to hold them, just like my Dad showed me. It was a poignant moment, because my Dad had a real gift for teaching people how to eat with chopsticks. In a moment of almost immediate gratification, attributable to his dexterity and sheer luck, he got it! And then I told him I had to take a photo of it and gave him another slice of katsu… and he wielded those chopsticks with ultimate success two more times! Cong Cong (maternal grandfather) would be proud!
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