Michigan

I have a vivid memory of my parents entertaining friends on Christmas Eve in 1982.  My mother threw all of her Protestant tradition out the kitchen window and ordered Zingerman’s pastrami on rye sandwiches with giant garlic pickles.  I was enthralled by this rebellion at age six, although I had no understanding of what pastrami was. I just knew it was special.

The ingenious ingredients and thoughtful, bountiful preparation is half of the magic pf the pastrami sandwich.  The other half is the Zingerman's magic, the palpable feeling of community provided by the owners, Paul Saginaw and Ari Weinzweig, who instill in all of their endeavors a familial rhapsody. (I have dined at the Roadhouse and had Ari come to the table to fill up my water glass more than a few times…enough said).  In a town high on intellect,  Zingerman’s employment is looked upon as social cache (or junior college).

The second of my eating out experiences this week took me to Ukai, a Japanese restaurant in Okemos, Michigan. Chosen by my 11-year-old nephew as the site of his birthday dinner, Ukai occupies a space which was, in my youth, Pizza Villa. Gone are the murals of gondolas and the menu drowning in red sauce; it has all been replaced by long hibachi tables, low lights, and a sushi bar. Huge props to my nephew for choosing a Japanese steakhouse with sushi for Auntie Ann instead of something more tortuously predictable with a group of mutinous waitstaff singing and clapping the “happy, happy birthday” song at warp speed.

Not since eating at a Benihana in the 80s have I sat at a table and watched a chef slice, dice and do tricks in the course of preparing dinner. It’s kitschy, to be sure, but unless one is jaded to the point of unconsciousness, it’s also amusing. It’s even more amusing in the company of children, who are exponentially more dazzled by the throwing of knives, and the breaking of eggs caught on a Ginsu blade as they descend from the sky whence they were juggled. Three generations of my family sat around the long table/cook top watching this show, laughing and gasping at the tricks, and while it was neither haute nor sophisticated, it was kind of a transcendently wonderful evening for all of us. (My spellchecker informs me that “transcendently” is not a word, but you’ll have to live with it). Both the table-side chef and  the kimono-ed  waitress were gracious, solicitous, and impressively able to remember the particulars of ten different orders.