You step into the tiny room and look around, your eyes slowly adjusting to the candlegloom. It’s a sushi bar, alright, but… miniature. You have to crouch a little to avoid bumping your head on the ceiling. The itamae beckons you towards the bar eagerly. You appear to be the first customer of the night.
You decide to forego the single, diminutive bar stool in favor of the floor, but you’re still a bit too big to sit comfortably. He apologizes and offers you some tea. Even standing at full height, he barely meets your chin. You glance behind the bar as he pours, observing an impressive variety of glistening, fluorescent cuts of meat, none of which you can identify as fish. You’re not entirely sure it’s meat. He catches you peeking and grins, asking if you know what you’d like. You down the curiously small cup in a single gulp and decide to live dangerously, ordering the omakase. His eyes light up, and he motions for you to wait as he slips behind a curtain into the back.
Before you have a chance to wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into, he returns to the board with a large, opaque jar and sets to work. He moves so quickly that you can’t follow his hands at all. It’s just a blur of steel and flesh, and the rhythmic rapping of knife against wood. Suddenly, as if conjured from thin air, he plates and presents you with the first course. You blink and rub your eyes in disbelief. It blinks back.
“Hey, uh… You sure you wouldn’t rather order a pizza?”
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