Amuse bouche

If you ever have occasion to ask me about places to visit in certain cities I will invariably start with restaurant advice. In my hometown, my favorite is the Corsican Restaurant. In college it was Isaac’s Deli. Whenever anyone mentions Salt Lake City I ask if they’ve visited the Beehive Tea Room before they get to the word ‘City’.
Food is very important to me. After a life of quantities of food now I crave quality. For me, that means original, interesting combinations and definitely locally-owned eateries.
While in Kansas City visiting Jack’s family for Christmas, I ached for exciting dining experiences. We love where we live, but eating out in small town Wyoming isn’t exactly memorable; when I get the chance to tickle the taste buds, I try to do it up right.
On this trip we scored two hits in the gastronomic arena: The Blue Nile Café in River Market and the Fuji Steakhouse in Liberty.
The Blue Nile, a tiny Ethiopian place, was not a popular choice for the children in the group, but at least a couple of us were literally moaning with delight over our the injera, sampler platter and drinks (fresh mango juice and fresh ginger juice).
Neither of the moaners was Jack, by the way. He ate the kids’ Chinese leftovers. Those of us with discerning palates, however, ate with the kind of abandon that can create problems later.
“Um, it was red. And had lentils in it. Do you know what it was?” We pointed to the blank slice of plate. I was bemoaning our lack of options in Wyoming when I realized I could make my own yummy red stuff. Except I didn’t know what recipe to look up. Thankfully, the waitress did.
The red stuff, a.k.a. Misir watt, is on tap for today. Lemme tell ya how excited Jack is about this.
notsomuch.
Anyway, the second eating adventure was delicious, but the excitement was as much in the delivery as the consumption. There was moaning, yes, but a lot of laughter. If you have not been to a Japanese Steakhouse, you are in for a treat. It was my first time and we had a blast. The onion volcano, the super sharp knives slicing and dicing and giant spatula flipping and flicking (shrimp to diner’s mouths, or noses in Jack’s case), the Asian-accented jokes.
Jack, drooling over the cooking tools as much as the KC Strip, reached out to take a look at the spatula resting just behind his plate while the chef was stirring up vegetables on the other side of the grill.
Kawack! Jack nearly lost his finger.
The chef made his point without even turning his head, then grinned:
“I love you, man.”