Mellow jazz notes drifted onto the pedestrian street connecting Santo Domingo and the Zocalo. We followed our ears into a large colonial building which has been converted into stylish shops and restaurants. We recognized Miguel Samperio, our favorite saxophone player, who accompanied by a vocalist and a keyboard was rendering old favorites. They were playing in a restauarant, which, to my knowledge, was the first sushi place in Oaxaca. The restaurant was overfilled with a festive and noisy crowd, munching sushi, and sipping wine. Before I could ascertain whether we wondered into a private party, a large smiling man came over.
"This is our inauguration night." he said in English, "Please enjoy the food and drinks. They are free."
We sat by the sushi bar and ordered a tuna nigiri. A young man, wearing a suit and a well groomed pony tail, filled our glasses with Argentinean malbec. The malbec had a pleasing aroma, medium body, and fruity after-taste.
'So far, so good.'
With wine in hand, we relaxed and focused on the chef. He worked frantically to fulfill the hunger of the large crowd, yet kept his good spirits intact. His smile exposed a silver front tooth that sparkled like a star in the bright lights. No, he told us, he did not learn his trade in Japan, but in Tucson, Arizona, and has been a sushi chef in Mexico City for some years. While waiting for the maguro, we grabbed a couple of slices of california rolls from a tray, which a heavy-set girl was circulating around the room. In front of us, as on all the other tables, was a bowl of heavy soy sauce. Floating in the sauce were sesame seeds and sliced shallots. I doused the roll in the sauce, put it in my mouth, and then, my breathing came to a sudden stop. When I could finally inhale and swallow, my eyes were tearing, and my mouth was seared. Apparently, the green slices were not shallots but jalapeno, of the hottest variety. I could not help but laugh. The maguro arrived, and I painted it with only a microscopic amount of sauce. I found the rice to be acceptable, the fish fresh, and the assembly containing an appropriate amount of wasabi. Overall the nigiri was different from standard, but good. Perhaps you can't expect sushi in Oaxaca to taste the same as in San Francisco. Our next request, the tokyo roll, was one of the most colorful creations I have ever seen, and had a flavor to match. We continued with more rolls off the travelling tray. Without any sauce, all the rolls tasted conventionally agreeable. Adi, more accustomed to spicy food, dipped her rolls liberally, until a slice of jalapeno lodged between her teeth. The acute pain that ensued, ended her eating binge.
The Jazz trio left for their next gig, we took another sip of the Malbec and approached the owner.
I congratulated him, and wished him good luck.
"Oaxaca needed a sushi restaurant." I told him.
"How did you like the food?" he asked.
I told him that the sushi was good, and that this was my first experience tasting soy sauce with jalapeno.
"And how did you like it?" he inquired, suddenly alert.
I lied.
Oaxaca did need a sushi restaurant, and to make up for my lie, we will return soon. This time, I will insist on pure soy sauce.
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