Let me get this out of the way: if you haven’t tried Hashi Sushi yet, which appeared on the Forest Street dining scene back in late 2017, just go, immediately, and read this later.
“I’m from California.”
These are the three most irritating three words you’ll ever from a dining companion, and yet they’re my actual truth. I’ve been told that my biography comes off as a holier-than-thou mantra, the words of a keen initiate raised within swiping distance of the Pacific Ocean, Alice Waters, and some truly exceptional Japanese food. Being a Californian means a whole lot of things, like having sub-par snow driving skills, saying “the” before “95” or any numbered highway, and internalizing a pretty rigorous set of standards for sushi. The second word I ever said as an infant was ‘avocado,’ and you can call my mom to verify that. I wouldn’t exactly call myself a sushi snob, because I find that phrase faintly irritating, but I don’t suffer sushi fools gladly, either.