Can Sushi Cure Summertime Sadness?

Table for One is a monthly column where Kareem Rahma records his observations, thoughts, and learnings from having a meal in solitude

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4:31 pm

Monday, 6/26

The true beauty of eating alone is that you can do it whenever you want to. With no plans to make or societal standards to adhere to, conventional meal times become obsolete, rendering the words breakfast, lunch and dinner meaningless. What remains is the simple desire of wanting to eat.

I was feeling hungry and nostalgic, so I decided to go to the East Village, a place where I could get my fix of both. I was in the mood for sushi because the weather was hot, and sushi if prepared properly, is not. It was 3:49 pm.

I decided on Takahachi, the cozy East Village mainstay that’s been serving sushi to New Yorkers for over 30 years. I remembered that it was on 6th and A because, in my early days, I lived down the street from it in a piece of shit 450-square-foot two-bedroom apartment that was a Mother’s nightmare but the pride and joy of my life. It was my first apartment in New York City.

To get said apartment, my roommate and I both overdrafted our checking accounts and went into debt. We were so broke that we furnished the entire place with things that we found on the streets. The day after Hurricane Sandy, I found a branch on the sidewalk, took it home and hung it above my closet because paintings were too expensive.

It was a wonderful time in my life, filled with struggle and optimism. Maybe if I went back, I could go back and capture some of those feelings. In my middle age (if that's what almost 37 is), struggle no longer feels good or romantic, it feels annoying. And optimism…well, I guess I’m still optimistic.

I put on a suit even though it felt like a mouth outside. Eating alone can make you feel self-conscious, and a great way to overcome your fears is to look your best or at least try your hardest.

Riding over the bridge on my Citibike, going at a speed of approximately 100 mph, I thought about how nice it was to live in New York, how the view never gets old, and other cliche thoughts that Midwest transplants have. As I rolled up Avenue A, I started feeling some real pangs. Not for food, but for my old life. The one that seemed easy and fun even though it wasn’t.

I docked the bike, and as I approached Takahachi I was devastated to see that it was closed. My first thought was that it had closed permanently like everything in New York City does. I checked Google Maps. Phew, they weren’t closed – they just weren’t open yet.

A nice fellow opened the door. I apologized for being early. He shrugged no problem, waved me in and pointed to a corner table without asking if I was alone. I made a mental note that it could be a funny standup bit to make a joke like: “In my opinion, it should be considered problematic for a server to say, Are we waiting for anyone?” And then I decided it wasn’t a good joke at all, just a decent observation. Or maybe a good premise to the kinds of jokes that Jerry Seinfeld tells.

The inside of Takahachi is warm and simple, an aesthetic that is rarely available in New York City. Or perhaps it is just that the aesthetic is unachievable if you purposefully set out to do it. I sat down at my table and looked out the big window that looks out at a big brick wall on Avenue A. I was surprised that the wall was still there. I hadn’t been to the East Village in a long time, and I was expecting it to have been torn down and replaced by an Equinox or a bank or something else that feels expected.

I saw a 13-year-old boy with a mustache and a skateboard smoking a cigarette and an old guy who looked like me, but old, checking his watch and moving quickly. Was he running late?

I thought about time, and before I could have an epiphany, it was time to order. I asked for the Negi Toro roll, and the Loco roll, I considered ordering 1 more roll but decided I should get something more interesting for the column, so I ordered “Amazing Sushi” which was $16 for 3 pieces. I also ordered a glass of sake because they only serve beer and wine, and both of those things are boring at the moment.

The restaurant was pretty much empty except for a young couple on what seemed like a first date, a less young couple who seemed like they were beyond dates and a couple who may have been visiting from Germany because they both wore thick-framed black glasses.

And then I sat waiting. I looked at the guy sitting at the bus stop and wondered if he was just sitting or if he was waiting. And then I thought about all the time I have spent in my life just waiting. And then I wondered if waiting is an active or passive activity. Right now, I was wondering about waiting, and that felt like an active activity.

I thought about how it was summer, but it didn’t feel like summer yet. It felt like something else. I felt that other people felt the same way. We were all waiting for summer to start, but it had already started. My birthday was coming up in a few weeks, July 15th. Every year, my birthday marks the turn. There is summer before my birthday, which is Summer, and there is summer after my birthday, which is The End Of Summer.

I was surprised when my phone rang but was excited to see that it was a number I didn’t have saved. Perhaps it was some much-needed good news on a Monday afternoon! I answered. It was Duane Reade, and my mood stabilizers were ready for pickup. I guess that is good news.

The chefs behind the Sushi counter seemed to be having a good time. It made me happy that they were laughing and making jokes. I thought about how it's pretty interesting that Sushi is one of the only foods where the meal is prepared in the dining area. I wondered why that is.

The server came and dropped off my food. He smiled. I wondered if he thought I was a food critic or something. I was wearing a suit and eating alone on a Monday afternoon. Maybe he just thought I was lonely.

The sushi rolls really hit the spot. And so did the “Amazing Sushi” plate, which turned out to be nigiri rolls with different special sauces on them. Not like spicy mayo sauce, but fancier stuff that definitely wasn’t made of mayonnaise.

Something about the sushi at Takahachi gives it a very homemade quality that I often times find missing at other sushi joints. Maybe it's because the cuts aren’t perfect and the rolls aren’t so tight, and the shapes are a bit lopsided. Either way, I prefer it this way. I’d eaten here before with company, and I’d always enjoyed it.

As I finished my last roll, the server asked if I was satisfied. I almost blurted out “NO!” before realizing he was asking about the food.

Maybe life is just waiting for something all the time. And when you don’t have something to wait for, you wait for something to wait for. Maybe time isn’t passing at all, maybe it’s waiting.

I told him that everything was great and that I could have the check.