That’s me and the main man, Takashi Murakami outside of Hishinuma. It has the infamous Michelin rating of two stars. Not bad since not too many get stars period. Two stars means you’re pretty good, and this place is decent. Yet it could have been better. I got there early. Not too early, but early enough. The head waiter, perhaps manager could have been cooler. He even ran as if 1) he had a turd in his pants – yes, I saw him run to the toilet 2) he also for some reason ran with one hand up almost like a raised hand. Maybe he had a turd in his hand instead. 3) Maybe it was because I wasn’t wearing a suit that he didn’t seem to give two shits about me, but in my life, I realize, that clothing means nothing. Look how Takashi’s dressed! Even though that’s probably a couture t-shirt with a inside print, and the shorts are probably high end with silk lining, the sneaks could be Visvim, a casual observer might think he spend $10 on it (and I kid you not, maybe he did). Takashi’s the main man. Always has been. When you really don’t need to care about what others think, then you’re in great shape. He’s probably there in that category, even though I’m sure he cares. He’s an artist.
That’s my sake cup.
Anago in a simple sauce with seaweed.
Yes, hand me the bags. It’s how I like to go out. The food was decent, and I’m not sure what’s really worthy of two stars in the Michelin guide, but this wasn’t the normal meal. Of course Takashi hooks you up with the best he can, and this is a good call. I’d still pit my mom against the food here.