Microcosms & hibachi chicken

One thing I've noticed about life & the unique intersection we have with other people. We all get along when it comes to the Japanese steakhouse.

We had dinner tonight at Nagoya Japanese Steakhouse, where they spin an egg and call it "Japanese egg roll," and the chef catches stuff in his hat and makes onion volcanoes. We sat amongst a random sampling of the local citizenry -- a good ol' Southern boy with his cockeyed date (they were getting ready to see "Underworld 2" following dinner), a black guy and his mom, and a single mother in her earliest of 20s w/ her two year old daughter.

Here we had eight people who probably under no circumstances would have anything to say to each other, and yet there we all were, talking like old friends who hadn't seen each other since high school. And what was our one unifying factor? Japanese food. There we are, cheering each other on as we try to catch pieces of shrimp thrown at us by the cook, like we were circus seals. The Southern guy and the black guy toasted each other with little bowls filled with sake. I'm over there cooing with the two year old, while the spouse & cockeye-girl are talking purses.

After the meal, we each went our separate ways, but not after we wished each other well on our respective journeys, the other couple to their movie, the guy and his mom on their way to the grocery store, the girl and her daughter on the way to the girl's parents' house, and us, on the way to the house where we can get some much needed rest from a long day at work.

Now, if we could just vote in a president to build a gigantic hibachi grill, and construct a Japanese restaurant around the continental U.S., we'd have no problems evermore.