"Tom-san!" Sari said as soon as I walked in the door of Marumi. She looked unchanged from five years ago when she worked at Japanese Village on Las Olas. Her husband, Tetsu, bowed from the open kitchen.
I joined John, two former journalists reliving our days of Japanese lunches. Except that tonight, instead of sushi, there was bok choy salad (warm in a deliciously salty dressing), miso-glazed grouper, daikon in chicken sauce, and whitefish garlic carpaccio - the thin slices of fish forming a miniature, edible fan on the plate. Tetsu had not lost his touch. Sari still had her beautiful laugh.
The next evening, Hania and I went to a costume party with a Japanese theme. Hania wore my University of Tokyo T-shirt; I put on a black wig and dark suit and tie, grabbed an old briefcase and a large bottle of sake.
At the party there were samurais and geishas and lots of people in fancy bathrobes; I was the only salaryman. "Love the get-up," a woman said to me, "the hair, the glasses."
The glasses were the ones I wear every day.
