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On the other hand, nothing is more boring than the Japanese restaurants in this town. The sushi bars could have come from a kit; the only variation among them takes the form of a competition to see who can come up with the most outlandish combinations for rolls. This, of course, is to the detriment of the cooked cuisine. Menus tend to be impossibly long and equally unimaginative, harking back to the serve-'em-chow-mein approach of the early days of America's love affair with Chinese food.
All of which puts me in a spot when it comes time to write a review. No matter how good sushi is, one quickly runs out of things to say about it -- how much ink, after all, can one expend on a piece of unadorned raw tuna? And although I always like to order a diverse sampling from a restaurant's list of offerings, when the hot fare is the typical assortment of teriyaki, tempura, and katsu, I end up sticking to sushi more often than not.
The simple solution would be to avoid writing about Japanese places, but my own cravings and a sense of fairness always lead me back. Yasuko's in Coral Gables lured me in another way when it was purchased last February from the husband of an old college friend. Now that I no longer know the owners, there is no taboo against my publishing an opinion about the place, and I was curious to see what absentee restaurateur Yasuko Maeda, who lives in Japan, had done with it.
The answer was nothing, as far as I could tell. Located on the corner of Bird Road and Ponce de Leon Boulevard, near Jaguar and Porsche dealerships (I'm sure the salesmen appreciate the proximity to bento box lunches), this storefront restaurant was the equivalent of writer's block to me -- I had to go twice just to get an impression. A carpeted, nondescript interior features a workmanlike six-seat sushi bar and a total of three prints on the walls. What's most remarkable about the dining room is the number of tables and chairs that are squeezed in, enabling Yasuko's to seat about 50 and keep the wait to a minimum.
And there usually is a wait. Turnover is high and rapid; as a result, the waitstaff is friendly but frighteningly efficient, hustling diners in and out in less than an hour. Decent sushi, some pretty good hot fare, and reasonable prices make for a meal but not a story, unless you eavesdrop on your neighbors. Bad manners, but nearly impossible to avoid when you're sitting this close to strangers; more than once I saw people I thought had been dining together part with the words "Nice to meet you."
We thought it best to begin our meal with something that seemed dependable, and paid heed to the business at the sushi bar. There was the typical variety of nigiri (tuna, salmon, yellowtail, shrimp), artfully cut but not always as generously as it could be, the rice often overwhelming the delicate seafood. We fared better when we chose sashimi. Here, in the absence of rice, freshness and quality really stood out, especially with the tuna, ruby as a jewel. Yellowtail too was tender, while salmon was a bit stringy. It was a dish called "hurricane fish," however, that grabbed most of our attention. Bits and pieces of uncooked fish, mainly yellowtail, were afloat in a dressing of sesame, garlic, and red pepper that tasted like a kim chee marinade. Served in a bowl, the fish was complemented by seaweed and shavings of cucumber.
More than a dozen different sushi rolls provide a multitude of flavors in a single bite. A "crazy roll" was delicious -- crunchy salmon skin, lettuce, cucumber, and individual bursts of smelt egg (like caviar) vying texturally with soft eel and avocado, as well as that awful crabstick stuff sushi bars here seem to hold in such high regard. A rainbow roll was another tasty investment, lacy slices of raw tuna and salmon draping a California roll (seaweed, rice, avocado, cucumber, and more of that crab stick) center.
Those who haven't got a taste for sashimi or sushi can take refuge in the chicken roll: deep-fried mouthfuls of succulent chicken grouped with boiled carrots and asparagus, rolled and sliced into half a dozen bite-size pieces, then covered with a dark, tangy house sauce. Beef negimaki, another cooked-and-rolled presentation, comprised thin slices of broiled beef wrapping scallions like cellophane around a bouquet of flowers. A dousing of teriyaki sauce added a soy touch. Surprisingly, the soaked interior was tough while the meat itself stayed supple.