
my dad used to describe his work trips to san francisco, all of which seemed to include an obligatory detour to sausalito, where yoshi, the owner, would pour sake freely and set down plates of soft shell crab and unagi and zuke chutoro and chawanushi. in my mind, the lighting was dramatic and every other diner bore a passing resemblance to penélope cruz. when i go today, it is not quite that, and yet i still consider it among the best japanese restaurants in the united states. less for the fantasy it once held, more for the quiet confidence of what it actually is.
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