Sakura

A while I go I found a little Japanese place along Pitt Street called Sakura. I've never been there with anyone else, but I've been on my own quite a few times now - sometimes after Dialectics, before the gang started going out to dinner afterward, and sometimes after work on my way somewhere else, and sometimes on my way home from the City. Sushi Suma notwithstanding, it has some of the best sushi and sashimi around, and the main addictive thing that draws me back is the Agedashi Tofu. Delicately fried, soft as little clouds, the colour of a perfectly toasted marshmellow, in delicious and somehow soul-satisfying sauce, and gorgeous, ethereal, floating bonito flakes, that slowly melt in the moisture and become their own kind of companion sauce.

The staff is all from Japan and really Japanese - they yell out "Irashaemase" the minute you penetrate the fabric curtains at the threshold, and they cry out, "Arigato gozaimasu!" when you get up to leave.

Tonight I went there and resisted the temptation to order something new - Katsu chicken or tempura don or tofu-and-veggies don - and went with the small California roll plate and the favourite, Agedashi Tofu. And then I also wanted some miso soup, so I said to the waitress, "and miso soup?" And she said, carefully, "Miso soup is already involved."