In the end, it always comes down to ingredients. Last week, after a drink with R., we met up with the boys for sushi at newly opened Yuzu. We stopped in by happenstance -- our first choice in the area was full, and I'd walked past the new spot a few times earlier in the week.
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I'm insanely jet lagged, which is why you haven't heard word one since I got back from Merry Ole England on Monday, but I had to tell you this: I think I may have found the best sushi spot in San Francisco. Now, I know this is a bold claim, and to be fair, I haven't been everywhere -- Kiss comes to mind, as does Sushi Sam's down south. Nevertheless, of the places I've been, this one knocked it out of the park, into the Bay, and the belly of the whale kept it on going all the way to China. It's a crap metaphor, I know, but you get the jive.
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I am scared of the South Bay. I think it's because it's just so expansive and spread out, it freaks me out. I don't why it's even that bad; I mean, the major streets are pretty much the same as the ones I'm used to in LA: Western, Normandie, Vermont. And there are numbered streets to make things easier. But for some reason I always feel like all those wide streets are going to swallow little ol' me and my little car up and spit us out onto the same scary wide streets. And then I'll get lost. In the South Bay. Which wouldn't be much of a good thing.
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