Frozen?
One of the great things about Vancouver is the cheap sushi. Lots of it. And very tasty. Usually.
Tonight after work I stopped by a little place near the hotel called Oysi Oysi. They were running a special that included tuna and salmon sashimi, miso soup, tempura, choice of teriyaki (beef, chicken, salmon), and green tea, all for $9.95. I don't usually go for the fixed price sushi assortments (my allergy to clams being one reason — it seems like they always want to throw a surf clam in there), but I wasn't too hungry tonight, and this seemed to really fit several of my cravings. And $9.95. You can't beat that. The take-out places are cheaper, but that's it.
So I sat there sipping my green tea (also included, by the way), and slurping my miso soup, which was quite tasty, when the sashimi and other dishes came out.
I put one of the beautiful slices of bright orange salmon into my mouth. I started to chew into it. Suddenly, every sensitive spot in my mouth rang out with pain, as the salmon, which was immediately apparent was at subzero temperatures, leeched all the warmth out of my tissue. For some reason thinking it would be different, I grabbed at a piece of the tuna with my chopsticks, and it was literally frozen onto the piece next to it. Frozen. Not only frozen, but frozen after it had been sliced and prepared.
When the waitress came by asking if everything was okay, I decided I had to say something. "Actually, no. The sashimi is frozen."
I expected the somewhat timid Japanese woman to be apologetic, if not horrified, but instead she said, "*Still* frozen? How do you know?"
Suddenly it was my face that had the look of horror instead. "Still?!? I know because the tuna pieces were frozen together when I picked them up. And rock hard in the middle."
The idea that sashimi shouldn't have been frozen in the first place didn't even seem an issue. Sure, I ordered the bargain dinner special thing, but there's still a principle involved. Anyway, she offered me a california roll instead (fresh, not frozen), and everything else was quite good, so I felt better about things, but I couldn't get over the frozen sushi.
In a city with a sushi restaurant on every single block, it'll be no surprise if I don't go back there.
* * *
To add insult to injury, when I got back to the hotel, I found my room looking a little disheveled. I narrated to myself as I walked in, hm, the closet doors are still open. And the TV door is open. The bed is unmade? Wait a minute. I looked in the bathroom, and there was a big stack of clean towels and sheets sitting in the sink. My used towel was still lying across the bathtub edge. They didn't clean in here at all.
It's not a huge deal — heaven knows that my home would never get cleaned daily, but it was still sort of offputting.
I felt like a jerk already after having complained at the sushi place, but I still wanted to know what was up. I went to the phone so I could call the front desk to ask, and found a voicemail waiting for me.
"Hello? Mr. Musselman? Yes, this is housekeeping. We were unable to clean today because there was a . . . your cat . . . it was in the room today. Please give us a call back if you want us to come back this afternoon."
As if my cat was invisible the previous ten days? I don't get it.
I thought maybe he's been hiding, but there's really no place to hide in here, and they would have seen him when they were picking stuff up anyway. Perhaps today was just the day when he'd decided he knew the housekeeper well enough to give her a hug or something — who knows.
Anyway, strange stuff.
Of course, then I felt all guilty because the room really was sort of a mess this morning — I was running late, and not feeling well, and had left the lights on and some clothes on the floor, and so on. Surely they wouldn't use the cat as an excuse not to have to deal with it? It's beyond me.
I'll be glad to be in my real apartment. This permanent hotel stuff is for the birds, anyway.
Tonight after work I stopped by a little place near the hotel called Oysi Oysi. They were running a special that included tuna and salmon sashimi, miso soup, tempura, choice of teriyaki (beef, chicken, salmon), and green tea, all for $9.95. I don't usually go for the fixed price sushi assortments (my allergy to clams being one reason — it seems like they always want to throw a surf clam in there), but I wasn't too hungry tonight, and this seemed to really fit several of my cravings. And $9.95. You can't beat that. The take-out places are cheaper, but that's it.
So I sat there sipping my green tea (also included, by the way), and slurping my miso soup, which was quite tasty, when the sashimi and other dishes came out.
I put one of the beautiful slices of bright orange salmon into my mouth. I started to chew into it. Suddenly, every sensitive spot in my mouth rang out with pain, as the salmon, which was immediately apparent was at subzero temperatures, leeched all the warmth out of my tissue. For some reason thinking it would be different, I grabbed at a piece of the tuna with my chopsticks, and it was literally frozen onto the piece next to it. Frozen. Not only frozen, but frozen after it had been sliced and prepared.
When the waitress came by asking if everything was okay, I decided I had to say something. "Actually, no. The sashimi is frozen."
I expected the somewhat timid Japanese woman to be apologetic, if not horrified, but instead she said, "*Still* frozen? How do you know?"
Suddenly it was my face that had the look of horror instead. "Still?!? I know because the tuna pieces were frozen together when I picked them up. And rock hard in the middle."
The idea that sashimi shouldn't have been frozen in the first place didn't even seem an issue. Sure, I ordered the bargain dinner special thing, but there's still a principle involved. Anyway, she offered me a california roll instead (fresh, not frozen), and everything else was quite good, so I felt better about things, but I couldn't get over the frozen sushi.
In a city with a sushi restaurant on every single block, it'll be no surprise if I don't go back there.
* * *
To add insult to injury, when I got back to the hotel, I found my room looking a little disheveled. I narrated to myself as I walked in, hm, the closet doors are still open. And the TV door is open. The bed is unmade? Wait a minute. I looked in the bathroom, and there was a big stack of clean towels and sheets sitting in the sink. My used towel was still lying across the bathtub edge. They didn't clean in here at all.
It's not a huge deal — heaven knows that my home would never get cleaned daily, but it was still sort of offputting.
I felt like a jerk already after having complained at the sushi place, but I still wanted to know what was up. I went to the phone so I could call the front desk to ask, and found a voicemail waiting for me.
"Hello? Mr. Musselman? Yes, this is housekeeping. We were unable to clean today because there was a . . . your cat . . . it was in the room today. Please give us a call back if you want us to come back this afternoon."
As if my cat was invisible the previous ten days? I don't get it.
I thought maybe he's been hiding, but there's really no place to hide in here, and they would have seen him when they were picking stuff up anyway. Perhaps today was just the day when he'd decided he knew the housekeeper well enough to give her a hug or something — who knows.
Anyway, strange stuff.
Of course, then I felt all guilty because the room really was sort of a mess this morning — I was running late, and not feeling well, and had left the lights on and some clothes on the floor, and so on. Surely they wouldn't use the cat as an excuse not to have to deal with it? It's beyond me.
I'll be glad to be in my real apartment. This permanent hotel stuff is for the birds, anyway.