Fixin' Leaks and Leeks

It’s unfair to blame my kitchen counter space for being “dull” and “useless,” but after dining in a conveyor-belt restaurant, where bowls of freshly fried tempura and California rolls milled past me in an appetizing and provocative manner, I just want to shout, “Do better!” to the walls.

I’ve always wanted to go to one of those sushi conveyor-belt restaurants, but I feared they’d be stressful. Would the food whiz past me so fast that I couldn’t grab it in time? Would I accidently spend $3,000 on dumplings? (The prices are displayed on the wall and color-coded to match each kind of dish, but I’m not usually doing math while eating.)

Luckily, the food just kind of meanders in a leisurely yet tempting manner around the restaurant and right next to each booth. My go-to is the tempura, which is on the heated conveyor belt below—and the belt is hot! I was the closest to it, when Nate, Alex, and I sat down at a booth. So my job was to grab food for myself and for Nate–and try not to drop it, though there were plenty of close calls. (Alex was across from me and fended for himself.)

Also, I ate with chopsticks for the first time. Usually, I ask for a fork, but servers were just taking beer orders, which was great because I soon forgot about the fork after the first beer and broke open the chopsticks packet like a raccoon at midnight near a dumpster. The sticks were joined together. Did I separate them? Noooo! I needed to eat some yakisoba noodles, and I found that if I kept the chopsticks unseparated, they made a much sturdier shoveling device to get the noodles to my face faster.

Here’s the best part: other patrons in the restaurant—as well as Nate and Alex—were too busy watching the food parade to notice me disrespecting noodles with chopsticks that will definitely have nightmares.

The food was great—lots of fresh options, but I chose mostly the fried ones because that’s how I sushi roll. As a result, it will be a while before I’ll go back because my stomach is still recovering. Totally worth it, though—and the price wasn’t bad at all. We had a mini mountain of plates stacked up at our table by the time we picked the conveyor belt clean, and it all added up to be reasonable.

Sometimes, when I close my eyes at night, I see a conveyor belt of Godzilla rolls and gyoza dumplings, slowly drifting by, and I reach out to grab them all before they’re gone, which is probably why the night table next to my side of the bed is overturned the next morning, a wayward lampshade rolling about with a bite mark at the top.

Your Turn: Is there a favorite diner or conveyor-belt-style restaurant that you frequent? What’s your go-to order?