29 August 2025
(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all
Enacted on this same divan or bed;
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall
And walked among the lowest of the dead.)
-TS Eliot
We received an unexpected delivery Thursday morning in the form of a minty copy of Santa Fe with no return address—just Pecos, NM, on the postage. It was one of those random events that provoke a curiosity that burns and demands satisfaction. Of course I’m no stranger to gifts, of all kinds. The vast majority of these, for deeply human reasons, are of a person to person nature. You get the odd parcel from time to time but always with a cute little note. This was unusual.
“Whoever sent it must have read the newsletter.”
Yeah, I think I mentioned Santa Fe a couple weeks ago.
“But who do we know in Pecos? Was it you, Russell?”
“I live in Glorieta, mate.”
Jaimie spent the rest of the morning in bloodhound mode. Sitting at the counter in the lunch rush on her computer, narrating her discoveries. God help if you try to get one over on her. She reverse image searched the logo on the package, tracing it to a rare book dealer in Baltimore. The trail went cold. Finally she peeled back the shipping label to reveal a tiny, penciled-in note that, when cross referenced with our mailing list, led us to the name of the shadowy figure. Thank you, JTB. Legend.
A text from Rae. She is pumped to be in Japan and sending me videos of the new smoothie machine at 7-11 like a little kid. Browsed around her neighborhood on Google Maps for interesting restaurants. A culinary education. Here’s a few Sosekis, go check out that motsunabe place by the train station.
A text from Tali. A portrait in front of the Bard dining hall. Bleak as ever. But Holy Cow is still the place. The dive I worked at is now an Irish Whiskey bar. Thursday night is still the night.
Cameron dropped off 200 t-shirts. Merch. To make a couple bucks in my sleep was always the dream.
We’ve come a long way, baby. Ordering from three fish markets these days with what shred of sanity I have left. Tokyo, LA, and Santa Fe—the theaters of conflict. Let’s do. Each delivery is white knuckle, bated breath, and then a sigh of relief. No such thing as smooth sailing.
Return of the Toyosu order. I was in the mood for uni and only Hokkaido will do. Chirashi of the year. The bluefin we got this week is legendary. You can tell your status at the fish market by how high up the neck your cut is. A sinewy piece towards the tail and you might as well find another gig. From far Shizuoka I’ve invited the aristocrats to dinner. Nodoguro and Kinmedai, the choicest deep sea fish wrapped in the Asahi shimbun and sent to us on that red eye plane. Their bones made into a broth for miso soup, the legendary “owan” or bowl from a nice sushiya. All you have to do is ask.
Like a painter of the Italian Renaissance I have accepted a young apprentice, the home-schooled, precocious son of a dear regular. In the old tradition I’ve been giving him the most glamorous tasks, like knocking the sinew off scraps of bluefin and mincing it for temaki.
I got him started with the basic technique and left to go to Smith’s for ice and a vitamin water. When I got back he was still locked in, hammering away. He was going at it with absolutely no regard for the tendons of the wrist, which are tender and prone to fatigue, keen as he was to show his spirit. Child labor is a nice piece of business. Terrible. When he graduates I can retire and finally dedicate myself to the violin.
I took him to Bread Shop after. Whatever you want.
“Uhhh…”
He went to the fridge and brought back a small bag of carrots.
That’s what you want?
“Yeah.”
Jesus. Alright. And a bag of carrots, please.
“Those carrots ARE really good,” Lucie said when we got back.
Move over, Pep. I am writing the book on football management. Gabe was the signing of the summer. I tapped him up years ago when he was out on the patio eating a mentaiko onigiri. If this kid learns how to cook, watch out, I thought to myself. For him, we’ve opened up the books.
In the breathless world of food service, getting roasted by Trinity for missing a basket, as she takes a sip from her bootleg yerba mate. An hour before dinner service, delirious, and we all look at each other, and laugh.
Raif sent me a couple playlists. I think Lucie is getting tired of the Barry Lyndon soundtrack and complained to him. Ozu is like working at a Brooks Brothers during late December. Only so many times you can listen to Santa Baby (Schubert’s piano trio in e-flat) before you blow your head off. Taste in music has always been the most finely cultivated virtue at Bard. Raif has independently discovered that Balearic vibe. I don’t think he’s been to Ibiza. Has he been to Ibiza?
The vintage rack is out of control. What started out as an idea I had to clear out my closet on a First Saturday has developed a life of its own. The next day Lucie asked if she could put some stuff up there and then Trinity and Liam. Racked up, and it’s moving. We stayed late Friday night after dinner, playing glow-in-the-dark bocce and trying on each other’s shit. Gabe bought my jacket, Raif might buy Trin’s. Customers trying on jeans in the bathroom. Madness.
Like almost everything with Ozu it feels cutting edge or “totally unhinged” as we say. An experiment in human nature. “There’s really no other restaurant like this,” Baz said on Friday. For better or for worse I think he’s right.
Some notes on the methodology of the newsletter. I’ve typed nearly the entire thing with my thumbs, laying in bed on my phone listening to the Barry Lyndon soundtrack, or laying on the banquette at Ozu, listening to the Barry Lyndon soundtrack. I’m not sure you understand the toll these white negronis are taking. I feel like Elvis and the Colonel. Rise and shine, boy!
temaki
choice of blue crab, maguro, kanpachi namerou, or ikura
sesame miso bagna fredda
local raw vegetables with an umami-rich anchovy dip
hiyashi salad
local lettuces, radish, cucumber, sesame ginger dressing
owan
rich fish stock miso soup
marinated eggplant
steamed local Japanese eggplant steeped in shoyu dashi with ginger & shiso
kanpachi namerou
tartare of raw kanpachi*, white miso, ginger, shiso, over rice
white anchovy salad with shiso vinaigrette
marinated white anchovies over local greens with fresh shiso dressing
scallop ceviche
raw sea scallops, sudachi, ikura, aonori
black cod saikyo yaki bento
roasted black cod marinated in miso, over Japanese rice with hiyashi salad and pickles
hamachi bento
raw yellowtail over sushi rice with hiyashi salad, pickles
seared scallop bento
seared sea scallops over Japanese rice, hiyashi salad & pickles
maguro bento
raw bluefin tuna over sushi rice with hiyashi salad, pickles
chirashi
raw itoyori, saba, tuna, nodoguro, scallop, kinmedai, tai, ikura, uni over sushi rice*
basque cheesecake
yuzu coconut rice pudding
sesame miso cookie