We were starving.
But even then, I didn’t feel any better about going.
Crammed inside an old strip mall, smashed between a donut shop and a massage place, was Chop Chop Sushi.
Now, never in my life did I think I’d ever eat sushi from a strip mall, but here I was, at the mercy of my buddy’s choice for lunch.
Going against my better judgment, we walked in. An old bell clanged against the door.
The place was tiny.
About three tables total, each with two green chairs. Or yellow. I don’t remember. But I do remember them near an old Coca-Cola drink cooler.
We walked up to the counter.
Just one guy who ran the joint. He said hi.
I glanced over the counter. Weird. It was clean and orderly. Fish, rice, and whatever else comes with sushi were neatly lined up.
After my buddy figured out which flavor of food poisoning he wanted, it was my turn. I scanned the board. It was dirt cheap. I ordered the rolls with the most stuff in them.
We waited.
That’s when the “You have got to be kidding me” moment happened.
He brought out the food. It was a work of art. Each roll looked as if it had been prepared by a master chef at some swanky restaurant in Dallas. In fact, it tasted better than any sushi I’d ever had – even the “high-end” places.
Before we left, I watched him build a call-in order. It was cool to watch him create the rolls with precision and care. An artist and his craft at work. I ate there almost every time I drove through. Unfortunately, the guy sold his restaurant, and it became an ordinary sushi place after that.
But I’ll tell you this, I’ve never been happier about giving strip mall sushi a chance.