I’m not going to be starting any cultural revolutions by drawing the conclusion that sushi, as the trendiest of trends, is on its way out. These days, raw fish is about as colloquial as ground beef; they probably have great sushi restaurants in North Dakota. Consequently, sushi-bar philandering is not as fun as it might have been ten years ago. But today, pressed for time and distracted by a vintage store on 20th and Samson where I managed in twenty minutes to find a great sweater-slash-dress and a killer pair of boots, I found myself crawling right back to Japan.
Located on what is arguably one of the funkiest blocks in Philly—so funky, in fact, that I have at least twice questioned my lucidity while traversing it—Vic Sushi Bar is your average red-and-black-awninged, wooden-countered, fatty-tuna chopping Japanese restaurant. Initially, I had walked in at 11:15, and they asked me to come back at 11:30 (which is when I got my consignment shopping in). When I returned, hungering for sashimi and asking for a warm drink, they directed me to a thermos on the bar from which patrons were invited to draw their own water for green tea—I was thinking sake, but whatever, it was a cute touch. I like cute.
I needed to use the bathroom to wash the thrift-store off my hands. Conveniently, that gave me the opportunity to see the kitchen, which was remarkably clean for small place on a somewhat shoddy street. Returning to my perch at the end of the counter, I spent a few minutes reviewing the typically extensive menu before deciding to order a seaweed salad ($3) and, from the special board, roll filled with spicy tuna and avocado, topped with lump crab in spicy mayo ($13.95, but that’s what you get for doubling up on seafood types), and rolled in brown rice. They called it Crazy; I called it overdone. I couldn’t taste the tuna through all the spicy crab. Eating the roll was sort of like going to prom—or how I imagined going to prom might be (thank you boarding school)—you think there might’ve been something good there, but thanks to the after party you just cant remember.
Under the assumption that I had been just too ambitious with my order—Jay, the guy next to me, had just spent $10.95 on three identical salmon rolls—I asked for some hamachi (yellowtail) sashimi ($5.25), which came in a pair and was a lot better. The seaweed salad, by the way, was perfectly normal, which is how seaweed salad should be, not too soggy, and with just the right amount of kick.
By noon, the place was totally packed with what looked and sounded like regulars; the fact that almost everyone except me was aware of the three-roll deal that Jay had opted for was a good sign for the restaurant and a bad sign for my stomach, which was still a little angry with me for all the mayo I consumed in eating just half the Crazy Roll. Finishing my sashimi, I asked for the check ($22 something), and listened to a guy with a bleached-blonde mane tell his Brazilian date, “I’ve been around the world. I got attacked by gypsies once.” According to him, they didn’t like the way he was dancing, but I’ll bet it was the hair.
All in all, a fine lunch, but I probably won’t be joining Jay for his “almost every day” rendevouz with Vic’s, unless, of course, I need another pair of fabulous boots, in which case I'd gladly suffer even the most platitudinous of soy-sauce pouring establishments.
Stash or Trash? Trash (and not just for the sake of variety!)
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