The anticipation had been building all day, the thought of tangy and spicy roll filling my mouth. The moment had arrived. I step through the door and the usual ring of the bell and the smell of the sauces over takes the sense in a rhythmic dance. The chef greets us with the usual gusto and poise. The long blade he wields still clasp firm in his hand, a weapon of destruction and the creator of art. The writing on the walls too complex to decipher. We reach the counter, a variable pantheon of culinary cuisine from the far waters of the East China Sea to the Atlantic Ocean. The show begins as soon as we place our order.

I ask the chef, “What is your favorite roll!”

He replies, “They are like my children, would you choose your favorite child?”

“Well no, but which roll do you make the most,” I said

. “The roll I make the most is the California roll, but it is not real sushi, it is the American version of sushi, this is real sushi.”

He hand me a roll that looks so plain, all I see is rice and fish, not even a piece of sea weed. I ask what it is but all he says is, “Eat.”

My mouth is a canvas that has just been turned into a masterpiece. My mind is in the clouds of steam that flow from the kitchen, as I dream of the final crescendo of flavor. I think to myself what could possible top the most amazing meal of my life. My mind flutters with ideas that are shot down like World War II fighter jets, nothing can touch that dish in simplicity. So I think for a moment, if I can’t top simplicity than let’s go for the Big Bang.

I ask Mr. Wantanabi, “What is the most complex roll you have.”

He says nothing as he grabs his blade and puts on a show that would put Yo-Yo Ma to shame. He buzzes through the shop with ease and precision not a grain of rice hits the floor. As the ingredients line the whole table, I begin to worry how a roll require so much preparation. Have I gotten myself in to deep? The anticipation is too much to handle that I am no longer sitting.

Finally the roll is complete, it is a spectrum of colors and textures. The colors of Uni and Tuna are the first to catch my eye. This roll is art that would rival the Mona Lisa, the next Leonardo da Vinci is standing in my wake, I am humbled by the experience. As I sit with the rest of my party who I have all but forgotten about. I can’t stop looking at the roll to beautiful to consume but so tempting to the eyes and the palette. I sit in silence as I decipher the many ways to consume this work of art. I am finally able to bring myself to eat this piece of define beauty. The flavor that rushes to my tongue is nothing short of a miracle, how sweet and savory, salty and bitter can go so well together. I ask Mr. Wantanabi what his secret is but he remains mute on the subject that mind of his a steel trap without a key insight.

There is nothing left to do but pay for our meal and leave. That bell the only thing that I have left of this place until I return next, with a heart set on my favorite roll. Knowing all too well that he never gives me the same thing twice, I find sorrow in this realization but the excitement build for our return to the shop. I can’t wait to return to Bonsai the place that will forever be my second home.