Let’s go here, Dad,” said my 16-year-old daughter, who, like the rest of your humble critic’s restaurant- weary family, never wants to go anywhere new or strange or interesting to eat around the big city unless it involves different varieties of dim sum, perhaps, or a bowl of pork-laced ramen (from which she always daintily removes the actual wheels of pork) or a slice or two at the latest photo-ready pizza joint. Every once in a while, however, a new place comes along that emanates a certain kind of alluring glow. Maybe the room has a bright, stylishly casual look to it. Maybe the menu has a certain clean, uncluttered economy (“Dad, stop ordering so much!” is a constant refrain on our restaurant nights out), or maybe the kitchen manages to rework a popular, crowd-pleasing formula (the California roll is another one of her favorites) in an inventive new way.
Did I mention that if there’s a line somewhere for food or clothes or the latest cosmetic hand soap, my daughter is happy to join it, which is probably another reason we found ourselves, early on a dark fall evening, stamping our feet outside the new Greenwich Village hand-roll sensation, Nami Nori. The glow from the bright, neatly appointed, white-and-blond-toned dining room lit up the sidewalk, and through the glittering glass window you could see the staff prepping for service behind two wooden sushi-bar-style counters, one on either side of the room. As we loitered in the ever-growing line, my daughter checked the compact, alluring little menu on her phone (“They have California rolls, Dad”). The doors opened at 5:30 precisely, and by 5:37, according to my own vintage iPhone 8, the seats and tables were completely full and another line was forming outside.
Esta historia es de la edición January 6–19, 2020 de New York magazine.
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Esta historia es de la edición January 6–19, 2020 de New York magazine.
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