Unpolished Sushi Rock

 

During a trip to Cincinnati last July, I joined my aunt and cousin for some sushi at a place called SUSHI ROCK. 

Pretty tasty sushi, though they made the situation much more complicated than a rock. Instead of opting for light, traditional melodies designed to lead one to zen, the management of this establishment chose to play thumping music at a volume so distracting as to remove the possibility of comfortable conversation (unless you're one of those people who shouts everything). And the tunes weren't live or even GOOD; it was Top-40s (do they stop at 40 anymore?) club-friendly crap. Okay, friends: I admit that I often listen to the genre when I'm doing housework in an empty house or in my car avoiding carpool lanes despite wishing to be eligible to use them. But I don't make a habit of listening to this light, inconsequential stuff with other people (unless we're having a "girls night" -- complete with manicures and makeovers! -- or we're suuuuuuuper drunk and I mean hate-myself-tomorrow plastered). Why the hell would I want to listen to a Justin Bieber dance mix with my aunt and cousin? (I mention Bieber -- whose name may or not follow the "i before e" rule without changing my world -- because the same song played twice during our hour-long stay.)

I suppose this would have been okay if the chopsticks wrappers had said "ROCKS" rather than summoning the animal-vegetable-MINERAL (!!) and YES, I suppose we could have better researched the establishment, but I also think that a place that takes the trouble to make their own chopsticks wrappers can take the time to put a damn rock in the place and at least FAKE some zen. For the prices they charge, I'd say I deserve as much.

A food picture's worth a thousand noms.

Somewhere along I-90 west of Cleveland, there's a whimsical candy shop whose name eludes me. (There were no windowless vans to be found so my aunt and I deemed it safe.) Inside, we found what you might expect from a shop on the side of the highway: tacky souvenirs and postcards, chocolate-covered everything, and some maple syrup from the "Kingdom" of Vermont.

SoCo has been known to lead overindulgers down a pretty rough path. Then again, so can NoCo (IHOP/WaHo/Denny's/Bob Evan's itis, anyone?).

But it's not really a matter of which half of the country treads the rougher path to (dis)comfort. The question at hand is "SEER-UP" (sɪrəp) or "SIR-UP" (sɜrəp)?

Which regional variety do you suppose is best with pancakes? 

....Were I to tote both kingdoms' offerings to an neutral breakfast location, could their joint consumption repair north-south relations? (Keep in mind that Waffle House has ZERO locations in VT and IHOP has only ONE so we might have to resort to McDonald's -- depressing, I know. But we have to be impartial in this imaginary scenario.)

In other news, I've decided that the abbreviated "SoCo" is particularly fitting, as this product is So Costly that I cannot justify owning it -- this 12.5 fl oz container was nearly $30. I will be hanging out with Mrs. Butterworth, thank you. (In all honesty, I won't even spring for a big name. I am, however, pretty big on store brands -- Dr. K and I are pretty tight.)