Poor Man’s Sushi at Rusan’s

There is no reason to document a meal at Rusan’s. It’s as pedestrian as you can get when it comes to sushi.

There’s no point taking this picture of the exterior:


Or this of the table showcase when you enter:


Or this of the noisy sushi bar where the sushi chefs yelled indecipherably upon our entrance: “HEY!!! OHHH!!! EEEH!!! ARAOH!”


But Rusan’s is where you go on a weeknight when you want sushi. It’s funny, if you harken back to my review of MF Sushi, I rather callously remarked: “But, to be honest, after tonight I realize that I’m not so much a sushi person. I like eating it, but I would never go out of my way to eat it. And I would never pay an exorbitant amount of money for the world’s best sushi. I’d rather have a really good steak.”

Interesting how we can grow backwards (the title, incidentally, of David Byrne’s great new album). Meaning: the fabulous sushi at MFSushi didn’t turn me on to sushi; the mediocre sushi at RuSan’s made me long for really good sushi. See?

Like this salad, for example:


A fine, standard, gingery, vinegary sushi bar salad. But it was way too gingery, way too vinegary. I pined for the controlled performance at MFSushi.

And the sushi itself: a great candyland assortment of eel, fried tuna rolls, and tuna/salmon rolls…


But lacking in the craftsmanship and panache of MF.

In particular, the balance of sauce and flavor on the inside of the rolls: Rusan’s dredges their’s with gooey sesame sauce or obnoxiously firey pepper sauce. MF’s was balanced.

So, in conclusion, it took the flourescent lights at Rusan’s to help me see the sushi light I missed at MF. Great sushi is an art. I’m now officially a sushi snob.

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