Sushi communion

Sometimes it's the bumps in the road that add flavor to the journey.

It was the most gorgeous, sunny day you could imagine for us four to explore downtown Cleveland. We finally found the sushi place we had been planning on all day. And it was closed, for another hour.

How awful then that our family was doomed to a sundrenched sidewalk cafe drinking coffee, reading, and eating espresso brownies.

We endured, though, and eventually found our way to Sushi Rock. The graceful curves of the bars (sushi and booze) combined with the open stairway to the second level made the narrow space look spacious while feeling cozy.

Our utterly charming waiter seemed to assume we knew everything about sushi and still explained anything we appeared unsure of. He recommended favorites like eda mame and the beef sushi which wasn't exactly sushi. And he pointed out that the whole table's order is served on one big tray, of which I thought, big deal.

Until it arrived, four giant rolls on a giant plate, and we started eating. Now it's pretty common for the four of us to taste each other's food when we eat out. But this was different. We weren't four people focused on our own plates. We were a group, dining together off a giant plate in the center of the table. It was communal dining.

Each of us sampled everybody's food. We shared, commented, critiqued. And we enjoyed. Not just the food, the fellowship. The being together. And it was enhanced, I believe, by the hour at the cafe where we decompressed from 24 hours of gotta-be-somewhere-do-something togetherness.

Sushi communion. It was an exquisite climax to a rare family weekend.