I ate sushi at Katana in Royal Oak last night. Katana used to be a very trendy spot—almost pickup joint—with beautiful people and even more beautiful waitresses. Granted, I have not eaten there in six months and things seemed to have changed.
At first I thought I was in a Sopranos episode. Every table save mine seemed to be populated by enormous, neckless Italian men with gold chains, striped shirts and ill-fitting jeans. Accompanying each brutish fellow was an over made-up woman with, shall we say, junk in the trunk?
None of this was particularly interesting to me until Lizz pointed out that the men seemed stunned by the knowledge that they would be called upon to use chopsticks. In front of their peers. From our vantage point alone, we observed the following methods for eating sushi: