Aye Caramba, Mama Sushi!

Mama Sushi is the kind of place I really wanted to love. After all, Mama Sushi is located near the corner of Dyckman Street and Seaman, the throbbing hotspot section of Inwood, in upper Manhattan. And even though there's a lot to get used to: The fire engine sirens, the reggaeton blaring from open car windows and the "Tigeres" warmly embracing one another, I quickly felt at home and was eager to be seated. I was also anxious to  partake in what everyone describes as, "Dominican-Japanese Fusion." Yes, even though Mama Sushi is barely a five minute ride from Riverdale,  I was in Inwood tonight, and felt as if I was worlds away.

Maybe my expectations were too high but I was anticipating my fellow latinos to flawlessly fuse two of my favorite cuisines; Japanese and Dominican. In all of my years of eating both types of food, I was waiting to be skillfully bowled over by Mama Sushi and I wanted it to be done with a great deal of, "Orgullo y estilo!"  After all, Mama Sushi, is the sister restaurant of the hugely successful Mama Juana. Meanwhile, through the corner of my eyes, I could see the multi-colored lights shine on Mama Juana, just across the street. All of a sudden, I was left wondering why there wasn't a light that shined on Mama Sushi? The answer to my question soon became apparent.

Within five to ten minutes, our group of five was warmly greeted and the corner sidewalk table we were led to was ideal. We were given adequate time to gather and give Mama Sushi the "Once over." Most of the people there were young, friendly and well dressed. The indoor portion of the restaurant was small, simple and seemed tastefully decorated.

The waitress quickly came over and took our drink orders and within minutes, came out with our beverages which included two exotically flavored and powerful mojitos. Both mojitos were flavored with rum, fruits, juices and herbs and packed with "sabor" to the very last sip! We then placed our appetizer orders, as well as a number of plates of sushi. Within minutes of our order, the waitress dropped off two long dishes of their special sauces. One of the sauces seemed to be made of ketchup, mayonnaise and lemon juice. The other phantom menace was similar, except it was a shade darker and had a touch of either horseradish or wassabe. Both sauces were pleasant and not at all offensive. A good while later, we received our appetizers and just about then, my daughters Candice and Paulette pointed out that I had "The face." While I routinely deny wearing, "The face," I always seem to be the only one who doesn't seem to know it. According to all of those close to me, any form of frustration and/or anger is immediately registered on my face like a Motel 6 sign. Apparently, I have the ability to aim my displeasure at an oncoming offender and almost singlehandedly, belittle and make them crave to be in a fetal position. While I firmly deny that I have a "face" or any other inherent traumatizing abilities, both bowls of fried calamari arrived cold. Furthermore, the texture of the edimome was good but was also cold.

Soon enough, our sushi arrived and I soon understood that at Mama Sushi's, "Japanese-Dominican fusion" was just another word for bland and forgettable. At one point, I almost felt compelled to kneel and beg for a few drops of soy sauce. Warning: Don't even consider asking for anything more than a dab of wassabe. If you want taste, dip one of your thirty pieces of sushi into the scant serving of the phantom menace sauce! As for the sushi, the texture of the rice did not contain the sushi tightly enough and the fillings were tasteless. At one point, all of us had a debate on whether we were eating canned tuna or crab and this impassioned discussion continued on the drive home. We then ordered dessert and about twenty minutes later, the waitress announced that the delay of our dessert was attributed to the fact that our sweet fried plantains had been burned. Candice announced, "Oh, oh, the face, " while Paulette and my wife giggled.  Meanwhile, I noticed the waitress coming out of the corner bodega with a bag of plantains.

The check finally arrived and along with the blare of the last fire engine, the waitress curtsied and ended her lame excuses.  Despite the "faux-fusion," we laughed and joked and I finally realized that there was a light that shined on us. And the light is still shining.


     


Enjoy and be good!