I waited for her to elaborate, but she chose not to. Unable to think of anything witty to say, I settled for, “Sounds perfect,” which caused her to arch an eyebrow and give me a strange look.
We walked a block together and entered Gyoza, a small Japanese restaurant that proved trendier than its anonymous exterior might suggest. Inside, tasteful Japanese prints hung on bright red walls. The lighting was muted but was bright enough to read the menus. In the center of the restaurant, a bronze-laminate sushi bar separated the sushi chefs from the diners, and glass-fronted coolers atop the bar displayed tidy arrangements of colorful seafood. There were a couple of empty two-top tables with white linen tablecloths. Ally picked one, and we sat down.
“Gyoza?” I said.
Ally lowered her eyes and smiled at me, and the way she did it made me wonder if gyoza meant something dirty.
“Gyoza,” she said, “is a popular dumpling in Japanese cuisine. It’s finger food, like pot stickers, but with different fillings. Most people order meat or seafood, but I like the vegetarian.”
A waitress appeared, and Ally did in fact order the vegetarian gyoza. I asked if the spider roll was authentic.
Our waitress looked confused and said, “This one very hot. Very, very hot! Yes, is spider roll."
“Spider,” I said.
“Yes, yes,” she said. “Spider. Is very hot.”
I feigned shock. “Do you mean to tell me there’s an actual spider inside?”
Ally David’s eyes skirted the room. She gave the waitress a tight smile, and the two of them exchanged a female look, as if my comment confirmed some sort of conclusion they’d already drawn about me. Ally said, “Perhaps I should translate.”
“Please do,” I said.
“The spider roll is composed of tempura soft-shell crab,” she said.
“Composed,” I said.
“That’s right.”
I may have detected a hint of annoyance in her voice.
Ally wasn’t finished with me. “Spider is the name of the roll,” she said, “and nothing more.” Then, as if she couldn’t stop herself, she added, “Why would you even think such a thing?”
I shrugged. “Eel is eel, right? And tuna is tuna, yes?”
Ally David looked at her watch. “I don’t mean to be brusque, but I’ve got a one o’clock and it’s already twelve fifteen. You wanted to talk to me about Ken Chapman?” she said.
“I did.”
I was not insensitive to the fact that our waitress continued to wait patiently for my order. “I’ll have…” I briefly looked through the menu again.
“Anytime today would be nice,” Ally said.
