Today The Son and I drove to New Haven, fetched lattes (a habit that is not as revealing about us as you might think), browsed a bit and then entered the marvelous Yale Art Gallery and inhaled the smell of ancient limestone, contemplated the shrine to Mithras (built by Palmyrean archers in the Roman army), was reminded of my peculiar and immediate sense of communion with any Redon still life, and crowed with delight to see a Quidor hanging in the new space. Then lunch at Miya where chef/owner Bun Lai has a way of making you leave a changed person. The Son worships Bun in the abstract but often tries to duck out of Bun’s revolutionary approaches to sushi. (Currently on the menu, Bun offers a plate of sushi from 2050, when fish will be scarce and plant-based sources of food will prevail even more than they do now.) The Son tried to order the most traditional sounding thing he could find and wound up with, among other delicacies, two tiny beehives of rice stuffed with black fly larvae, rolled in berbere spice and cooked. We each had one. Delicious and strange and crazy. Bun’s fish sushi is so clean and sustainable that I’ve pretty much stopped eating anyone else’s. And his vegetable sushi reminds you how far the imagination can extend beyond a maki roll.
Now back a day. Friday night we saw “The Most Happy Fella,” right at the end of its Goodspeed run.
It’s a great production. (You have two chances to see it tomorrow, Sunday.) Rob Ruggiero is such a great fit for that theater. I’m not sure I ever grasped how operatic the musical is, although Loesser tended to fend off that characterization and insist it was merely “a musical with a lot of music.”
We ate at 6 Main in Chester. Talk about getting ready for our plant-based future. (We’ll be back.)