Joseph Rigdon

In 1994, my uncle opened an eleven-seat sushi counter in Little Rock, Arkansas, and hung ten rules on the wall. The rules of a proper Tokyo sushi counter. Where you speak softly. Where the chef is a priest and the fish is the sermon. Arkansas has broken every single one. He never took the list down. He just crossed out each rule, by hand, and wrote underneath what Arkansas taught him instead. Here it is. 1. Eat each piece in one bite. Crossed out. Underneath: "Arkansas eats it in three bites and reviews each one out loud. 'Oh, that's good. Oh, that's GOOD. Tets, what did you DO.'" (His name is Tetsuo. He has been "Tets" since 1994. He did not agree to this.) 2. Never mix wasabi into the soy sauce. Crossed out: "They stir it into a gray paste and call it 'the slurry.' I watched for ten years. Then I stopped watching. I am a calmer man." 3. No tipping. This is the Japanese way. Crossed out: "When I refuse their money, they hide it. Under the plate. Inside the soy sauce bottle. Once, in my shoe. I still do not know when they got to my shoe." 4. The counter is a place of quiet focus. Crossed out: "The counter is where I learn the name of everyone's dog. I know 212 dogs. I have met four." 5. Trust the chef. Crossed out: "They trust me completely. Then they ask if I can add cream cheese. I can. It is called the Little Rock Roll. It outsells everything I learned in Tokyo." 6. No substitutions. Crossed out: "Mrs. Hollister is allergic to fish. She has come every Friday for nineteen years. Cucumber roll. Miso soup. She tells me I need a haircut. I stopped asking why she comes. I know why she comes." 7. The chef does not shake hands. Crossed out: "Every man in Arkansas shakes my hand on the way out. I wash my hands 140 times a night. Worth it." 8. Do not ask the chef personal questions. Crossed out: "Big Jim has asked me if I'm happy every Friday since 1998. In Japan, nobody had ever asked me that. The first time, I didn't know the answer. Now I say yes. It's true now." 9. The chef works alone. Crossed out: "In 2011, I had back surgery. I was gone six weeks. When I came back, the restaurant was spotless, the floors were waxed, and there were fresh flowers on the counter. The regulars had a key. Nobody will tell me who made the key." 10. Never let a customer behind the counter. He crossed this one out last. He needed a whole paragraph. "On my 70th birthday, eleven regulars walked behind my counter, put on my aprons, and made me sushi. It was the worst sushi ever made in the state of Arkansas. Big Jim's roll had a Slim Jim in it. Mrs. Hollister's was mostly cucumber and prayer. Somebody used a cheese grater. Nobody will tell me on what. They served it on my plates. With my soy sauce. And they stood behind my counter and watched me eat, the way I have watched them for thirty years. I ate every piece. One bite each. Then I bowed to them. Eleven people in my aprons bowed back, at eleven different angles." My uncle is 71. He is still there, six nights a week. The list is still on the wall. All ten rules, crossed out. Last year, someone added an eleventh at the bottom, in black marker. Nobody will say who wrote it. It is Big Jim's handwriting. 11. Tets stays.