sushi coma

Every month or two my sisters, a couple of female cousins and I meet at various sushi joints across the city (OK, county) and wreck gorge ourselves on sushi.  We also catch up on each others’ lives: new jobs, boyfriends, kids, running, nicoleishavingtwins! and so forth.  We laugh, gossip, and generally have a grand time.  And we eat ridiculous amounts of sushi.  We jokingly call this our "sushi coma."  You know, when you eat so much you feel like you could pass the heck out.  What, we're the only ones who do this?

It started a couple of years ago at the Westport Drunken Fish, which had a pretty great happy hour deal going on at the time.  What wasn’t so great were the swarms of gussied-up girls, boys with tans and slicky hair, and too-cool waiters.  We’ve since scouted out various other restaurants in an attempt to get the best sushi for the lowest price without blowing a hole in our gut.  We’ve toed that line in recent days, however.  Just the other night I went from sushi coma to (near) sushi-death.  It was at a strip-mall-sushi-joint in (you guessed it) Westport where you can apparently order as much sushi as you can cram in your gut for a lowlowprice.  I guess we just got busy talking and eating and talking and eating until I eventually unbuttoned my pants and KEPT IT THAT WAY.  Luckily my sister talked about her college courses the whole way home so I could focus on what she was saying and NOT think about tearing the gearshift out of her steering column and using it to stab a hole in my stomach just to give the volcano roll some extra room.  I had to do Lamaze breathing and everything.  It was critical. 

All this to say I would gladly hang out with my sisters and gal cousins even if it means I suffer some slight indigestion in the process.  I freakin love you girls!

But for the rest of you: pretty please recommend your fave STL-area sushi joints.  We obviously don't set the bar too high, but I may suggest we try somewhere new next time.



I think this was from our first sushi night.  Look at me all well-rested.
These days my face more closely resembles a pot sticker.