Poor Man’s Sushi at Rusan’s

There is no reason to document a meal at Rusan’s. It’s as pedestrian as you can get when it comes to sushi.There’s no point taking this picture of the exterior:Or this of the table showcase when you enter:Or this of the noisy sushi bar where the sushi chefs yelled indecipherably upon our entrance: “HEY!!! OHHH!!! EEEH!!! ARAOH!”But Rusan’s is where you go on a weeknight when you want sushi. It’s funny, if you harken back to my review of MF Sushi, I rather callously remarked: “But, to be honest, after tonight I realize that I’m not so much a sushi person. I like eating it, but I would never go out of my way to eat it. And I would never pay an exorbitant amount of money for the world’s best sushi. I’d rather have a really good steak.”Interesting how we can grow backwards (the title, incidentally, of David Byrne’s great new album). Meaning: the fabulous sushi at MFSushi didn’t turn me on to sushi; the mediocre sushi at RuSan’s made me long for really good sushi. See?Like this salad, for example:A fine, standard, gingery, vinegary sushi bar salad. But it was way too gingery, way too vinegary. I pined for the controlled performance at MFSushi.And the sushi itself: a great candyland assortment of eel, fried tuna rolls, and tuna/salmon rolls…But lacking in the craftsmanship and panache of MF.In particular, the balance of sauce and flavor on the inside of the rolls: Rusan’s dredges their’s with gooey sesame sauce or obnoxiously firey pepper sauce. MF’s was balanced.So, in conclusion, it took the flourescent lights at Rusan’s to help me see the sushi light I missed at MF. Great sushi is an art. I’m now officially a sushi snob.