Looking for Eddie: Ginza reopened and guess who is there?

One of the things that makes a place feel like home to me is a neighborhood sushi chef. You walk in and he starts rolling and wrapping and soon the small plates are landing. Sometimes you order. Sometimes you just smile, pour a nip of sake in two cups, one for him and one for you, and let him go to it.

For a few years Eddie was my guy. He owned San and Bada, a small place tucked into to the side of a non-descript strip mall next to a Guns and Ammo shop with a human target in the window. San and Bada wasn’t elegant but it felt like it mattered when you walk in. Eddie knew that I loved the fatty fish -- salmon, yellow tail, toro -- and when the uni was at its best he made sure it found its way to my plate. I could plunk down at the bar with a cold and he would slip into the back and make me a cup of ginger tea and a bowl of singe-the-germs-out Korean tofu stew. His fish was often some of the best in town.

Planning and staffing weren’t Eddie’s strong suits. Once I brought an out-of-town friend to sample his fare and we waited more than two hours at our table because he was slammed and served everyone else first. I think he did this because he knew I would forgive him. I did. My friend, who holds long grudges, did not. Another day, when he ran out of change, I slipped out to a near-by store and fetched him a pile of ones. Neighborhood sushi is a bit of a song and dance and the occasional fiasco just seemed part of the package. Eddie’s welcoming bow and friendly conversation were a touch stone, part of my sense of community. And then one day he disappeared.

I never knew what happened. I just walked in one day and the shop had a new name and new faces behind the counter. I walked back out shocked and a little worried. What had happened?

That was a few years ago.

So a month or so ago, I heard that Ginza, a popular Korean restaurant that had closed years ago, had reopened in Latham. I knew that Eddie’s family had owned Ginza and that he had worked there for years before opening San and Bada. Hummmmm, I thought. Maybe he’s back.

So a friend and I wandered up to Latham on Thursday in search of Eddie. Latham is a 15-minute drive, if that, and it feels like another country. Box store after box store. Neon lights and tasteful chain-store colors. You could get lost in the maze of “villages” and “farms” of concrete parking spaces and towering lights. We had the Map Quest directions and eventually found the restaurant back near the Babies “R” Us.

Another out of the way location that you’d have to know about to find.

We walked in and the waitress steered us to a table. I pointed to the bar. And then, out from the back walked a thin man with floppy black hair, a quick smile, and a tight, mid-truck bow -- Eddie. We looked at the menu and then Eddie started ordering. We’d start with the seafood pancake. While we waited a fish and vegetable salad sailed down in front of us. What is it? We asked.

"Salad," he said. "Eat.

Ah yes, this was Eddie. And so the night continued.

There was tofu stew, made by the folks in the back. It was warm and comforting, but without the fire I expected. Eddie’s going have to get his family used to his old customers.

Then he made some kind of deep-fried sushi something and again served it without explanation. We ate without question, just enjoying the show.

I wish Ginza was closer and not surrounded by so much neon. But I will venture north again. Eddie wouldn’t let me take his picture, but he’s still my guy. We understand each other. And sitting at his bar still feels like coming home.