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But the American Heartland Theater is on a whole different floor at the other end of Crown Center. At Kabuki, the only thing resembling entertainment is the make-your-own version: people-watching from the little patio area that looks out on the first-floor lobby or sharing a table with a group of chatty friends. There's certainly no fun in sitting at the confining sushi bar, where the white-jacketed chefs are as aloof as samurai warriors -- unless a blond bombshell pours herself into one of the low-slung chairs. This happened one night while I was trying out a spicy salmon roll and chatting with a coworker. A young Lana Turner look-alike sat down next to us and pored over the menu, oblivious to the trio of sushi makers (only one was Asian) behind the glass display case who had immediately turned into the Three Stooges.
Actually, that was dinner theater! If I count the unexpectedly theatrical moments during my three visits to the seventeen-year-old restaurant -- one of the city's oldest sushi joints -- there were some flashes of brilliant comedy and drama. Take, for example, the presentation of the hot towels at the beginning of a dinner with my friends Julia and Bob. The dimpled server, wrapped in a white-and-purple kimono, took out her tongs and handed each of us a scalding purple washcloth. We each dropped ours on the table at the same moment, howling in unison.
"I'll just leave them here," the server said, smiling sweetly. "You can use them if you like."
I wrapped my throbbing fingers around my glass of iced tea just as Bob asked the waitress if she had ever watched Martha Stewart's TV show. She nodded attentively, but her eyes glazed over (as did mine) when Bob launched into a monologue about the sticky rice one of Martha's guests had prepared on the show.
"Do you serve that kind of rice?" he asked.
"Oh yes!" she nodded. "We have rice."
I explained to Bob that sticky rice -- a mixture of water, rice vinegar and sugar folded into a pot of steamed rice -- is the basis for the Japanese delicacy known as sushi. For nigiri sushi, a strip of raw seafood lolls across a dollop of sticky rice; maki sushi is the popular "rolled" version, often with a sheet of nori (toasted seaweed) wrapped around the sticky rice. Bob stuck out his tongue: "I hate sushi."
Luckily for him, there were plenty of alternatives (i.e. nonfishy dishes) on the Kabuki menu, which is printed with color photographs of most of the featured fare. After the disconcerting behavior of the sushi chefs and the unpleasant hot-napkin experience, we were surprised to find that the kitchen staff actually knew what it was doing. Slices of tender Kansas City strip turned out to be expertly grilled and drizzled with a coyly sweet teriyaki sauce. That same sauce dressed up a grilled chicken breast, and both dishes were soothing options for diners who might find sushi and sukiyaki too exotic.
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