You may recall from my recent blog about shopping downtown that I have invested in a fake ponytail to augment my bottle-blonde locks with easy and elegant style for summer. A couple weekends ago, I had an opportunity to test-drive my false ponytail—herein referred to affectionately as "my wig"—with not one but two nights on the town of fine dining.

Yokoso, aka Wasabi Heaven

First up was a sushi and hibachi steak dinner on Saturday night. My friend Davin—with whom I share a passion for calories in all their finest forms—took me to Yokoso at the Waterfront in answer to my lamentations of being poorly-versed in good sushi. Upon arrival we took up seats at the bar for a round of cocktails. Based on Sabrina's recommendation, we ordered the Plum Manhattans, a Canadian whisky Manhattan with Japanese plum wine in place of vermouth. While tasty and aptly alcoholic, I lamented that they were served on the rocks and not straight up in a martini-style glass; I wouldn't serve a Manhattan any other way. From there it was on to one of the hibachi tables, and a switch to cabernet and Yuegling on the beverage front. Having solicited Davin's superior sushi expertise in this culinary adventure, I let him have full reign in the choosing of our menu with only one request from me—I wasn't going to let my first real sushi experience go by without some raw tuna. And so, we split an extensive plate of sushi and the hibachi incarnation of surf & turf—filet, lobster and scallops. The sushi was served first while our hibachi chef prepared the meats and complimentary side dishes for the table during an elaborate performance of "hibachi flare"—I came up with this term to describe the hibachi equivalent of "bar flare," a term you'd know too if you'd gone to bartending school. I was in wasabi heaven with the vast selection of sushi on our plate—tuna, salmon, eel, red snapper, yellowtail, salmon roe, and dragon rolls. The tuna was as splendid as I could have hoped. The eel was more tender than I expected, but then again I'd never had eel before—it just looks like a tough creature. Of all the sushi that night, the salmon was perhaps the best, delicate, smooth and melt-in-your-mouth. The salmon roe was probably my least favorite—which Davin took as a boon because they're one of his favorites. It was no fault of Yokoso, I'm just consistently disappointed by caviar. I've heard great things about caviar my entire life, but to me it just tastes salty. The lobster and scallops were also quite nice, surprisingly tender from the hibachi—I've had tender scallops before of course, but the little lobster I've tried in my life has been tough and sinewy in a way not unlike shrimp, which is why I hate shrimp. The texture of this lobster was soft and succulent, not in the least objectionable. The filet was also very tender—though it was not nearly as rare as I would have liked. After dicing up the steak to chopstick-sized bites, the hibachi chef left it a bit too long on the grill for my taste, getting done faster. If there is one lesson to take away from this culinary adventure—when it comes to edible flesh, the rawer the better.

The Grand Concourse

More fine-dining followed the next night, albeit at an earlier hour. Sunday was Mother's Day supper at the Grand Concourse with Neilbert and Saundra. The Grand Concourse is one of our favorite places for fine dining for two reasons—one, the restored train station just looks fancy and, two, they have a great early bird special. If you make reservations before six o'clock, you have the opportunity to order from the early dinner menu. Like all fancy-schmancy restaurants, the Grand Concourse normally peddles its dishes á la carte, but on the early dinner menu, you get a first course, a non-alcoholic beverage and a small dessert included in the price of your entrée. We noticed, however, that the entrée prices had gone up definitively since the last time we visited; but now that my college education is four years over and retirement is within reach, Neilbert is more easy-going about that sort of thing.

Neilbert and his Empty Tea Bottle Insert: The Empty Tea Bottle

In general, we noticed an effort to step up the swank, probably in order to match the prices. Since I wanted to get the crab cakes, one of the pricier items on the menu, I elected against an alcoholic beverage. Saundra got a mineral water, served interestingly with a choice of "twist"—that is, both a lemon and a lime. Neilbert—ever the connoisseur of flavored iced teas—was intrigued by the offering of blackberry tea. It turned out to be a bottled selection from Republic of Tea, poured live at the table by our server. Neilbert was more enamored of the peculiarly-shaped bottle than the tea, and earned a double-take from our server when he requested to keep the empty bottle.

For our first course, Saundra and I ordered our very favorite Grand Concourse offering—the Martha's Vineyard salad. Grand Concourse is one of the few places in this city where I will order a salad because I can rely on them to serve only dark green lettuce, never flavorless iceberg. The salad is a mélange of good lettuce, red onions, pine nuts and blue cheese, topped in a not-too-sweet raspberry dressing. Both Saundra and I noted that the salad came in a more generous serving than on previous visits. Neilbert got the mussels, which have always come in a generous serving, but was surprised afterward to be offered a hot towel treatment to cleanse the residual mussels' broth from his hands—another new addition to the Grand Concourse repertoire.

Dinner is Served at the Grand Concourse

Saundra got and enjoyed her usual favorite entrée, the Salmon Rockefeller, a filet of salmon stuffed with crabmeat, spinach, bacon, and topped with béarnaise sauce. It was my first time for the crab cakes, which boasted much juicy lump crab meat and came topped with a delicate sprinkling of diced tomatoes and a Dijon mustard sauce. Neilbert opted for the shrimp and artichoke pasta, one of his more oft-ordered selections at the Grand Concourse. He said it was even better than he remembered it. We finished up with coffee and desert. Neilbert got ice cream, I got chocolate mousse, but Saundra elected against desert because all the selections were a far cry from low-carb. Saundra, however, never misses the chance to order coffee at the Grand Concourse. She contends that it's the best in the city.

Two nights of fine dining, and my new wig survived it all, staying believably attached to my head the whole time. The moral of this story is thus threefold—everybody needs a wig, dead animals are better raw, and if you want to keep your iced tea bottle, all you have to do is ask.