Damn you and your kinta roll too.

That's it. NO MORE Crazy Fish. I've been sorely disappointed now on more than a handful of occasions. No, I haven't been disappointed by bad food, because, let's be honest, who goes to Crazy Fish for actual sushi. No, I'm pissed off because the place was closed during regular dining hours on a regular day. Again.

I had sworn off this place over a year ago, but every once in a blue moon, I guess every time Mell is in town, somehow the idea that going to Crazy Fish comes up and seems like a good one. So we trudged from LAX to Olympic and Doheny at 6pm on a Friday. And I mean trudged. And all the while, fond memories of eel sauce and whatever they put in dynamite are wafting through your olfactory centers, really subtly at first, then with a power-packed punch as you come within two blocks of the restaurant. So by the time you come within eyesight of the unlit restaurant front with zero customers waiting outside, the combination of a little bit of denial then utter disappointment takes over all higher-order reasoning abilities. And you begin to curse like a sailor. Loudly.

And then you signal left and drive away, experiencing hints of those withdrawal symptoms you thought were long a thing of your past. Because even though you haven't tasted their some-illicit-drug-laced eel sauce in well over a year, your memory refuses to fail you this time.