Arigato in Amherst

The atmosphere in Arigato, the expanded Amherst Japanese restaurant, was a little odd and off-putting. Although polite and smiling, the staff radiated a palpable tension and distance that turned the ambiance somewhat stressful. The hard chairs and low tables added to the uneasy feeling, and the huge menu was overwhelming and difficult to decipher.

When we asked the hurried waiter (did they really need to be jogging with only seven tables full and at least four wait and sushi staff?) the difference between the two types of hot pots listed on the menu, his explanation was friendly but utterly incomprehensible. He seemed at such a loss to answer our questions that I backed off rather than increase both of our discomfort. Since we didn’t fully understand the two different categories of hot pot choices, we randomly selected one. The waiter returned several minutes later to tell us the dish was not available. When asked, he could not recommend something comparable. Given this was the second time we’d been unsuccessful at getting information, we gave up, chose a few more items at random, and hoped for the best.

While we waited for our order, three tiny complementary plates were placed on our table. The first contained a small pile of edamame, and we dove in with delight. The beans were briny, fresh and delicious. The second plate held a few fried items that were creamy and mild inside with a satisfying crunchy exterior. Tasty. The third contained tiny cubes of some sort of pickled vegetable. We think a couple of them were carrots but had no idea what the white cubes were. Delicious, though. At this point we cheered up considerably and waited with anticipation for our chosen dishes.

The various items we’d ordered were brought as they were ready. I can appreciate a restaurant that brings dishes when hot and ready, rather than storing items under a heat lamp. Everything was fresh and had clearly left the pan seconds earlier. Maybe that’s why the waiters raced around so much? We didn’t have a dedicated wait staff; one of several showed up periodically to deliver dishes or clear finished plates. Despite our pleasure at being served food at its peak, the service took on an impersonal feel, as though dealing with us was something to be dispensed with as quickly as possible.

Having enjoyed so much the tiny bowl of complimentary edamame, we had ordered an additional appetizer-sized portion. Strangely, it was not nearly as tasty or seasoned as the first. How could that be? We also ordered another portion of the fried delights. Once again we tried and asked what they were, but the response was a quizzical look. Maybe the waiter thought it was a silly question, or that I didn’t need to know more, or perhaps he was just too busy to stop to explain? I don’t know - and having asked yet another seemingly unanswerable question, I was left feeling uncomfortable. Again. Nevertheless, we enjoyed the mystery fried bits. The next dish, a steamed plate of shrimp gyoza, were the freshest I’ve ever tasted, with tiny bits of shrimp, tender dough and a marvelous dipping sauce. We ordered two types of sushi, one with smoked salmon and kiwi (hey, we said the choices were random) and another with tempura inside. The tempura hand roll was tasty and had a nice crunch contrasting against the rice, but the smoked salmon and kiwi roll had such a strong and fishy flavor as to be unpalatable. A plate of shrimp and vegetable tempura was crispy and light. The shrimp was good, but unfortunately it only came with one green bean, one piece of carrot and one piece of squash. One green bean?

We weren’t satisfied with the meal at that point and waved a waiter over to ask if we could order some negimaki (marinated skewered beef), but the waiter informed us with regret that it would take too long – close to 15 minutes. We asked if instead we could order yakitori (marinated skewered chicken), and he nodded his head negatively again. “No, that will take too long too,” he said. Did we look like we were in a hurry to leave? I suppose so. Who knows? Clearly, he was telling us it was time for us to go. All I can say is that my sense of awkwardness surged to the surface once again, and I knew with a certainty that I had clearly behaved inappropriately and been judged lacking. Self-consciously, I thanked the waiter (although I wasn’t sure for what). He nodded, relieved somehow, and ran off.

We sat there feeling slightly confused, guilty, and a little resentful. Within a few minutes we finished what was left on our table (except for a few pieces of the odd kiwi salmon roll) and then began waiting for the check. We tried to wave a few times but kept missing anyone. Finally a waiter arrived and asked if we hadn’t gotten our check yet? We said no, and it was delivered shortly thereafter. As I stepped outside the restaurant, I felt a distinct sense of relief combined with post-traumatic culinary stress.

As you may know, the only treatment for that kind of trauma and stress is cookies and ice cream. Plenty of both soothed our jangled nerves and made up for the disappointing experience dining out. Oh well. My wife often quotes the ancient proverb, “Every day cannot be a feast of lanterns.” Or, in this case, every meal.