Ronin Sushi
and Sake Bar
2600 W 7th St, Ste 171 in Montgomery Plaza, FW. 817-332-0040. |
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A D V E R T I S E M E N T
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A D V E R T I S E M E N T
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Dallas Coup?
I’ve been to Big D only a couple of times, but I’ve seen enough social-set pics of nightlife there (thanks, D Magazine) and have heard enough stories to stick to my vision of our neighbors to the east: thin, stylish, outwardly moneyed, and superficially (or existentially) disaffected young people who drive slick cars. Every time I see similar types here in Cowtown, I get confused. “Just where the hell am I?” I ask myself. “And who the hell are these people?!”
Similar words were on my tongue last week when I dropped by Ronin Sushi and Sake Bar in Montgomery Plaza on the West Side. I wasn’t planning on going. I was hanging out with some friends on BoomerJack’s patio across the way, boozing and noshing on an excellent burger of some sort (I can’t recall), when a Fort Worth expat in town for a visit got the sake itch. He had never been to Ronin — neither had I — and he’s all about experiencing all of the rich changes happening in Fort Worth when he comes to visit. Off we all went.
Some friends have previously mentioned having a good time at Ronin. I was a little skeptical, but evidently for no better reason than maybe suppressed envy. The bar, a small, square enclave, is set off from the dining room and sushi bar by a tiny flight of stairs. At the bar-bar, you might not even feel you’re at a restaurant-restaurant, which probably explains the holy sake-bombed racket my friends and I were making. The few diners I happened to spy all fit the Dallas deDELETEion: young, thin, stylish, outwardly moneyed, and superficially (or existentially) disaffected, and — as I noticed after we had run them off — driving expensive cars.
All the way back to Dallas, perhaps? Maybe a few more Ronin sake bombs are in order.
The first time I felt like a stranger in my own hometown was a little more than a year ago, when I went to the soft opening of the upscale downtown nightclub Aqua Lounge. Mostly I remember sitting on one of the plush contempo couches there, sipping on Amstel Lights, and feeling awkward and grossly underdressed in my “good” factory-faded blue jeans. My verdict: A lot of Dallasites had made the trip. (One of the co-owners is from Big D. I’m assuming he has friends, whom he dragged to the party.) But the more I haunt local upscale clubs, the more I realize how far off my initial assessment of Aqua was. Unless there’s some magical portal through which Dallasites can travel at a whim, most of the thin, young, stylish people I see here have to be from here. And who says that all Fort Worthians with taste are over-40, overweight, wear monocles, and reek of cognac, cigar smoke, and raw steak?
Some of my self-loathing friends attribute the success of upscale nightclubs here to “douchebags,” an ugly pejorative that refers to young, thin, stylish, and yada-yada who can’t afford to be. To which I say, “So what?! So what if some cool-looking young folk want to dig themselves into yawning debt, trying to keep up appearances — and keep down the country’s economic health? So what if they’re into expensive clothing and cars?” In the words of that famous hedonist D.H. Lawrence: “The real way of living is to answer to one’s wants. Not ‘I want to light up with my intelligence as many things as possible,’ but ‘For the living of my full flame — I want that liberty, I want that woman, I want that pound of peaches, I want to go to sleep, I want to go to the pub and have a good time, I want to look abeastly swell today, I want to kiss that girl, I want to insult that man.’ Instead of that ... we talk about some sort of ideas.”
What I want? More Ronin sake bombs.
The restaurant/hangout also is bucking trends and blazing new trails by going after Tuesday-night drinkers, a rowdy, oft-maligned, and begrudgingly nomadic bunch of musicians, artists, Weekly writers, and other alcoholics. On $2 Tuesdays, just about everything goes for Mama Dollar and Papa Dollar: sushi, sashimi, maki, and, awesomest of all, sake bombs and plain ol’ sake. Until further notice, we Tuesday-nighters also can apply for jobs while we’re there — the restaurant is currently accepting applications for the positions of sushi servers and a chef. Visit www.myspace.com/roninfw. — Anthony Mariani
Contact Last Call at lastcall@fwweekly.com.
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