Benihana Volcano. Squared.

There is no cuisine-related show better than that provided by Japanese Hibachi-style restaurants, such as the esteemed Benihana. Well, maybe if they combined Benihana with a Hooters, and the chefs were Hooters girls. Benihooters, they could call it. I think I need to talk to someone about getting one of those started...

But I digress. Food show. Benihana. The chefs fling food around; toss knives in the air; and create what I now know as the "Benihana Volcano," where slices of onion are piled up and oil is poured inside to create a steaming pile of oniony goodness. But alas, I saw this not once but TWICE this weekend. And all because I wanted to entertain my mom for her birthday.

To back up, I haven't been to a Benihana in years. I think the last time was Christmas Eve of 1996. It was my sophomore year of college, and I was working part-time at Radio Shack. Being in retail, I had to stay at school through Christmas Eve to work during the busiest few days of the year. I then drove home, after we closed at about 3 pm, through a sleet storm. For dinner, we decided to go to Benihana. This apparently was also the last time my mom had been, and I seemed to remember that we enjoyed it, though left smelling STRONGLY of grease.

The idea of taking my mom to dinner and a show came to my lovely wife on Saturday evening, as we were dining with some of her friends at the Benihana in Bethesda. We all thought it would be a fun place to have dinner. However, that is also what my mom requested for her birthday- something fun. So, being such mom-pleasers as we are, we suggested Benihana as a place to go the following night, hoping that she wouldn't be that interested, but knowing that we could deal with it if she so chose.

Well, she did so choose. And she and her boyfriend loved every minute of it. It is an entertaining way to eat, and we were very pleased that they enjoyed themselves so much. It was rather humorous that we had the same waitress both nights. Sharon thinks that I'm imagining that she recognized us, but I think she took a long look at us when we sat down. Fortunately, we had a different chef, and he was much better than that from Saturday night. His name was David (read: Da-VEED, as if from Latin America) and he made lots of jokes deliberately confusing Japan and Mexico. Our South Asian chef from the night before was not nearly as entertaining.

So all in all, though we ate at the same restaurant (and let me tell you, not a cheap one) two nights in a row, it was all worth it. However, I'm sure it will be another 11 years before we go back. The next time I see something called a volcano, I want to see some lava, damnit.