This is strutting up to an open mic and reeling off a slam poetry performance the patrons of this humble hibachi restaurant will never forget. We’re talking sweet dark-plum free verse, sprinkled with five-spice slant rhymes, wet stone sibilance, and pipe tobacco rhythm—all to the syncopated cadence of steel spatulas on the pepper-scattered grill. Snaps all around. Then it’s back into your flow, only to realize you’ve interrupted Mildred’s 80th birthday party, and everyone wants to know when your book debuts.
95 Points, Wine Advocate
