The sushi train, retired many years ago!

Kashi cooked and prepared my first dinner ever in Portland. I was sleeping in the house directly behind his restaurant. I was a trembling 24-year-old on a weekend-long interview for a pastoral position. Our dreams for an intentional community in Denver, Colorado, hadn’t materialized. Our world was becoming smaller. We decided to start over in Portland. My partner was following Montessori leads, and I was throwing my last few darts at the Church. This interview felt like an alignment in motion.

My hosts for the weekend were on a first-name basis with the sushi chef at his shop sandwiched between the mini-mart and vape shop, and if I wouldn’t mind the short walk around the block, they’d cover the bill.

Two years later, I would be parked in the parking lot of that L-shaped plaza, parking lights on, windshield wipers scraping, waiting for Takahashi 2 to open. We had long unbuckled the bundled baby in the back. We sat there, watching through our fogged-up windows as the stories unfolded at a mini-mart in SW Portland.

When the door is unlocked, we quickly go inside and fetch the high chair to grab the seats at the bottom of the U-shaped counter—baby in the middle, parents on the outside.

“Yes, little one, he’s about to turn on the sushi train.” Kashi would smile, flip a switch, and the model train would begin pulling its cargo of small plates, shielding pieces of sushi under their clear plastic domes. Our son was train-obsessed. The sushi train was our babysitter, and for thirty minutes, my partner and I felt like humans again.

Kashi’s smile radiated. His smile calmed a trembling 24-year-old from Denver, and his smile called the same trembling 26-year-old carrying the carseat two years later. It calmed me each time I’ve visited since, all the way up until the very last time, yesterday, December 30, 2025.

Kashiwagi second to last day, December 30, 2025

Takahashi 2, the mini-mart, and the vape shop were demolished. Ironically, our sojourn to our last Kashi meal—from the Oregon Zoo to Kashiwagi—took us right by that block as we snaked along to the Ross Island bridge. Takahashi 2 was resurrected as Kashiwagi, and after many years at 26th and SE Division, it is closing forever. With the lease ending today, December 31, 2025, Kashi decided it was time to retire.

We arrived yesterday for our last meal with Kashi at 12:30 pm. We would sit huddled together, outside in the cold, now a family of four…the baby we used to unbuckle from his carseat in the back is now thirteen years old. The host came out with a yellow legal pad, counting and calculating. She took down our name and the name of the two people behind us, but no one else. At 12:45, with lunch service ending at 2:30, the wait was already over two hours.

We waited outside on a rare, clear-blue-sky day in late December in Portland. With the clear skies came some of the season’s first frigid temperatures. We shivered for two and a half hours, watching the restaurant turn over table by table, until we were among the last people to make it in for lunch.

Kashi’s smile greeted us again. I’m now 39. I’m still trembling, probably more than ever. I’m a graduate student, father of 13- and 9-year-olds, incomeless, and departed from that pastoring position I interviewed for nearly 16 years ago.

But for the next few moments, I’d savor the familiar flavors of buttery-soft raw salmon, spicy creamy scallop rolls, crunchy-sweet-salty tempura, and a smoky fried jalapeño nestled in a seaweed cone with rice and cream cheese.

Tempura salmon, salmon nigiri, jalapeño hand rolls, spicy creamy scallop roll.

That first meal was a moral and creative awakening. My soul needs places like Takahashi 2 and Kashiwagi. My heart withers in places saturated with big box stores. I long for places that allow our stories entwine. This is culture, humanity, authenticity. It feels right in my soul. It feels aligned in my heart.

Thanks for all the soothing Kashi, and happy retirement.

The Sushi Train

Curling up and Wiggling down