Mmmmm. Inari sushi. Haven’t had it for years. Used to have it when I was young at Ben Dohi’s house–a great man– but only on special Japanese holidays like Christmas, the Fourth of July and Labor Day. (And Thanksgiving, of course.)

On one visit, I had the honor of holding Ben’s baby niece, who still has not forked over the royalties I am sure she owes me for not dropping her. Her name was Kristi Yamaguchi, and I liked to think I had a small part in making her athletic career possible.

The sushi was wonderful, but even better were Kristi’s aunts, the Yamaguchi sisters–Ben’s wife, Ty, was a Yamaguchi– preparing it in the kitchen. They were very, very funny. (Witty, because they were also very intelligent. They made the air kind of crackle.). They liked to needle each other and, even more, the men in the living room watching football or baseball on TV in various semi-horizontal positions. I think they were out there for protection, kind of like when they circled the wagons in Westerns.

I love sports, but I used to hang out in the kitchen because the women were far more entertaining, and they had the same kind of giggle that sisters can have, and that was a happy and endearing sound, but there was something else, and it was just a little magical. For just an instant, they were teenagers again, pleated skirts and bobby sox and saddle shoes, and you had the distinct sense that for Mr. Yamaguchi, these three daughters were a handful. If it’s not already obvious, I loved the Yamaguchi sisters very much.