“You’d think Mister Tsuri would’ve tasted the food before he opened his stadium,” slurred a jovial member of our dinner party, as we spilled sake down our throats in a red-shag-carpeted cube. “There is no Mister Tsuri,” we explained. “It’s called Matsuri – it’s a restaurant name, not a person.” “Shut up and drink,” he shouted, toasting over a table littered with half-eaten dishes. That pretty much summed up our experience at Matsuri 123 Japanese......