Customer vs. owner: all-you-can-eat showdown

In the best bit part that ever bit him, my cousin Dan, an actor, had a small role in the TV series "New York Undercover." He played Sal, a NYC restaurateur who'd had it up to here with one of his customers. The woman regularly took advantage of his lunch-time buffet, eating up his profits. Fed up with her feedlot mentality, he called the cops.

Cau Luu, the owner of Mikado, a modest little teppanyaki restaurant and sushi bar in the International District, didn't call the cops when faced with a similar situation -- he took matters into his own hands. And because he did, I got a call from a guy named Steve, who'd been frequenting the Mikado at lunch.

Steve's complaint? The place offers an $11.95 all-you-can-eat sushi lunch, a petite buffet featuring about a dozen different types of sushi. He said he'd been eating lunch there weekly for six weeks, but on his last visit, his love affair with the sushi bar went sour.

According to Steve, who said he weighs 150 pounds and has eaten "between 35 and 40 pieces of sushi" on each of his visits, he was given the cold shoulder -- and the hot tongue -- after his last visit. He explained that rather than allowing him to replenish his "postcard size" plate at the buffet, "they went directly to the tables with sushi, feeding the other patrons rolls and ebi [shrimp]," purposefully avoiding him.

What's more, he said, they picked up his plate before he was finished and failed to offer him dessert when he asked for it. Miffed, he paid his bill, "left a lousy tip" and was followed to his car by "a gentleman" who told him that if he eats more than three helpings of sushi, he'd have to pay an additional $5. Incensed, Steve did not reach for his cellphone to call the police. He called me.

"I've told my friends [Mikado] is a great deal, and now I feel like a sap," he said, urging me to eat there and see for myself, wondering how I'd weigh in on the all-he-can't-eat situation.

Like Steve, I have a prodigious appetite for sushi and frequent one or the other of my favorite sushi bars at least once a week. Though I'd never been to Mikado (1306 S. King St., Seattle, 206-860-1556), I knew the place well both in its heyday as the original Nikko and in its last incarnation as Kaizuka Teppanyaki & Sushi Bar. So when I arrived at 1 p.m. on a weekday, I felt a certain sense of déjà vu.

Seated anonymously at one of a handful of tables in the tiny sushi bar, I saw the sushi counter had been transformed into a buffet. I was offered a bowl of complimentary miso soup and tea, shown to the display by the friendly sushi chef -- whose shell-shaped platters are regularly replenished from a refrigerated case -- and told to help myself.

A single woman sat alone reading a book, eating from a bento box ($7.50). Nearby, a four-top rose and left, thanking their server for the sushi and effectively leaving me alone with the buffet.

Serious sushi aficionados won't find much to give them a thrill here. But for those inclined to order the combination sushi lunch elsewhere (one that typically includes seven pieces of nigiri and a roll for about $10.95), all the usual stuff was accounted for, including salmon, tuna and saba (marinated mackerel), California rolls, cucumber rolls and tamago (omelet).

I noted, as Steve had mentioned, the very obvious signs explaining there's a 25-cent surcharge for each "rice ball" left uneaten, lest customers turn all-you-can-eat nigiri into all-you-can-eat sashimi. Then I grabbed my "postcard size" tray -- a plastic version of the wooden geta found at sushi bars everywhere -- and dug in.

I made two trips to the sushi buffet, ignoring the iceberg salad at one end and the sweet dessert-custard at the other. First round, I sampled eight pieces. Then I went back for five more, which, despite the fact that I'd skipped breakfast, put me on the fast track toward bloated. When the sushi chef stopped by my table with slices of California roll, insisting I try "one more, fresh!" I declined. He begged. I relented.

Having eaten my fill (a mere baker's dozen, Steve!), I asked for the check. And just for fun, I left one piece of sushi nigiri, to see if I'd be charged an additional quarter for that rice ball. Nope. After paying $13.08 (with tax), I was sent on my way with a kind farewell and a pleasant, "Come back soon for teppanyaki!"

The next day I called the Mikado, spoke with the owner and voiced your complaint, Steve. He remembers you well, and it was he who followed you out to your car with the three-plate-limit and $5 ultimatum. Mr. Luu has a problem, my friend, and it's this. He's trying to make a living. Benihana he ain't.

Nor is he Todai -- the all-you-can-eat sushi restaurant with dozens of locations worldwide. Have you eaten at Todai, whose Web site advertises "the Mother of all Seafood Buffets"? I have. There's one in Pacific Place and another in Redmond Town Center, and for $13.95 (weekdays) and $15.95 (weekends/holidays) you can stuff yourself silly at lunch. General manager Snook Lee at Pacific Place insists, "If we say all you can eat, it's all you can eat."

He laughed when I asked whether overeaters are a problem at Todai. "It happens, but that's the business," he said. And what a business! On an average Saturday, over the course of lunch and dinner ($24.95 weekdays, $26.95 weekends/holidays), Todai serves 1,000 guests.

The 900 folks who ate brunch at Salty's on Alki on a recent Sunday might take umbrage to Todai's claim as the mother of all seafood buffets. I'd have to agree, having eaten my fill of salmon, shrimp, crab legs and oysters there (to say nothing of prime rib). You might want to check that place out. Manager Jennifer Young says, "We've never told anybody enough is enough." At $34.95 a head, I certainly hope not.

They don't have all-you-can eat sushi at Anthony's Beach Café in Edmonds. Like the Mikado, Anthony's is not an all-you-can-eat restaurant. But if you show up on Monday nights they'll bring you endless portions of fish 'n' chips ($13.95) and on Tuesday nights you can take advantage of all-you-can-eat prawn tempura ($14.95). Assistant manager Melissa Butler says, "We'd never tell anybody that they've eaten too much -- we're always 'Guest first.' "

Cau Luu says that he, too, is "guest first." And that, Steve, is why he'd rather you take your business elsewhere. Maybe to one of those nice corporate outfits that can better afford you. He says you take too much food. You don't leave any for his other customers. And by the time he saw you heading back for your third round last time, he started bringing the food to them rather than refilling the platters on the counter.

Luu doesn't advertise his all-you-can-eat lunch and relies on word-of-mouth, hoping his customers will tell their friends about his place, as you did. His hope is that once they've eaten lunch they'll come back -- for a steak and lobster teppanyaki dinner ($24.95). "If you were the owner of the restaurant," he asked me, "What would you think?"

Since you both asked, here's what I think: Unlike big corporate outfits like Todai, Salty's and Anthony's, Cau Luu is holding on by his fingernails, trying to compete in a very competitive business. I think that Steve (and anybody else prone to eating 35 to 40 pieces of sushi at $11.95) should cut guys like Luu a break.

Take it from the cop on "New York Undercover," who told the overfed lady in the show, "This is Sal's livelihood here!" Then consider this plea from my cousin Dan (playing Sal the put-out restaurateur): "All you can eat don't mean eat the whole place! I ain't gonna have nothin' left for the dinner crowd!"

Nancy Leson: 206-464-8838 or nleson@seattletimes.com. More columns available at seattletimes.com/nancyleson.