The game usually goes like this. I window-shop one of the 30 or 40 Japanese eateries, ranging from street-squid to MomoFuko, always jammed, to the high-end sushi places where they shave the wasabi onto your plate.
Obviously, this had happened before. Tojo had a score of puffer fish in a thermal bag in 45 seconds and refused payment of any kind. Too bad, under other circumstances, it might have been fun to take something out in trade with the old salt.