CNY Part 5: the chaos that never was, and sushi's happiest hour.

The fireworks had ceased. And all were satiated for their thirst for airborne, partially inflamed thrills.

But now, there was a massive problem of logistics.

How do you get over 200,000 people out of one bay, all going the same direction?

The Hong Kong Police knew how to handle this one: let them take the streets. And what a sight it was. In fact, I was awestruck by that display, but this spectacle, where all of the viewers were given free reign to walk down Nathan Road, the largest road in Hong Kong, was astonishing. If there's anything comparable, it would be a riot. But it wasn't. There was no ill will. Just masses upon masses of people. Controlled chaos, meet oxymoronic irony: I not only witnessed it, but fully participated.

By the MTR. No chance.

We had no idea where we were going. All we knew was that we loved it. The feeling was something like a mellow adrenaline: it was a rush, it was exciting, but we weren't exactly going crazy. All was still... perfectly copacetic. As if we walked down the middle of the road en masse any old afternoon. The chatter of the spectacle was dulcet, heightened in its lack of industrious car sounds. Just. The sounds of the crowd in no particular hurry, but still moving at alarming rates. Mellifluous, the sound really was.

Matt noticed a building in the horizon, and, whipping out his trusty iPhone, suggested we feast, since we hadn't really done so yet, and restaurants now being open. His suggestion: sushi. Not just any sushi, though. Authentic sushi bar sushi, but at half price. At 10:30 pm.

At Sushi One in Kowloon, it was sushi happy hour, and everyone strangely agreed to this principle. Following the crowd before taking our exit onto a sidewalk, the journey reached its resting place. Cooing farewell to our riot-that-wasn't, we followed an escalator to a bizarrely white marble floor of some building, with a line already in its fledgling stages for other potential diners.

At the strike of 10:30 and the happiest hour (and a half, technically) of all for our soon-to-be-filled stomachs, we took our slot in a strangely intimate booth at this strangely posh sushi bar. The walls were black, but reflective, with polished metals and shining beads abounding.

Wasn't kidding. This is a reflection.

We used the menu for its pictures, and pencil-ordered a smorgasbord of delectable bites. Well, I was told we were. I only suggested a tempura shrimp, and then eventually eased up and ordered more (especially when I found out there was a minimum payment).

That was a great decision.

Salmon, not my favorite. But my favorite was on the far side... Tempura fried soft shell crab. The Louisianan in me smiled greatly. Soy sauce was a startlingly nice accent, and the crab was fried to a perfect, flaky crisp. Not an abrasive crunch to be found.

Salmon/shrimp and avocado of some kind. It had a fancy name, but it was rockin'.

I was never too fond of American sushi, but here in its rightful continent of origin (and actually next to a sea that would allow for fresh catches), it was all good. I didn't have one bad piece of fish.

Sorry Jaim, and sorry Johnson family for having to witness these shots.

In America, we would have spent hundreds of dollars on all of the sushi we ate. But instead, as a group of 5, we spent a total of HK$661 (which should have been over $1,000), meaning about US$17 per person. It was the new year. Everyone was pleasantly jovial. Still copacetic. We may have just been blips upon the millions of other blips in this tumultuous city with all-too-many things happening, but we couldn't have asked for anything more than good friends, good company, and a helluva lot of good fish.

Hey, we get a feast every once in a while, too.