"Oh," says the guy who used to wrap his belt-sash all the way from his hips to his lower ribs on purpose, absently, "draws attention to the waist, evens out a strange figure and some height imbalances, makes a statement, plus you can attach quite heavy tools to one without worrying about fraying, with care."
He winks at him, and dips into the rice pot just as someone comes up with the tempura. "Presentation isn't everything. Quite."
The tempura gets assembled into a fairly standard tempura tower with attractive sauce drizzles, but the steak plate he hands Spike has a smiley face of rice and scallions on a bed of hibachi vegetables, with scallion devil horns, the halo of an elliptical lime slice hanging haphazardly off one of them, and wings striped with egg and strips of steak, dusted with smaller shreds of green onion.
Take that, no frills. Spike was probably only trying to make him disappoint the customer anyway.