I ducked into Genki Sushi for lunch. I sat at the counter, where a tiny conveyor belt snaked along in front of me carrying colored plates full of glistening sushi, rolls, sashimi, and other treats. Just pick and eat — and pay per plate. So the goofy Japanese guy next to me got chatty. We discussed the conveyor-belt sushi bar concept and how much we both loved it, then he poked some buttons on his electronic translator and showed me the screen. “This name in Japan.” The translator spelled revolution. Makes sense, the “revolution” sushi bar, but now I’ll never shake the image of Che Guevara sitting there plucking sushi off the belt.