My favorite sushi restaurant amazes me as a small business, in part because they don’t act like a business. They act like a family that welcomes guests into their home, pleased to be able to host me.

The maitre d’ always greets us with a bow and a “Nice to see you again,” and I sense he really means it. Two or three waitresses often crouch down at our table to “ooh” and “ahh” over my 2-yr-old daughter, as they do every child who walks in to their restaurant. One waitress presents my daughter with an origami crane made especially for her.

As a small business serving the pickiest clientele in the world (New Yorkers), my neighborhood sushi place excels by making us forget they run a business.

They give the feeling that if nobody paid money for the food, they would still be there, patting beautiful sushi rolls dry, book-ended with mounds of wasabe and pickled ginger.

For me, this is difference between owning a small business and working for a large business. Since work is how we spend most of our waking hours every day, it should be filled with as many small pleasures as possible.

My neighborhood sushi place reminds me to work at my small business as a privilege, a pleasure, and a vocation.

When the sushi chef slyly carves a little flower blossom out of a carrot and hands it to my daughter in the middle of dinner, he’s won two customers for life.