Last year, the government in Tokyo, fed up with the proliferation of faux sushi spreading its evil tentacles across the globe, announced that it would offer official seals of recognition for restaurants around the world that served "pure Japanese" cuisine. But we South Floridians don't give a blowfish's fart for authenticity. We'd rather chow down on our beloved deep-fried, mayo-drenched, libidinously named familiars. And truth be told, a well-made American-style roll is a precious thing, whether or not it's accompanied by real grated wasabi root or the green stuff that comes out of a tube. Fah's Japamerican sushi has evolved from its skewed fusion crossbreedings into something adorable and unique like a labradoodle or a puggle, only it doesn't attract fleas or run up vet's bills. Take the Volcano roll, a calorically magnificent hybrid working at peak performance: cream cheese and baked seafood (in mayo, natch) poured over a California roll. Or Sex on the Moon: fried shrimp with eel, asparagus, avocado, and masago, inside out and topped with tuna and tempura flakes. Eat a plate of these babies, and believe it, you won't be defying gravity for quite a while. That the specialty rolls at Fah are beautiful, delicious, satisfying, and relatively inexpensive probably wouldn't convince the Japanese food police to bestow their coveted stamp of approval. But we're sure enough giving them ours.