I HATE fish. I hate looking at them, eating them, smelling them, talking about them, thinking about them. I spent sixty-minutes each day for a week hiding in the bathroom at Camp Echo because my counselor wouldn’t let me switch out of the fishing class I had signed up for – I tried to make myself do things that scared me even at age 11 – but quickly thought the better of when I realized that part of fishing class was interacting with fish.
That said, up until yesterday, I had never tried sushi. Never been to a sushi restaurant, never partaken in a sushi discussion, never been able to live the sushi lifestyle. And that last one was killing me! It’s such an adorable food. People are always talking about their latest sushi excursion, and much like how I feel about the dog-park, I’ve always been standing outside the sushi window, my face pressed up against the glass, desperately wanting to be inside with everyone else.
And so, on February 19th, 2010, I became one of you. And I loved it! We told the waitress that I was a sushi-virgin, that I hated fish, and that I liked spice. She recommended three varieties and they were all delicious. The first picture is a Spicy Snowball – which from now on will be my karaoke name – which is rice spheres topped with white tuna and a truffle, scallion and soy sauce. The middle picture shows Creamy Maki – shrimp tempura, unagi, sweet crab, masago, and mayo rolled in avocado – which taught me that anything wrapped in avocado, just like anything wrapped in bacon, is amazing. The third picture is Crunchy Salmon – salmon, cucumber, and spicy mayo – my least favorite because it was the most fishy, but still yummy.
Embarrassing moments of the Sushi Experience:
1. I had to ask for a fork – chopsticks is not one of my abilities
2. The waitress brought me the chopsticks reserved for four year-olds, rubber-banded at the top and said, “Why don’t you try these before I bring you a fork?”
3. I unscrewed the soy sauce bottle top, not realizing there was a little spout in the cap; the waitress horrifyingly asked, “Wait, is it not coming out of the top???” I fumbled to screw the cap back on, being thankful I’m mocha-complexed so that blushes aren’t noticeable.
4. The waitress hesitated in disgust after we ordered pork dumplings, I’m guessing because they’re something an Average Joe would order. She begrudgingly obliged.
Embarrassing moments aside, it was lovely and I’m excited to now be able to participate in sushi-talk.