Sushi No More
It is a weird way to begin a new blog … with the announcement of a death. Yesterday my love of sushi died. Brutally, violently, unexpectedly.
The Crime Scene: a sushi joint in brooklyn.The Weapon: avocado.
The Motive: a recently developed repulsion for said fruit.
The Details: Snuggled up to my soft-shelled crab (spider roll) was this bizarre tasting green monster. I picked out the first specks of it from the first of six pieces. In drinking sake and talking to my friend, MG, I consumed the others. A few minutes later my belly staged a revolt, sending the taste of sea moss and dank earth into my mouth. A well sprung around my teeth. My bulging eyes warned the alarmed MG that this could not possibly end well.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“Help me,” I replied, my hand firmly clasped across my mouth like a dam. He didn’t. Couldn’t really.
I rushed to the bathroom, which in my state, was truly a football field away.
I made it. Barely.
Twenty-five dollars worth of sushi went undigested.
MG was kind enough not to laugh at me when I returned, ashen and sickeningly thrilled to be rid of the contents of my stomach. Immediately, the smell of soy sauce and raw fish threatened to begin its own rush on my tender stomach. I know I will not be able to bear that scent for a long time.
Do avocado trees grow in Japan? Why do modern sushi chefs insist on putting this vile filler into their creations?