It looks so cool. It's low in fat. It's made up of things I like - crab, avacado, shrimp, weird vegetables. I love the nifty flat plates and the little soy sauce bowls.
Other people love it. They love it so much, that all you have to do is say the word "sushi," and their faces light up and they drool a little and the pull out their wallets and ask for directions to the nearest joint.
Neal and I tried sushi - for the first time each - about 2 years ago. When we moved to the Keys, I noticed a sushi place right up the road, and since I'd always wanted to try it, we decided to go there one day on my lunch break.
No one told us that when eating sushi for the first time, you really should either ask for help, or have someone with you who knows what they're doing. The staff wasn't very friendly, and it was just the two of us. We were just... eating things. Taking big bites of things that are meant to be smeared in tiny amounts on rolls, or blended into the soy sauce. I think you know where I'm going with this.
Fortunately, neither of us were dumb enough to take a big ol' bite of wasabi - because, well, I'm not putting a pile of electric green paste into my mouth unless I know what was ground up to create it. But I have to admit, I just scooped up and chomped a big ol' bite of ginger, without having any idea what it was.
Me: "I think it's salmon."
Neal: "Try it."
Me: "YOU try it."
Neal: "I dare you."
Me: "Okay."
One big bite later...
Me: "Ew! Oh my God! I think someone sprayed perfume on this salmon!"
It was a disaster.
Since then, I've never had the guts to just come out and ask someone how to do it, because frankly, I'm a little embarrassed that I don't know what's going on with the sushi. I'm a hip lady, okay? This is just one trend that's passed me by.
Now, I didn't give up. Since The First Sushi Disaster, whenever people talk about sushi, I listen. I watch when actors eat it in movies or on television. I read a thread on some message board somewhere all about sushi. I thought the next time I was confronted with a California Roll, I'd be good to go.
Tonight, I learned that I was very, very wrong.
Neal and I went shopping in Miami today. There's one building that's pretty much a strip mall, but vertical. We've been there many times before, and every time, I've noticed signs advertising a place called, "The Pan-Asian Cafe" on the ground floor. I've always wanted to try it, but it seems like we've always been in a hurry. Today, we had the money and we had the time. We were going in.
The place was very cute and very hip. Pretty people, modern settings, cool menus. We were seated smack dab in the middle of the restaurant, and right near where all the servers hung out. We were extremely visible. Neal decided to order a chicken thai dish - pretty much a stir fry. I elected to try a pretty simple roll - shrimp, avacado, asparagus, and some other stuff. Simple. I could handle this.
The waiter brought out the food. He set out the little soy sauce dishes. Everything looked good. I poured my soy. We were all set.
But.
I'm looking at my rolls. They're big. They aren't the cute little sushi rolls I've seen other people just pick up, dip, and pop in their mouths. They aren't only big, but they're wrapped in seaweed, so there isn't really an obvious way to break them down into smaller bites. We have no silverware - just chopsticks. I need a plan.
Plan of Attack #1: Divide And Conquer
Neal watches me with increasing amusement as I pick up a segment of the giant sliced roll with my chopsticks. Dip it into the soy sauce, and then return it to my plate. Next, try to kind of poke the sushi into more manageable pieces with my chopsticks. Quickly realize that chopsticks are blunt, and not, you know, designed to POKE food in HALF. Am left with a small pile of sushi roll parts. Scoop up parts with my chopsticks and fingertips. Neal smirks. Think of new plan.
Plan Of Attack #2: Bite The Bullet
Neal even more amused. After rethinking plan, decide the closest thing I have to a knife are my teeth, and should use them to my advantage. Lift giant sushi roll slice to my mouth with chopsticks. Attempt to bite whole thing in half. Realize far too late that the seaweed is too tough to be cleanly bit. Smile charmingly at Neal around giant glob of rice and seaweed and crap hanging halfway out of my mouth, and begin attempt to saw through seaweed with teeth.
Seaweed still not relenting. Huddled over plate, with large amount of food half way inside and halfway outside of my mouth. Roll begins to fall apart, but still large amount of seaweed sticking out of face. Neal's face changing from amused to horrified, while I continue desperately sawing while trying to look around and see if entire restaurant is staring at Crazy Pig Girl. Begin to panic, thinking it may never give, and will have to go to work like this in the morning, reading the radio news around mouthful of food. Eventually reach into own mouth and physically pull seaweed apart with fingers. Am left with new pile of sushi components, very red face, and madly giggling boyfriend. Time to regroup.
Plan of Attack #3: The Squirrel
Come to conclusion that there is no logical way to cut sushi, so must be meant to be placed in mouth whole. Make sure Neal isn't looking. Dip roll into soy, and - with great difficulty - shove entire thing in mouth. Mouth is so full, not sure jaws have leverage to commence chewing action. Immediately after successful stuffing of face, realize small amount of rice stuck to lip. Want to poke it into mouth so won't have white glob stuck to face, because don't want to draw any more attention to self. In attempts to do so, realize don't have room in mouth for tiny bit of rice. Mouth has reached full capacity. Feel like am being forced to swallow log. Begin chewing, with much difficulty.
Make horrible mistake of imagining what self must look like.
Begin to laugh.
Neal's attention drawn by muffled laughter. Asks what is so funny. Am utterly, completely unable to give answer, as am not only cracking up, but still slowly working way through giant pile of sushi, including difficult-to-chew seaweed wrapping. Neal notices puffed cheeks and puts puzzle together, guessing what his moron girlfriend has tried to do. Keeps looking from plate to my mouth, over and over. Laughing hysterically the entire time.
Plan Of Attack #4: Throw In The Towel
Ask waiter for box. Give up and take sushi home, where there are knives. Eat off of Neal's plate for rest of meal.
