Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Sushi


9/23/05 – Mandalay bay

I watch the sushi chef as he wipes his brow.  What is he thinking?  As I sit watching him, the wasabi burns my nose.  What is this sushi chef thinking?  Here he is wise looking, but still old and frail at the same time.  Try another piece of spicy tuna.  Ooo, this time the wasabi makes my tongue tingle.  I grab a piece of ginger to change the flavour of my palate. 
The bubbles in my beer float incessantly to the top & now the old sushi chef is knelt down behind the sushi bar, a look of pain on his face, eyes shut tightly and his mouth pursed.  He then stands again at his post waiting to take an order from these wide eyes who have trivialized their food.  In a way the sushi chef, though noble of a profession are no different than the Mexican waiting for some “whetto” to pull up in front of the home depot so they can feed their family that day.  Ok, maybe their a little better because a sushi chef is a noble profession, but then again is it not noble to work for next to nothing, demeaning yourself so you can provide a better life for your entire family. 
The ginger now leaves a sweet taste in my mouth.  I sit here at the sushi bar, watching the old chef reach for the fish.  He forms the rice ball and places the fish on top.  He works quietly just doing his job.  What is he thinking?
Its odd, the people around me here, are all men.  What? Do women not love the sushi?  Is it some sexual urge they are trying to repress?  OMG, what does that say about me, as I sit her alone and gobble up my order?  I watch now as the old chef reaches for the edamame from the freezer.  WTF is that?  Where is the spirit of sushi gone to?  Fine, this is the 21st century, but what of the purity of the art?  The tall one sharpens his knife.  I think this trip came at a perfect time.  I think I’ve lost who I am and being here at the sushi bar alone, but not is kind of freeing.  A woman sits near me.  Huge long nails with a ring with 2 rows of sparkly white stones on her thumb.  Her nails reach at least a ½” beyond her finger.  I have finished all my ginger and I bravely ask for more.  This is a step for me.  Phewph. 
The couple next to me debate color of tuna with the hostess, the woman really wants “white tuna” so instead she orders the California roll.  Then hands her order to the waitress.  A real sushi connoisseur.  The waitress reaches past her and hands the order to the chef.  Peasant with your store bought boobs and girly looking man.