sushi shop

I don't remember when I discovered it, but I have come up with the world's third greatest S tongue twister.  ("She sells seashells" and "I'm a sheet slitter" obviously already occupying slots one and two.)  Are you ready?  Are you sitting down?  Are you sure?  Here we go:  sushi shop.

Seriously.  Try saying it five times fast, it's a real pill.  I simply look at it and try to say "sushi" and my tongue goes all in circles just thinking about it.

But really I didn't set out to write about the stunt linguistics* you may or may not be able to get yourself up to.  All I really wanted to write about was sushi.

Like mangoes and Max Brenner, I discovered sushi entirely too late in life.  I don't actually recall my first encounter, but I think I had to have been over 18.  My dad doesn't like seafood of any kind, so the best we ever managed growing up was Market Day's crispy, crunchy cod when he was away on business trips.  And cocktail shrimp if we were really, really lucky.  (Growing up in the Midwest doesn't exactly broaden your seafood palate any, either.)

The mango, by the way, never found its way into my diet until senior year (senior year!) of college, when my roommate brought one home for her first time, too.  (Oh, the firsts of the American Christian college experience!)   We didn't have a clue how to eat it and stood precariously over the sink, trying not to dye the whole kitchen mango-orange.  We succeeded in that, though little else.  She took one bite and hated it; I promptly finished it, dripping orange ooze from every corner of my face and picking my teeth for days to come.

Since then I've grown more and more fond of mangoes, even undergoing a phase wherein I ate nothing besides mangoes for lunch or dinner (I told you American girls go through odd dietary phases) and was so desperate for something to gnaw on that I developed a very acute taste for their skin.  To this day I love eating mangoes skin and all, though I've yet to master the art of avoiding the incessant orange drips.  My co-workers remain utterly bemused and tell, I am certain, quite lavish dinner party stories about the strange American at work who eats the most bizarre concoctions in the oddest of ways.

Mangoes, though, were hardly the point.  Sushi was.  Though I don't remember exactly when I started eating it, at some point I discovered that I quite enjoyed it and considered it a huge treat.  Then I moved to Sydney and discovered that you could buy sushi on absolutely every corner for something in the neighborhood of $3 a roll.  ($3, you may recall, being the standard bottom price in Sydney.  I don't think they actually make cash registers that allow for figures lower.)

The roll was a new concept to me.  I'm sure we must have it in America, but I was used to getting my sushi already sliced up into bite-sized pieces.  The roll was fantastic because it was, well, bigger.  And, considering, reasonably priced.  And extremely available.

There's tons of Japanese food all over Sydney.  And Korean, and Vietnamese, and Malaysian, and Chinese.  There's also, oddly enough, huge populations of people from all over Asia.  Which works out especially great in two regards:  first, the sushi.  Second, the clothes.  Okay, this might be a bit specific to me, but, hey.  While I don't look Asian at all (go figure, I'm not), I'm not that far off in terms of shape.  Thus, the myriad clothing stores that cater primarily to Asian girls have the added benefit of also catering quite well to various other less-than-busty girls with less-than-overweight figures -- empire waists all around, hurrah!

But the sushi roll.  I love it.  It's great.  I’ve heard a few news bulletins about the dangers of getting dodgy ones from those hole-in-the-wall shops that sell them cheaper than $3, so I generally stick to the very aptly named Sushi Roll.  Which actually has a bargain where you can get 2 for $5, which makes the perfect lunch.  Or lunch and dinner.  Or whatever.

The only trouble is actually getting what you think you’re getting.  Seeing as I’ve yet to talk to a fluent (or even high intermediate, in my professional opinion) sushi seller (hmm, say that out loud, too), I find it by far best to order only – only – using the point and smile and method.  A well enunciated “Cal-i-forn-ia” doesn’t hurt either, though, and away you go.

And really that's all I wanted to say.  Sayonara.

If you need anything, I'll be plucking pheasants till the pheasant plucker comes.

*Credit where due:  the phrase comes from Garry.  With 2Rs.