Biting in

I have to confess, I haven't had sushi since I went to Japan a year and a half ago. Nothing against it, but there have been a few things stopping me.

There are really three reasons:
1. I couldn't imagine that sushi in America could compare to melt-in-your-mouth seafood that I had there;
2. Despite how delicious it was, I did end up getting a bit sick from it, which will always slow you down on diving in again;
3. There were no sushi restaurants in the town I live.

The last one helped me avoid the dilemma of being forced to eat sushi by my poor, naive American friends who didn't have the dumb luck of having a rotary club pay their way to try the filet mignon of raw fish. And it also kept me from having to confront my fears, which was probably the greatest of the three deterrents. But fairly recently, a restaurant opened up and ruined my cover.

On Saturday night, a few friends and I went to this new place, with me secretly planning to order something cooked and Chinese on the menu. When we got there, however, I was really impressed. From the outside, the restaurant looks like one of those chintzy places tucked in a shopping center. But the fingerprinted glass doors swing open to a pretty elegant and huge dining room. Our waiter's enthusiasm for the wildest and most artistic of sushi creations was a bit catching. And he delivered an array of plates filled with really great stuff. It made me remember why I like raw fish in the first place.

Lesson learned: My sushi fast is over.