I grew up in a small town in Northwestern Illinois right on the Mississippi River. I could spit and hit Iowa (not cultured, maybe, but it sounds like a Mark Twain phrase, doesn’t it?). And, yes my children, I had to walk to school every day because holidays had not been invented yet.
So, I walked. Miles. In the snow. Uphill both ways. Barefoot. Across broken glass. So, don’t complain about those two blocks to the bus stop, OK?
If you had told me then that I would one day eat raw fish and enjoy it I would have told you to stop sniffing the goop Mom used with her hair curlers. Raw food was limited to a few vegetables and fruits where I come from. Any meat that still had any juice left in it, much less raw, was considered unfit for human consumption.
But, then I moved to California. Free-wheeling, anything goes California was a bit of a culture shock for this kid from the sticks. But, I adjusted well. One day, after performing a miracle for my cult (when in Rome…), I tried sushi and was hooked.
And not because it was so fresh the hook was still in it.
California turned me into a sushi lover. Then, it came time to move to Texas. If you had told me then that I would one day eat raw fish in Texas and like it I would have told you to stop sniffing just about everything in California.
But, sushi is everywhere I turn in Texas. One of the best sushi places in the Austin area is in a strip mall in the suburbs owned by a good old boy who employs chefs trained in Japan. And the first thing you see when you enter the big box, Texas founded/Texas-grown grocery store chain is a sushi stand.
It’s quite a culinary cycle, really. Sushi started out as fast food in Japan. Turned into a delicacy. Migrated across the waters as a strange, exotic thing. Now, it’s become fast food again.
Heck, Wal-Mart has sushi of sorts. Go figure.
And after I polish off my fatty tuna ngiri, I need to go put on a big, ugly hat and drill for oil. When in Rome…