Sushi

I love sushi. Really, really love it.

I remember being really disappointed the first time some friends took me for sushi when I was in America – the waitress brought the plates to the table and I looked at the tiny little rolls in amazement. Surely that wasn’t the entire meal? I could have eaten each one of those in one bite, one after the other, all by myself, and still had room for dessert! I didn’t see how it was meant to feed four fully-grown women.

I was wrong, of course, because there was actually some left over in the end. They’re surprisingly filling, those little rolls – and what’s more, you take your time over them because they’re so damn tasty. It would be a crying shame to just wolf them all down without really appreciating them.

I must confess that I generally opt for the American versions rather than the Japanese ones, but this is purely because I absolutely love the California/Philadelphia Maki and I can’t reist ordering them even if I feel that I should branch out and try something more adventurous. And, oh, when that little plate arrives with its colourful display of sesame seeded rice rolls filled with succulent pink salmon and crunchy avacado, the little bowl of rich soy sauce, the pile of moist, tangy ginger and dab of wasabi on the side…

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I love it, love it, love it. I eat sushi more slowly than I eat anything else in the world – normally I bolt my food in a very greedy manner, but with sushi I take my time. And not just because I’ve never quite mastered chopsticks. I just love to savour the gorgeous combination of flavours that is, as far as I’m aware, unrivalled by any other kind of meal. It tastes so fresh and clean and good and wholesome and healthy and indulgent and sharp and smooth and rich and light all at the same time.And it’s fun to go to a sushi bar and use chopsticks and pour out your soy sauce and mix in your wasabi and just go through the whole sushi ritual – it’s much more than just something to eat!

It just makes me happy.

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