Raw Fish

It was dark by the time we drove down the streets of Annapolis. Sean's GPS, heated seats, and XM getting us there with all the accoutrements of a future I imagined as a child. We were comfortable in our afforded comfort. I was two beers relaxed. This has been a long week.

It is well known that Tsunami is not my favorite restaurant. In fact, most of the time I go out of my way to avoid it. Hearing it's name sends pin-prickles down my spine accompanied by a swelling, overwhelming sense of dread. I don't want to run into her. But mostly, I don't want to run into her and have her not be alone.

As prepared as I am, that's a day I'm still not ready for.

So of course, as soon as I heard Tsunami mentioned as the evenings activities I fought it. I fought it to the point that we were going somewhere else. And we would have, had the Ramshead not been bring-a-douchebag-get-in-free night. I gave in, Tsunami it was. Dennis had left his credit card there the other night anyways.

In the last couple of weeks, I don't know why it is, but I have resolved myself to eat sushi. I mean, really eat it. Really eat it and really like it. Raw fish and all. For me and me only, and not because it's the eclectic thing to do and I should.

I am determined not to starve in Japan later this year.

Well, I can tell you with confidence, the war is over. Sushi won. I officially eat raw fish. I know I had it in Baltimore a couple of months ago but this is the first time I didn't gag. The first time all of it made it in, and none of it came out. The first time I ate anything that had not once touched a cooking surface.

Sitting there, watching Dennis pull off the raw salmon from around one of his New York Rolls, I thought to myself: I don't want to be 'that guy.' (Sorry Dennis.) I then -- by candlelight, music by Franz Ferdinand -- stuffed a whole Metropolitan Roll in my mouth. I wanted the first time to be perfect. Doused in soysauce and covered in wasabi -- like a virgin new to sex -- I finally realized what I had been missing.

It hit me "like a switch." Like I had just turned a trucker cap around on my head, I felt something new. It's time to grow up now. Time to do new things. An innate power I had never noticed. The power of will. I can't wait to eat it again.

Actually, this doesn't come as much of a shock. Lately and clandestinely I've been going to the Hibachi place around the corner and eating seared shrimp. I steal away in shadow and secrecy. Like a convict dodging search lights in a prison yard, it's my little escape.

My mom is going to read this and pass out.

The war between me and seafood has been waged since before civilized man walked erect. With every ounce of my being, tooth and nail, I fought the mysteries of the deep. "I don't do seafood," I'd proclaim with proclivity. It seems the day had come for me to eat my words, raw.

I am a sushi eater. Every time I go I plan to get something I know I like as well as something new. I am going to expand my diet if it kills me.

I'm hoping it doesn't come to that.