Sushi Sanctimony

I recall a day, not so very long ago, where eating sushi was a novelty.  Bordering even on the strange.  To have a California roll was to be adventurous.  Raw salmon was unthinkable.

I remember my first experience with sushi on the way back from the city with a couple friends (circa 1992).  We decided to venture into the unknown, went into a Japanese restaurant, declared ourselves as newbies, and placed our nervous selves at the mercy of the chef.  Of course he knew what to expect from us and therefore played it safe, serving us the ubiquitous California roll, miso soup, and most likely a tempura of some sort.

Aside from the new flavour palate, and moment of folly where I underestimated the potency of wasabi, it was uneventful.  I survived the unknown.  I now had a new thing to call my own (relatively).

I arrived back home, and told my family about what I had tried.  My Mom was wide-eyed, and somewhat disgusted, regardless of the fact that I assured her everything I had tried was cooked.  My Dad was slightly less surprised, but then we didn’t understand each other much at all back then.  I could’ve come home with a tap-dancing camel and his reaction would’ve been the same: “Why would you feel the need…?” I was encouraged to get checked for intestinal worms by both of them.

Later on, sushi and Japanese food in general would become comfort food.  My roommate at the time and I would go out for a home-cooked meal, brought to us by adorable, but completely non-Anglophonic staff.  The adventure continued, as we were often brought whatever the waitress felt like.  We would accept graciously, and tip absurdly.

There was a vibe to Japanese restaurants.  It was a place where the young and/or adventurous could be found, quietly but enthusiastically noshing on a variety of raw seafood, and miscellaneous tofu-based creations.

Time passes.  Perceptions change.  Friends tell friends.  Children tell their parents.  The once adventurous youth now have children of their own, and suddenly sushi restaurants are the Denny’s of the next generation.

Gone are the days of Bohemian solitude over a platter of thick slices of wild sockeye.  Now it’s a miracle to even have your chopsticks out of their wrapper before a strange child has managed to lob a piece of a cucumber roll onto your table.

I’m of two minds on this.  Well, three really.  

First: it’s exciting that the next generation has both the availability of a wide variety of foods, and that their parents are bringing them up to embrace it.  

Second: I really do miss the days of having a quiet sushi dinner.  My restaurant selection has become based upon previous experiences of roll-lobbing and screaming.  Really, some of these restaurants have become a ball-pit shy of being Chuck-E-Cheese.

And lastly, most importantly, yet briefly (because this IS a rant worthy of a post of its own): what happened to public etiquette?  When my brother and I were little and were taken out to a restaurant we were on our best behaviour.  Sure that sometimes meant we would rip the house to shreds afterwards, having kept all our brattiness inside for too long, but we understood what was expected of us.  Running over to someone else’s table to stare at their dinner, bellow across the restaurant “Mommy?  WHAT’S THIS?”, or climb around under tables was not an option.

What we’ve gained in broadness of thinking we seem to have sacrificed in manners.

I kinda want my quiet sushi joint back.