Sashimi & Sadness

The first time I ate raw fish was a nightmare.

I had been a hardcore vegetarian for 12 years, and one day something in my body said, “YOU NEED TO EAT FISH.” I watched some documentaries about fish first and was like, “Eh, fish are kinda dumb. Maybe it’s okay to eat them?” and booked a date for my birthday at Tokyo Sushi with my girlfriend at the time, who I was madly in love with. As in, “Holy moly, I’ve known you for two months and I want to marry you” kind of love.

She was beautiful, we were artists, hot-shotted with that kind of intense and immediate passion which I’ve learned is usually misguided. So it goes.

We got dressed up as well as weirdo dirtbags could and made our way to the most respected sushi joint in Oklahoma City, with its low ceilings, hardwood floors, and a sushi bar where the chef will give you extra treats if you sit there. This evening, we did not sit at the bar (mistake number one: always sit at the bar).

Immediately, there was some tension between us. The waiter came around and took our drink orders of house wine. I’m looking at the menu, thinking about what I want this new experience to be. I was in love and looking to find a new love in food. I want salmon sashimi and mackerel and scallop and-

“I think I want to see other people.”

I was thinking about seeing new food and definitely not about wanting to see other people.

“We’ve had a great time together, but I don’t want to be tied down.”

I sighed, rested my forehead in my hands, deflated, speechless. She had nothing else to say, nor did I. The clink of glassware in the distance, ambient music, the sounds of our sighing.

The waiter came back with the wine and asked for our order. We muttered the things we wanted, Japanese words for little pieces of fish arranged in different, intentional ways.

In the way a dream can feel like an hour but only takes a minute, the silence had elapsed when our dead, uncooked fish arrived at the table, cold and glistening, plates gently clinking on the tabletop. I mixed some wasabi into a dish with soy sauce and tried to savor the perfect fatty salmon that was melting in my mouth as tears evaporated on my cheeks. Dinner ended. I got stuck with the birthday break-up bill.

My resilient love of sushi still comes with a wasabi tsunami of heartbreak pain.

Calamari About Town - Tokyo Japanese Restaurant - An American Haiku

Fried calamari (tentacles). So much less. So much arms. Cabbage? Eh. Radish? Neh.

Crispy and purple. Sauce not needed. Oklahoma dynamite. Tokyo hath shined tonight.

by Brine Webb @calamari_about_town