It's all in the presentation. Anything that looks this good has to be epic, and no less. In fact, take a moment to appreciate. Notice the colors, the intricate designs drizzled atop. Appreciate the precise cutting, the perfectly uniform chunks. Feel the texture, ranging from smooth and savory to warm and fuzzy. The only thing missing is the sense of smell. Lean way in, inhale deeply - it hardly smells like anything at all, certainly not what one would expect.
I'm talking, of course, about sushi.
I remember the first time it was suggested that I should try raw fish. I was in grade school. I recoiled in horror - how revolting. My closest experience with fish involved the little blue gills I used to catch in Wisconsin Dells. My hands would reek fishy for days afterward. The thought of chowing down on the uncooked flesh was nothing short of repulsive.
I credit my brother and his wife for opening my eyes to this culinary delight. It was bound to happen sooner or later, so why not give sushi a try? My brother, being my brother, ordered a selection of his favorite rolls. He nonchalantly remarked, "Try it. You'll love it." I had no idea what to expect. How does one present raw fish?
What arrived at our table on that fateful afternoon was a carefully arranged platter of sheer, delightful beauty. I've never seen food prepared, and presented, with such grace and style. The colors, the textures; this more closely resembled art, than lunch. The chefs had prepared several sushi rolls, which were cut into bite-size pieces and slightly separated so that we could see what was inside. Moreover, each roll was drizzled with sauce. Some were sprinkled with fish roe. All looked delicious.
I fumbled with my chopsticks, and as directed, grabbed a hunk. It didn't smell fishy at all - I would later learn that fresh, high-quality seafood does not, in fact, smell or taste fishy. I looked at it. There was definitely seafood here, along with something green and fleshy, all wrapped neatly in rice and held together with a paper made from seaweed. I dipped it into a mixture of soy sauce and wasabi paste and gave it a try.
This roll was warm. It melted in my mouth. As it melted, it gave off an incredible succession of flavors, all smooth and savory. This was not rubbery at all, as I had expected. I had just tried my first eel roll, made from sea eel, avocado, and cucumber - delicious.
I moved on to a simple Alaska roll, made with raw salmon, avocado, and cucumber. The salmon, like the eel, was tender and delectable. This was incredible fare, without a hint of fishy odor or rubbery texture.
The best part of sushi is trying the specialty rolls featured at the restaurant. My brother's favorite place offers a Super Mario Roll, made from Japanese, Chinese, and American mushrooms. It is presented like a giant fuzzy caterpillar, topped and stuffed with mushrooms. The palate is woodsy and powdery; to call it 'dusty' does no justice, but words of adequate descriptive capabilities fail me.
Closer to home, a sushi joint in Freeport features the Fuji roll, made with salmon, avocado, mango, and raspberry. This is sushi at its finest, with an extra sweet and smooth kick. Another restaurant in Madison boasts their signature Muramoto roll, crafted with egg paper, tuna, sweet shrimp, squid, alfalfa sprouts, spicy mayonnaise, and sprinkled with salmon roe. My favorite is to pick up the leftover salmon eggs and pop them in my mouth, one at a time, like juicy little saltwater grapes.
Certain sushi restaurants like to have fun with their entrées, adding to the wow-factor upon delivery. I ordered the Caterpillar roll at one place, and was amused to have what appeared to be an enormous and elaborate larva presented on a platter. Avocado made it bright green, while slices of certain fish gave it red and yellow overtones. Two slender mushrooms for antennae, salmon roe for eyes, and spicy mayo drizzled into legs completed the arrangement. I nearly considered it too good to eat, but sushi is too good not to eat.
Undoubtedly, the best part of sushi is sharing it with those who have not yet given it a try. I am constantly amazed how many people, even now, react to the prospect of sushi just as I did back in grade school. The secret is, to start at a low level from which to expound. For example:
Several years ago I took my then-girlfriend out for dinner. It was my turn to choose the restaurant. She was obviously weary - several of her friends confronted me ahead of time, "Ashley tells me that you're going out for sushi on Friday ... She sounds nervous."
We started small. A bowl of miso soup led to appetizers. I recommended the tamago, which is essentially a bite-size omelet. So far, so good. A slice of ginger cleared the palate. Next came the harmless and surefire Philly roll, made with smoked salmon and cream cheese. I smiled - she was enjoying herself, having tried something a little out of the ordinary. In fact, the moments of anticipation, which accompany trying something for the first time, are the truly remarkable moments in life.
By the end of the evening Ashley had tried, and loved, exotics like eel and salmon sashimi.
And we lived happily ever after.
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Monday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
I'm talking, of course, about sushi.
I remember the first time it was suggested that I should try raw fish. I was in grade school. I recoiled in horror - how revolting. My closest experience with fish involved the little blue gills I used to catch in Wisconsin Dells. My hands would reek fishy for days afterward. The thought of chowing down on the uncooked flesh was nothing short of repulsive.
I credit my brother and his wife for opening my eyes to this culinary delight. It was bound to happen sooner or later, so why not give sushi a try? My brother, being my brother, ordered a selection of his favorite rolls. He nonchalantly remarked, "Try it. You'll love it." I had no idea what to expect. How does one present raw fish?
What arrived at our table on that fateful afternoon was a carefully arranged platter of sheer, delightful beauty. I've never seen food prepared, and presented, with such grace and style. The colors, the textures; this more closely resembled art, than lunch. The chefs had prepared several sushi rolls, which were cut into bite-size pieces and slightly separated so that we could see what was inside. Moreover, each roll was drizzled with sauce. Some were sprinkled with fish roe. All looked delicious.
I fumbled with my chopsticks, and as directed, grabbed a hunk. It didn't smell fishy at all - I would later learn that fresh, high-quality seafood does not, in fact, smell or taste fishy. I looked at it. There was definitely seafood here, along with something green and fleshy, all wrapped neatly in rice and held together with a paper made from seaweed. I dipped it into a mixture of soy sauce and wasabi paste and gave it a try.
This roll was warm. It melted in my mouth. As it melted, it gave off an incredible succession of flavors, all smooth and savory. This was not rubbery at all, as I had expected. I had just tried my first eel roll, made from sea eel, avocado, and cucumber - delicious.
I moved on to a simple Alaska roll, made with raw salmon, avocado, and cucumber. The salmon, like the eel, was tender and delectable. This was incredible fare, without a hint of fishy odor or rubbery texture.
The best part of sushi is trying the specialty rolls featured at the restaurant. My brother's favorite place offers a Super Mario Roll, made from Japanese, Chinese, and American mushrooms. It is presented like a giant fuzzy caterpillar, topped and stuffed with mushrooms. The palate is woodsy and powdery; to call it 'dusty' does no justice, but words of adequate descriptive capabilities fail me.
Closer to home, a sushi joint in Freeport features the Fuji roll, made with salmon, avocado, mango, and raspberry. This is sushi at its finest, with an extra sweet and smooth kick. Another restaurant in Madison boasts their signature Muramoto roll, crafted with egg paper, tuna, sweet shrimp, squid, alfalfa sprouts, spicy mayonnaise, and sprinkled with salmon roe. My favorite is to pick up the leftover salmon eggs and pop them in my mouth, one at a time, like juicy little saltwater grapes.
Certain sushi restaurants like to have fun with their entrées, adding to the wow-factor upon delivery. I ordered the Caterpillar roll at one place, and was amused to have what appeared to be an enormous and elaborate larva presented on a platter. Avocado made it bright green, while slices of certain fish gave it red and yellow overtones. Two slender mushrooms for antennae, salmon roe for eyes, and spicy mayo drizzled into legs completed the arrangement. I nearly considered it too good to eat, but sushi is too good not to eat.
Undoubtedly, the best part of sushi is sharing it with those who have not yet given it a try. I am constantly amazed how many people, even now, react to the prospect of sushi just as I did back in grade school. The secret is, to start at a low level from which to expound. For example:
Several years ago I took my then-girlfriend out for dinner. It was my turn to choose the restaurant. She was obviously weary - several of her friends confronted me ahead of time, "Ashley tells me that you're going out for sushi on Friday ... She sounds nervous."
We started small. A bowl of miso soup led to appetizers. I recommended the tamago, which is essentially a bite-size omelet. So far, so good. A slice of ginger cleared the palate. Next came the harmless and surefire Philly roll, made with smoked salmon and cream cheese. I smiled - she was enjoying herself, having tried something a little out of the ordinary. In fact, the moments of anticipation, which accompany trying something for the first time, are the truly remarkable moments in life.
By the end of the evening Ashley had tried, and loved, exotics like eel and salmon sashimi.
And we lived happily ever after.
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Monday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
