My husband’s fear of Japanese restaurants is such that tonight at dinner he somehow fell for any FISH joke I made or any possibility fish would make an appearance at our table. This included, but was not limited to:
- My joke that the unique onion rings were “unique” because they had a big slab of fish on top (he did devour them and enjoy them – they are amazing and entirely fish-less).
- Ordering the avacado rolls while assuring him he would like them – he instantly assumed there would be a secret sliver of fish in them, simply because it was some fishy conspiracy we were all complicit in. P.S. he spit one out anyway (seaweed = fish, apparently).
- When my order (tempura prawn roll) was delivered and he saw the “tails” of the prawns. His eyes darted around and he got pale and clammy – again, positive the sushi-ninjas were going to jump on him and shovel slabs of some sludge-feeding aquatic craniate vertebrate down his throat.
I don’t want to drag him into an establishment that makes him jumpy and, yes, slightly ill. But I think I will have to let the dream die – the dream that I can enjoy my sashimi and pot stickers and dynamite rolls and Red Hook with the man I love.
Other highlights from today:
- Post-date wet t-shirt contest (my son’s puke as the “wet”, poor little guy)
- Visiting the new Aldrich’s. A town of 8,000. A fabled grocery store with – among other things – freshly-rolled sushi, local bagels, and euro chocolate. The price? Uptown snootiness and high prices. Sign me up!
- A wonderful, wonderful bath and mid-afternoon slumber with Nels. When he and I began to surface from Slumberland (Population: 2) he struggled up, leaned in, and gave me a kiss. P.S. for all you childless sad-sack cat-lovers reading this: an episode like this is sort of like when a kitten tries to stick its face in your mouth. But even better. Like, if the kitten then got out of bed and made you a hot fudge sundae.