Chirashi

For dinner tonight, I ate sushi with my parents. Eating with them is fun—mainly because, one, they order more than three human bodies can comfortably hold in one sitting, and two, they aren’t possessive over their food (which enables me to eat about a ¼ off mom’s plate, and then a ¼ off of dad’s). We ordered in tonight from a local Rockaway restaurant called, Osake. When eating with the ‘rents, I tend to adopt animalistic tendencies that I wouldn’t normally use in public. For example, I enjoy using chopsticks. But at home, I take complete comfort and pleasure in grabbing a thick piece of tuna with my little hand, smearing and smooshing it all around in soy and/or miso sauce, and then—only after it’s all “gujed-up,”—will I toss it deep into the back of my throat and feel it’s sliminess slither all the way down my esoph. Tonight I had Chirashi with brown rice—very easy to grip with the bare hand. See attached image.