Editorial
Front Page - Friday, July 30, 2010
Are we there yet?
Trapped
Jay Edwards
So I was wandering around my house awhile back, having made the decision to sip on a beer rather than do the three-mile walk with my wife, when my daughter Alexis and two of her friends came in with some sushi they wanted me to try.
That’s what I get for not exercising.
In my opinion, someone from the Far East who still holds a grudge about WWII, invented sushi as revenge against the United States.
Anyway, Alexis opened the little Styrofoam container, and inside there were six of the little sushi things. I looked at them for a moment and tried hard to think of a way out of tasting them.
I’ve had sushi before, I mean it’s not like I’m that far behind the times. But I always give Alexis a hard time about eating it, and so she had now planned to get even by making me try some in front of a couple of her 20-year old friends.
Just a side-note here, it doesn’t matter how old we men get, as long as there is a drop of testosterone left somewhere in the recesses of our tired old carcasses, we will somehow manage to perform the most ridiculous acts if we think there is the slightest possibility we might impress the girls.
I know, it’s crazy, but we really can’t help it.
Two old guys I know (OK, they’re my age) recently found themselves in a setting where there were lots of young ladies milling about. They were standing off to the side and admiring the scenery when one of them said to the other, “You know, the saddest thing about all this is that to them, we’re invisible.”
But back to the sushi, which translated means – “You aren’t really going to eat this are you?”
There I was, with the three of them watching me, and nowhere to hide. As I began moving my hand towards one, Alexis’ friend Megan said, “Do you want me to show you how to use these chopsticks?”
“Of course I do,” I replied through a relieved smile, thinking it would take at least a good half hour to figure them out.
But I even messed that up, or Megan was a really good teacher, because in no time I was handling the thin pieces of wood like an old pro.
The girls informed me that these particular sushi’s were called “California Wraps,” which I said sounded like, “Maui Wowie” or “Acapulco Gold.” Thankfully, they didn’t seem to understand what I was talking about.
Then I thought of another story to share with them. Yes, I was stalling, hoping perhaps a tornado would hit, or that maybe some strangers on bicycles would come by and invite themselves, and their salvation pamphlets into my home.
Desperate times – anything to keep the foul tasting refuse away from my lips.
I told the girls about the time, one Christmas vacation, when I was in college, and got a job working for an old Japanese couple who owned some greenhouses in North Little Rock.
Every day at lunch I would drive a couple of blocks to the Golden Arches for my Big Mac, fries and Coke, and bring it back with me to the greenhouses where I would eat with my employers.
And every day I would ask them if I could bring them anything back to eat, and they would look at me like I had a Komodo dragon sitting on my head.
They also ate the same thing every day – rice balls wrapped in seaweed, which as far as I know, McDonald’s has never added to their menu (the king of fast food would eventually experiment with other cultures and ethnic cuisines though, by offering McRibs, and later Bratwurst, but I haven’t seen them on the menu for awhile either).
But back to the present, there I stood, fresh out of any more stalling stories, natural disasters or door-to-door soul saviors. I had nothing left, and felt hopeless as I stared into my fate – the abyss known as the “California Wrap.”
Someone said to me one time that “ the taste of sushi will grow on you if you stay with it long enough.”
That may be true, as I guess eating tree bark or lizard lips would grow on you, but you don’t see any of those restaurants popping up.
Well the moment of truth arrived and after they told me to dip it in the soy sauce, which I liberally did, I balanced the little monster from the West Coast on the sticks and shoved it into my mouth.
Mission accomplished, cultural milestone complete.
This was followed by, quick swallowing and watery eyes, as I found myself in the familiar spot of being laughed at again.
Oh well, whatever it takes.
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