The Sushi Experiment: A Photo Essay

Last night, Jared and I decided to take advantage of the fact that we still do not have any children at home to distract us from having to talk to one another and go out for dinner together.

I suggested my favorite Japanese restuarant, Kobé, because we have always had a great time and really enjoyed the teppanyaki style food there.  And since we’ve always had such a great time and enjoyed the teppanyaki style food there, I wisely suggested we not do the teppanyaki style dining and instead eat in a really weird booth that is actually a hole in the floor where they serve you not teppanyaki style food.

Because I am a genius.

And also, I thought it would be much nicer for us to be forced to stare at just each other instead of getting to talk to other people at a community table.

I could tell my plan was going perfectly when I had ripped Jared’s head off exactly two times within the first five minutes of us sitting alone together.

Because I am a fantastic wife.

The lovely waitress brought us hot towels and menus and I noticed something that had never been offered to us in the teppanyaki dining room.  Sushi.  Lots and lots of sushi.

“You should get sushi!” I told Jared.

“Um… why?”

“Because!  It’s a chance to try something new!  Live on the edge!  Expand your palette!  You should totally not be a pussy and try sushi!”

“Hmmm… OK.  That kind of sounds like fun,” he admitted.  “Which ones are you getting?”

“Chicken and shrimp.”

I do not do sushi.  I have tried sushi, and I hate it.  All of it.  I don’t like sticky rice or seaweed or raw fish.  That pretty much leaves me the option of why didn’t you just order a salad. And yet, it seemed like a perfectly good idea to suggest that Jared order a $20 meal comprised entirely of sushi.

Because I am the type of person who likes to fuck with people.



I will confess to making gagging noises when Jared’s plate was set in front of him.  He, on the other hand, must be losing both his eye sight and his sense of smell, because he didn’t so much as flinch.  Or maybe he has manners or something.  Whatever.


I barely touched my own food as I watched Jared take his first bite with anticipation.  (That would be me having the anticipation, not him.  My english and writing skills are fabulous.  You should ask me to write a book or something.)  I waved my iPhone in his face and promised to capture the instant he so much as gagged.

“If I throw up, are you going to put this on your blog?” he asked.

“Have you met me?”

“I hate you.”

And that’s what good marriages are made of.

ANYway – he takes a bite.  And….

Nothing.  Not so much as a flinch.  His eyes didn’t even water.  I strained my ears for the sound of an involuntary puke sound and all I heard was the benign noise of a throat swallowing normally.


“You’re killing my blog right now,” I muttered.

“I let you post pictures of me in a bonnet, Britt.  I’ve done my part.”

“You suck at the Internet.”

He continued to make his way through the pile of cold fish on his plate, and I quickly devoured my normal people food.  The waitress stopped by to check on his progress and noticed that nothing cool was happening.

“You didn’t try the wasabi,” she noted.

Clearly this woman cared more about my blog than my own husband.

She taught him how to mix the soy sauce with the glob of green goop.


Unfortunately, she did not tell him that you don’t need to use the whole entire glob.  Until after he had mixed the whole entire glob.

“You, um,” she searched for tactful words, “you’re probably not going to like that.  Here.  Have this ready.  Just.. um… just in case.”


YES!!  The waitress’s trepidation gave me confidence that NOW, SURELY, WE WOULD GET A REACTION!

He dipped a mound of pink, slimey, raw stuff and sticky, nasty rice into the wasabi and soy sauce mixture.  He put it into his mouth.



“Really?  Nothing?”

“It’s kind of hot.  I don’t think I like it,” he said.

“You are absolutely no fun to fuck with.”

He chuckled at me and went back to his fish pile.

I had finished my food and returned to watching him eat while making inappropriate noises.  He must have thought I was bored or something.  And maybe I was.  That’s the only explanation I can come up with for what happened next.

“Do you want to try this?” he asked.

“Are you high?”

“I just ate it.  Trust me.  It’s not that bad,” he cooed, in what I’m sure is the same voice that the words “just the tip, baby” have been uttered in for centuries.

“Well, OK.  If you promise,” I agreed, because it is really kind of sad how well that voice works on us.




My husband is a lying rat bastard.


Is awful.

Beyond awful.

Sushi is so awful that I threw up onto my plate because I couldn’t keep it in my mouth long enough for me to find a napkin to throw up into.

My apologies to the guy sitting at the table beside us. Although, seriously, Dude?  Why were you watching??

Jared giggled like a mad man across the table.

“You suck!”

“Oh my God, I am so putting this shit on Twitter.”

“I can’t believe you are thinking about the Internet right now!”

More giggling.

“Oh my God.  Look at it,” I pointed to the chewed up piece of pink flesh on my plate.

“Actually, thanks, but no thanks.”

“It looks like a piece of vagina!” I gasped.


“Look at it!”

“Umm…” he leaned over to get a closer look at my plate.  “Well… I mean… I guess… kind of.


“OH MY GOD!” I shrieked at a sudden realization, “IS THAT WHAT IT TASTES LIKE?!?!”

“I’m sorry.. what?” the color vanished from my husband’s face, as well as any semblance of understanding me.

I leaned in closer to him and hissed, “is this what.. you know… it… tastes like??”

“Britt… please…” he pleaded with his eyes for me to shut the hell up.


“No, Britt, listen…”

“NEVER AGAIN!” I exclaimed.


“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!  OH MY GOD!  WHY!?!?  WHY would ANYONE subject themselves to that?!?!”

“Honey, no…”

“And that’s why I’m not a lesbian.  Jesus.  Lesbians and straight men are obviously fucking INSANE.”

“Um… OK…”

I instinctively pressed my knees together under the table in an attempt to shield the world from the HORROR I had just discovered.

Jared reached out and covered my hand with his own.  “Baby, I promise you.”

I lowered my eyes, too scarred to look at him.

“Honey, listen to me…”

And then he said something about cotton candy that I am simply much too classy to share with you here.

The End.

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