Nonfiction Excerpt

My family resided at a long table. Similar to any other high-end restaurant, this one had tables containing plates and towels in front of every person. We all received menus containing infinite lists of food items. Toro. Pacific Cod. Salmon. But it was the sushi that drew me in. I instantly flashed back to my days of middle school. Whenever I came home from school, my grandfather would always have three sushi rolls with fresh avocado as green as a healthy lawn prepared on the table. Crafted with simple ingredients, the rolls seemed to always melt in my mouth -- a nice refresher after a day’s worth of assessments, classwork, and homework.

I rushed to grab the one sushi menu available to us. Special rolls of sushi far more complex than any of the ones my grandfather created filled the menu. There were fish like yellowtail, salmon, tuna paired with unique ingredients like caviar, gold flakes -- the restaurant was high-end, and it deserved to be treated that way. In addition to the Pacific Cod, I ordered a spicy tuna roll. I doubted my order; did I really make the most of the restaurant’s options on the menu by choosing a simple roll?

All those worries flew out the window when the dishes arrived. The Pacific Cod was flawless; there was a slight char on the side of it to make it more appealing. And it was so tender that it just melted in my mouth, creating a taste like none other.

But most importantly, the spicy tuna roll was crafted to perfection. The rice was glazed with just the right amount of vinegar, and the seaweed held together every piece perfectly. I couldn’t stop smiling as I popped the first piece in my mouth. That incredible, oceanic taste of tuna filled my mouth paired well with that spicy feeling created by the mayo. It didn’t even need soy sauce or wasabi. I was instantly reminded of that feeling of relaxation I experienced after school, forgetting about all the stress of education and just life in general. I was living in my own sushi universe void of any outside influence.

Eventually, the most dreaded moment came: seeing the bill. My parents usually didn’t let me see it, to keep me from feeling terrible as I wasn’t paying for any of it. Full but not bloated, we all left the restaurant in bright spirits. Even though the experience couldn’t last forever, it left an impact that would linger for the rest of my life—almost like a strong piece of flavor-filling ginger.