The Dark Side of Sushi

The Dark Side of Sushi

I’ve often wondered if anyone at an urban sushi bar full of suburbanites and city dwellers really stops to think about the process of getting a salmon roll from an Alaskan stream to a Dallas dinner table, all neatly rapped in rice or soy paper or what not.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m a sucker for a good sushi bar and my kids are growing up (for the most part) as solid suburban sultans. 

Living on the lake has, however, given some good opportunity to instill some life lessons, like yesterday when my son caught his first fish.  It was just a channel cat, about 13 inches.  I had told them if we caught one big enough I would clean and cook it for them.  I was really doubtful that it would happen given the weekend noise levels and general  activity in the water at the marina, not to mention the fact they were fishing in the hottest time of the day. But here this guy was, flopping around my deck, and it was time to follow through. 

As I was getting the filet knife out, it occurred to me that it had been sometime since I had cleaned a fish – perhaps even a decade or two.  I did manage to get it done, leaving enough meat on the bones for us all to have a sample.  I was very proud of they way they both took it all in stride, even engaging in the process. And even though it was no salmon or sea bass, it was still the freshest fish they’ve ever sampled!

Perhaps there is hope for us city folk yet!


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