Confession time. Many, many years ago, I believed that my husband Bob tricked me into eating sushi by telling me that the sample placed before me was not raw fish. I have held fast to this belief for decades. Now I have come to discover that he did not trick me. (I should have known better.) Nonetheless, it was a vile-tasting, bite-sized concoction, the memory of which has kept me from any sushi restaurant since that terrible day when I was convinced that I ate raw fish and was unjustly yet vehemently angry with Bob.

So, here goes. I’m sorry, Bob. I misjudged you.

Based on the aforementioned incident, I have been adamant about staying out of any restaurant that displays the word “sushi” on its sign.

Until last week.

My friend Moggie and I have a history of spontaneous lunch dates and so it was last Thursday. I told her that I’d be in her area and she should pick the restaurant. She had been longing to go to a particular Japanese restaurant, and her husband would not accompany her there. (This should have been my clue.) My mind went to Japanese Steakhouses, so I agreed.

We sat down together and she suggested we get a bento box, which could be filled with, you guessed it, sushi and other stuff that would then be sushi adjacent. Moggie assured me that I would not be eating raw fish. She loves California rolls, she told me, and thought I would, too.

Bento Box – the bottom two corners were palatable enough, but it ended there.

Immediately I thought of Bob, the man to whom I have pledged my troth. Guilty beads of sweat broke out on my forehead as I thought of how often he had asked me to share a bento box with him, and here I was doing that very thing with someone else. It reminded me of the time I cooked with wasabi and thought I was going to have a heart attack. But I was here and I had to roll with it. What was I to do? Get up and leave? Make a scene?

There was nothing I could do except take a picture of my lunch and send it to Bob. I wasn’t even going to send it to him right then. I thought I’d handle that after our lunch.

But that wasn’t good enough for Moggie. She decided to photo journal the experience so Bob could have official evidence of my betrayal of everything I had ever stood for in the realm of sushi. She’s that kind of friend.

Thanks to Moggie, you can witness this historic event. I hope you’re not eating while reading this.

This was the point where Moggie asked me if I was going to be able to keep the food in my mouth. I was in quite the predicament because we were eating outside and the napkins were cloth. The texture, oh the texture. It was awful!

This is the aloe plant that was in the corner of the patio where we were eating. It was a soothing balm for my taste buds to place my rejected California roll in this planter. Of course, I can never go back to this restaurant, not that I would want to.

There is one kind of sushi that agrees with me, but surprisingly Bob does not care for it. We are big gamers, so it’s a little surprising but it may be some warped kind of revenge on his part. This game can be played with 2-8 players and I high recommend it. You could pair it with pizza.

Seriously, it’s a lot of fun and the wasabi card doesn’t make me feel like I need to go to the Emergency Room.