In general I love to eat anything, especially with a serving of laughter on the side

Sushi, wasabi and ginger. All that's missing is the soya sauce (and some laughter, perhaps).

After church, on a whim, I asked my father and a friend, Mariette, if they wanted to grab a quick sushi for lunch at a swanky local restaurant. In yesterday’s post I ended with “have a wonderful day and a droll start to the new week…”

And that’s exactly how mine started: I hadn’t realised that sushi could be so entertaining.

Firstly, there were the chopsticks:

Chopstick / toothpick / chopstick? Lost in translation?

“Toothpick may hurt your finger”. Right … Well, I don’t know what the chopstick makers’ teeth look like, but Mariette tried one out and it was less than effective as a toothpick.

Toothpick? I don't know, but I don't think so...

And we couldn’t figure out how it would hurt anyone’s finger except through an unfortunate surprise impaling by an inebriated lunch companion.

Secondly, there was my dad:

“Mariette, skewer the sushi rose with your toothpick. They’re too slippery to pick up with these things,” he said.

“No, that’s okay, it’s a challenge. I’ll use the chopsticks like they’re meant to be used,” was her reply.

Learning to juggle, solo rock climb, or kayak down the Zambezi river are a challenge. Sushi should just be enjoyed sedately, with lots of wasabi and soya sauce. It shouldn’t be a “challenge.”

A sushi rose - slippery as an eel, but nothing a "toothpick" can't solve.

Next, I looked across at my father’s sushi mat to find an absolute massacre – individual bite-sized sushi pieces had been torn apart; rice was scattered about; salmon, mayo, avocado, caviar and nori sat perched on a plate waiting for my dad’s next move.

“What is this black stuff?” he asked, pulling his nose up at the seaweed that had once been wrapped around his salmon maki.

“It’s seaweed,” I said, between chewing.

“Well, it looks like plastic,” was his reply.

“Eat it, it’s good,” I answered, irritably.

‘But, it looks like plastic,” he said again.

“Okay, plastic it is. Now eat your rice.”

Maki

I always imagined that dining out at a sushi bar would be posh and a little bit la-di-da. People would sit lightly balancing their chopsticks between their fingers; making good conversation and comparing the dulcet flavours of their California Rolls, Sashimi, Nigiri and Fashion Sandwiches. But when my father’s involved  it’s just slapstick with chopsticks.

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