Remember that episode of "Doug" where his grandma makes him try sushi? For those of you who weren't glued to Nickelodeon 24/7 as a child like I was, here's the jist: Doug, at first repulsed at the thought of sushi, tries it at Grandma Funny's urging and finds it to be delicious. Of course, at the time, this was regarded by our 8-year-old minds as pure lies contrived by the liberal media to try to get us to branch out to new adult foods.
However, this single mid-'90s pop moment is eerily prophetic of every East Coast liberal arts college kid's first sushi experience. Upon arriving at our exciting big city as freshmen, we are at first reluctant to try something that looks like a baby's finger that's eaten with wooden sticks in a single awkward bite. Then we are coerced into doing so by our hipper friends or do so to impress someone attractive, and - voila! - an addiction is born.
My first experience with sushi freshman year was horrifying for two reasons. The first was because it was from the Eagle's Nest, and as such, cost about twice what it should and tasted four times worse. The second was because I assumed the wasabi in the corner of the plastic tray was guacamole, the only other green condiment I had ever tasted. One heaping glob, half an hour of crying and 27 glasses of water later, I had decided that perhaps sushi was not for me.
Gradually, however, I got back on the horse and branched out to legitimate sushi establishments. As I tried more varieties and determined what I liked (tuna) and didn't like (quail eggs), my affinity for the little multicolored bites of orgasmic fishy goodness grew.
Over time, obsession with sushi negates whatever other reservations one might have had originally. The fact that what I'm devouring was still alive and kicking just moments ago no longer crosses my mind, and neither does the fact that I could take cabs to work for a week for the amount a dinner at my favorite sushi place costs.
It has even evolved into one of those things we hated before college but now just can't get enough of, along with beer, $4 coffee and five hours of sleep a night. It's become the go-to for the "what a bad week and it's only Tuesday" vent-fest with friends, as well as the cuisine of choice to impress your folks on Parent's Weekend since they don't have sushi in Toledo.
Personally, I like to use sushi as a benchmark to determine compatibility with others. When given my choice of restaurant on a first date, I almost always pick sushi, as someone who orders nothing but California rolls or is averse to eating it just because it's raw is most likely not worth sleeping with.
The experience of sushi trumps everything. It comes on little square plates, we eat it with sticks and we get it in restaurants that play the delicate Asian music that makes us feel so chic and worldly and good about ourselves. Sushi's appeal lies in its uniquely collegiate nature: It's what comes between high school Friday nights at Dairy Queen and mid-life family-sized entrees from Boston Market. Sushi is your twenties.
In essence, with each $2 bite, we get an increasing assurance that, despite the outrageous rent and lack of parking and 99-cent chicken nuggets, we made the right choice by coming here. A small price to pay for fish with a side of good feelings.
Olga Khazan is a senior in the School of Public Affairs and a social commentary columnist for The Eagle.
