NOTE: I kinda struggled with this week’s newsletter. If you have any notes on how to better go about this little thing or anything you want to see from me, please let me know! I am just as lost with this as it seems! Also, please just reach out in general.
The original draft of this week’s newsletter was much more pessimistic and gloomy. The past week has been full of bad news, a reminder that things that can always get worse. So, instead I’ll tell the story of the best meal I’ve ever had.
Spring break of my senior year of high school, my family and I took a trip to Tokyo. An all around lovely trip, 3 of my top 5 meals of all time (a ridiculous phrase) occurred during this week. On Day 4 of the trip, I planned on meeting up with some friends from home to traipse around the city and generally get into trouble.
Thus, on a beautiful March day, I met up with my friends in Ginza and we took the metro down to Tsukiji fish market.
While we sadly missed the namesake marketing of the fish, we still ventured into the stalls to find the best food we could.
Now, out of the 5 of us that were rolling around that day, only one of us had any grasp of the Japanese language. And our resident translator himself was drawing on some rather shaky foundational Japanese. We were, for the most part, blind and stupid. We took in the sights and smells of the market, slammed back some free sencha samples, and generally sauntered about.
Eventually, we stumbled into a little hole in the wall sushi shop and, after some wait, plopped down for lunch. Of course, none of us could read the menus so we let James, “the Japanese speaker”, order for us. He ordered two ahi nigiri samplers.
The platters came out, at prices that were only acceptable due to the fact that none of us were paying with our own money (I never said I was the hero in this story), and we quickly decided how to divide up the food.
The next 10 pieces of sushi took me on an adventure, the likes of which I’ve never felt at any other point in my life. I’d like to think that growing up in Hawaii, I’ve been exposed to some good ahi. I have not. This fish was beyond anything I had ever even conceived up until this point. I wish I had the vocabulary and knowledge to truly explain how I felt in the 20 minutes where I was eating these pieces. My experience was heightened in that I had no real idea what 9 out of the 10 pieces were. Moving from left to right on the platter, I got through 8 different types of yellowfin ahi, each one different than the last. Different cuts and preparations created a mix of lipids and proteins that chipped away at the powerful mental cage that enlightenment is kept in.
It isn’t often that you can immediately recognize the pivotal moment in your life. Such an acknowledgement often requires months or years of reflection. For me, it required about 10 seconds. After I had gotten through 8 of my allotted 10 pieces, I reached the nigiri that would change my life. This was the one piece that had been identified for us. It was supposedly bluefin tuna (in the last two years I have wondered a lot if we had been given the runaround as American tourists; to this day I have no way of knowing if it actually was Pacific bluefin tuna). Of course, Pacific bluefin tuna is an endangered species and the continued consumption of them is a threat to their existence. On top of that, their flesh contains mercury at levels toxic for human consumption. If we ate more than a small amount, we would have been eating Too Much Tuna. In any case, with my moral and health worries fully shouldered, I plopped that sucker in.
I understand why Thunnis orientalis is overfished. I understand why, in 2019, a particularly girthy one sold for $3.1M. Eating this fish was unlike any experience, culinary or not, I have ever had. When the meat hit my tongue it immediately dissolved, coating my mouth in an explosive blend of fats, oils, and tang. I’ve sat in front of my laptop trying to find a more articulate way of describing it and words continue to elude me. I think I may have cried. I had always thought of myself as pro-sushi but never a stan. This nigiri—this 3 inch piece of fish— changed that. If there was even a 1/100000 chance that something I bit into would bring me the feeling that the bluefin did, I would take it every time. It wouldn’t be hyperbolic to say that this piece of sushi made my entire trip and maybe my year.
We finished the lunch and stumbled out onto the crowded street. The rest of the day (which included an amazing dinner that rivaled this lunch in experience), I couldn’t stop thinking about the bluefin, my contribution to species death, and how good it all felt. While I will never order bluefin again, that bite continues occupy a prominent space in my mind every single day. The combination of the environmental and societal ramifications of that bite along with the raw emotions I felt when I took it is far too complex for me to ever unpack with language.
As we look towards our future, it’s foolish to think that our personal consumptions won’t have to change. Sadly, I think some of the little luxuries of life will fall by the wayside in the struggle for a more just world. Don’t hesitate to partake in those fading indulgences. This is no excuse for making the wrong decision because it feels good, but rather it is a reassurance that enjoying something when everything is built against you doing so is, quite frankly, the right thing to do. Of course, part of this paragraph’s purpose is to make me feel better about eating that piece of sushi two years ago; but I think this is also a topical reminder as we begin imagine a post-covid world. It’s not going to be a fun stretch ahead. Don’t forget to make your own fun, to spark your own joy. Because when you stop sparking your own joy, well we know what Marie Kondo would tell you to do.