Sake, Sushi, Sashimi

My tongue caught the errant drop of sake, warmed by my lips, a fiery brand in my chilled mouth. A contrasting note that was set alight by the initial sip. The server refilled the glass, his scent mingled with the sake’s perfume as I raised my glass again. In the background, preparations for the feast created a subtle percussive accompaniment. The dance of dining had begun . . . the delicate delineations of the plate captured my eye but was brushed aside by the first selection’s presentation.
How you approach an experience will directly impact the amount of enjoyment, memory and effort for repetition. It is singular thinking to feel that the cool silk of salmon followed by a sip of sake will be the complete summation of a meal. Too narrow a view will cause the misstep in not relating a brief exchange of accolades for the chef and on to the next piece. To shirk on building the tension as the taste builds in strength to a crescendo of lightly seared Splendid Alfonsino. A conversation weaves throughout, creating a mental image of the chef as a maestro of the watery denizens,
curating a journey for all senses.
The positives are not the only framework for the responsibility of savoring. Throwing in a little contrast and remembering my sister’s face crushed in distaste with each plate I was offered. The overwhelming cacophony of LA sushi cuisine was one that I did not wish to visit again. Still, I would need to navigate the minefield of Las Vegas for my nephew’s impending wedding this fall. A thought both filled with excitement, terror and dismay.
Being mindful, therefore, I choose to savor. So, I will keep an open mind and approach it as a child . . . I will hold to my mantra.

Side notes of sweet & sour . . .
The sharp pain of cheap champagne and cheese that could be a suspect made of shredded paper.
Enticing sounds of grease snapping like firecrackers in the fire, then the sudden drop of my soul as the cardboard was served in a swirl of glue.
Nostalgia
Surrounded by the laughing of friends and multiple conversations . . . the crisp crust degenerating into doughy middles, our plasticy cheesey pizza was the glue that brought us together. Soda drowning in ice, a pale shadow of the taste we craved, as we shared our dreams and hopes for the future. A taste that propels my soul to a golden adolescence so often interrupted by a life of change.