I’m currently sitting in the Anglia Ruskin library. The library personnel, unfortunately, don’t allow eating here. If the brown paper bag beside me contained chips*, I would be secretly snacking away instead of informing the world about the mind-bendingly draconian food policies at this university**. If that sounds harsh, please believe that if you had a brown paper bag containing some of the finest scrumptious slabs of seafood which sail on sticky simple sugars you too would complain.
Eating with chopsticks is loads of fun. I have yet to find a culinary experience that satisfies like delicately placing ginger on bite-size, sea-derived delicacies and topping it off with a bit of wasabi. The process requires an attention to detail that transforms satisfying a basic human need into an act of meditation. Preparing sushi works in the same way. I’m almost certain the chef who prepared my sushi ascended to nirvana shortly after serving my food. After putting such massive attention into pieces of food that take only a matter of seconds to eat, I don’t see how this could not be the case. I only hope that his experience of bliss is not reliant on my finishing the food in a short period of time. Because when I leave this library and eat his sushi, I’m going to take my time and savour every bite.
My experience with sushi is very similar to my experience abroad. While I wish I were able to live in a constant state of enjoying the delicacies in the city around me***, there are times when I would be better off just staying at the centre. Watching a movie, playing a game or just fast-forwarding through those two and getting straight to talking is the wasabi that completes the Cambridge cultural sushi.
This is a ping pong ball run, and also wasabi.
Here’s a video.
*To all my British readers, I mean potato chips, which you call crisps. I don’t mean French fries, which you call chips.
**Anglia Ruskin is great. I’ve been here one week, had only one class and I’ve already been invited to a house party. I just hope I can finish my food before Becca, one of my British friends, comes to get me. Who brings food to a party?
*** Delicacies here refers to the million different ways the British can tie their scarves. I have no idea how some of these multi-layered, face-cradling, wool knots are even possible. The only conclusion is that, upon birth, in addition to a birth certificate, each British person receives a custom made scarf complete with its own certificate of authenticity.