• Nice Things Now


leah at agirlandaboy dot com

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About Leah (It's not my real name!)


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September 12, 2005

The Perfect Drug

Let us begin this journey in conflict, shall we?

Simon and I are at gastronomic odds with one another. Tragic, isn't it?

I like tomatoes and olives and asparagus and my fish served in the style of Chef Filet O'; he will have none of it, prefering artichokes and beans on toast (he once lived in England) and some kind of grody chutney substance, not to mention fish in tacos, where they DO NOT BELONG. He eats salad and tofu and junk like that while I eat fast food and cereal and everything that comes in a "snak pak."

"You are my gateway to heft," he says to me. "Yucky," I say to him and crinkle my nose.

When I say BFF, I mean best friends forever (natch), but when he says it, he means "big fat fuck," which is what he says he'll be if he starts to eat like I do. (Let it hereby be known that although I eat like crap, I do so in moderation. It's all about portion control, people. Two doughnuts instead of three. Just say no to SuperSize.)

And because this is my website, let me take this opportunity to say that since we've been doing this togetherness thing, he has been the instigator of the majority of our indulgences: whereas I have demanded only one midnight doughnut run, he has sponsored a handful of pancake-egg-sausage breakfasts and kielbasa-calabrese-bockwurst dinners, and this week's official theme song goes "One burrito, two burrito, three burrito, four." While I was out a few weeks ago at a concert with Gayle making BFF with Eric Bachmann of Crooked Fingers, Simon was home enjoying a dinner of beer and M&Ms. Now, how, I ask you, could I be holding his mouth open and force feeding him candy and alcohol when I was all the way across the bay swooning inappropriately over a minor rockstar? Exactly.

To combat the appearance of curves in all the wrong places, last weekend we bought him his very own pair of rollerblades (silver and fast like a bullet!) and skated (me in my baby blue sparkly wheeled skates) along the bay between the Berkeley and Emeryville marinas, the Golden Gate Bridge a gray silhouette at sunset. It was ever so lovely and my buns and thighs hurt ever so sportily the next day and the next.

Another thing we're doing to combat the bulging of the flesh is stuffing ourselves to the earlobes with healthy healthy sushi. O sweet, silky fish, you may actually be better than french fries. Especially you, Tuna, mercury poisoning be damned. Until having sushi with Simon, I hadn't known the ecstasy of raw sea creatures, and ever since that first tasty nibble (we smuggled some takeout into a movie theater and ate it with our fingers), I have been a shameless devotee. So now sushi is kind of our "thing" (one of many, actually), and we have resolved to eat it as often as humanly possible, which we figure is about three times a week (not counting leftovers). Thing is, sushi is ex-pen-seev, and regularly dropping $75 bucks for dindin is beyond our humble means. And thus was born Sushi Night.


Twice now we've taken matters into our own hands and cleaned our own rice, sliced our own salmon, and rolled our own rolls (who says fish isn't sexy?). A few weeks ago we spent an afternoon in Chinatown (yeah, I know) adding to our supplies and collecting a sushi-oke (a big wooden bowl for cooling the rice), wooden paddles (for spanking!), the most wonderful curvy plates and trays, extra chopsticks, and a samurai-chic sushi knife. Sure, it's still expensive to buy a block of albacore (not to mention maddening to have to buy it at Berkeley Bowl (click here for my very first blog entry (also featuring George the Jockey!)), but it's what we do because 1. it's still cheaper than going out to a sushi bar, 2. it's NECESSARY TO EAT SUSHI AS OFTEN AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE, and 3. when you cook at home you don't have to wear pants.


Right now we're still mastering tuna, salmon, and unagi (and I'm trying to remember not to overstuff my tofu bags), and last weekend we added scallops and salmon roe to our repertoire. Also, I've taken a pair of chopsticks to work with me so I can practice to proficiency and not embarass myself and others by dropping my catch into the soy sauce every. single. time. Also, I think my Seinfeld "What's the deal with chopsticks anyway" routine is getting a little tired. I mean come on.


So that's what I'm doing these days--eating fish, maintaining a healthy BMI, and staring into dreamy dreamboat's chocolatey brown eyes.


Oh, I love Sushi. I have only ate it once in Vancouver and I fell in love with it. I have heard that the sushi in Nelson is quite a bit more expensive than Vancouver, so I haven't had it since. I have been dying to have it again and now announce, right here and now, that I am going to try to make my own. I toyed with the idea before, but perhaps I can find my own Mr. Hotpants to help me out. It does look like a lot of fun. Two people, naked in the kitchen...

Really, Leah. I am so happy for you. Your happiness shows.

I'm salivating. My kids are salivating. When can we come to your house for dinner? We're free tomorrow night?

Man, I make sushi myself as well, but it doesn't look anywhere like your sushi. Yours is gorgeous. You should be very proud. And please share your unagi recipe. I'm not good at making it, but I'm really good at eating it.

Recipe for unagi: Go to Berkeley Bowl and tell the nice gentleman behind the fish counter how many skewers of pre-flavored unagi you want. Place unagi squares on top of rice rectangles and watch as your boyfriend expertly wraps seaweed obis around their middles.

Homemade sushi rocks. We should have a sushi-making party. SOON. Because you're right: it's necessary to eat sushi as much as humanly possible.

Dude I'm so drooling. Making my own sushi has just moved up a notch on my priority list.

Wowee! Congratulations to you, your new companion, and your new sushi-tooth. Sushi is my favorite food. Unagi is the food of the gods. Spicy tuna rolls were surely crafted in heaven.

everyone must master the art of the chopsticks. without them, you cannot eat food that requires chopsticks... keep practicing. before you know it, you'll be a pro.

One of the things I desperately miss is living two blocks away from Berkeley Bowl and being able to get the most amazing produce ever.

Your post made me homesick.

Denver's got nothin' on Berkeley Bowl for produce selection and price. And if you think the lack-of-personal-space thing is bad, you should have seen the OLD Berkeley Bowl, which really was in an old bowling alley, and there was room for exactly one cart to maneuver down each aisle. Picture the same number of people in a store half the size with wee bitty aisles, and you might understand why the new one is like heaven.

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