I have come to the tentative conclusion that sushi is indeed the food of the gods. Every aspect of religion is embodied by this delicate simplicity. There is an equality among each of the nuggets, each a common exterior that hides a unique core. There is peace in each bite, hankering after one, contentment after a plate full and pain after three. And then there is waisabi - the wrath of the gods, all the gods and all of their wrath distilled into an disarmingly innocent looking green paste and demanding respect. It is the modern rite of manhood. On its own. No water. No rice. No mercy.
I do not know why I do it to myself.