Although my taste for fish was not ruined by Grandma’s distaste for fish, I think that I have not been as adventurous an eater as are my children and grandchildren. (Don’t tell that to Grandma!) As I have mentioned previously, my mom never served us exotic food. Thinking about the most courageous food that I ate growing up leaves me empty. We were a meat and potato/spaghetti and meatball family. I am happy that my children and grandchildren are far ahead of me in what they are willing to put into their mouths.
The latest proof of this was Bryce’s birthday trip to Myrtle Beach, where he sat down with his mom to split a plate of oysters with her. When ordering it off the menu, Kelly asked if he wanted them rare. “Yea,” he responded with a look, I imagine, that was something like, “do you think I would stoop so low as to have them cooked?”
He told me he loved them. Lily then turned to me and told me that she loves eating eel. “I tried it once and I didn’t like it, but my brudder (not a misspelling) made me try it again and guess what, Grandma? I loved it!”
I am just beginning to dip my toe into the sushi world. I stick only to maki rolls and even then, mostly cooked seafood or vegetables rolls. I have tried spicy tuna and salmon rolls a few times and admit they are not bad, but I am not brave enough to try nigari, which is the raw fish sitting atop a piece of rice. The kids would just as soon skip the rice.
Perhaps if Grandpa had been more insistent on having us eat fish as kids, I would not have been such a culinary fraidy cat. I never saw him eat sushi, but I bet he would have if he had been given the opportunity. Maybe he did when he was in Japan on his return trip from Russia, but that is another thing about him that I will never know.