I had a horrible dream. Somebody for whom we had done a favour was taking us out for what they promised would be the dining experience of our lives. We were to wear full evening dress (that was a bit of a problem in the dream because there was nothing in the wardrobe except empty cardboard boxes), but I managed to make a striking garment from a Persian rug (that might have come about from recently reading an incident in “A Fairly Honourable Defeat” by Iris Murdoch.)
Then we were collected in a fleet of limousines – why a fleet for just the two of us? A man in a toga served us gin and tonic in the back of our limousine (he could stand up and walk around in it.)
After a lengthy journey through parts of New York and North Africa, we arrived at a palatial building where our friend was waiting to greet us. On either side of the marble stairs were bare-chested black men waving palm fronds. It all got a bit muddled at that point, as dreams so often do, and we ended up on an ocean liner, sitting down to dine. A Russian group were strolling around the room playing zithers. My Persian rug had transformed itself into a flowing gold Lurex gown. The crystal and silver gleamed. Our plates were octagonal and made of glass. Then the food arrived.
Image from modu-system.com
I cannot think of any cuisine that I don’t like. Except Japanese. I simply loathe it. It looks beautiful, but I just don’t get the slimy rice, the seaweed, and the raw fish. I’ve tried it enough times to know now that the only thing I will ever like about it is wasabi.
Thankfully I woke up before we had to eat – something to do with a train crashing into the ship.
So, tell me why I don’t like sushi when it’s so popular? What is it that’s nice about it apart from the appearance?