All of my adult life I have joyfully embraced different national cuisines, a welcome side benefit of global travel. I am sad to say, however, that when it came to Japanese cuisine my mental response was "raw fish...yuck!" This still shames me somewhat, as I like to think of myself as open-minded. Early last year all of that changed. I discovered sushi! We were happy to see that Atlantic Superstore had sushi in abundance, albeit at a rather high price.
The high price, at least for this pensioner, was instrumental in my desire to learn to make my own sushi. I have now accomplished this feat, and this old dog is very proud of his new trick. I made our first sushi: a nori maki, composed of the traditional sticky rice (sumeshi), flavoured with rice wine vinegar, stuffed with shredded ginger, canned salmon, and thinly sliced English cucumber, the whole wrapped, of course, in baked seaweed wrapper (nori). We were very pleased with the result, which we enjoyed for lunch, with a light soy sauce and the wonderful, but powerful, wasabi (horseradish paste).
Siobhán and I followed that with a sushi making session in which we produced nori maki stuffed with smoked Atlantic salmon, cucumber, parboiled red pepper slivers, shredded ginger in rice wine vinegar, and roasted sesame seeds. We also attempted the more difficult sushi nagiri, oblong shaped rice constructions topped with a dab of wasabi, roasted sesame seeds and a slice of smoked salmon. I had previously pickled some ginger root, which, the recipe says, will eventually turn the required shade of traditional pink. We whipped up a salad of cucumber, tomato, red pepper, romaine lettuce, sesame oil, rice wine vinegar, topped with roasted sesame seeds. We dined in an uncustomary quiet, prompted by our appreciation of our tasty repast.
As to the Zen aspect of preparing sushi: the arrangement of the various fillings, the challenge of preventing the rice from sticking to the hands, the rolling of the nori into an even, firmly packed cylinder, the satisfaction of slicing the nori roll into eight perfect nori maki thanks to the sharpness and ideal weight of my sushi knife, complete with bamboo handle. These things all combine to give one a sense of satisfaction, an appreciation of the symmetry of the maki arranged in a circular pattern on a serving plate, an enhanced awareness of the smell of the vinegar underlined by the smoky smell of the salmon, an understanding of the underlying importance of family and togetherness in an age of encroaching and pervasive Chaos, and the joy of a small portion of order being imposed upon one small corner of that Chaos.
In Zen Buddhism, the koan embodies a realized principle, or law of reality. They often appear paradoxical or linguistically meaningless dialogs or questions. (What is the sound of one hand clapping? Why is a mouse, when it spins? What is the difference between an orange? These are all koans remembered from my study of Kerouac, the Beat Movement, and Gary Snyder) To quote from that fount of all knowledge, Wikipedia, "the 'answer' to the koan involves a transformation of perspective or consciousness, which may be either radical or subtle, possibly akin to the experience of metanoia in Christianity. They are a tool to allow the student to approach enlightenment by essentially 'short-circuiting' the logical way we order the world. Through assimilation of a koan it is possible to 'jump-start' an altered mindset that then facilitates enlightenment." In effect, the practitioner becomes the answer.
It is not necessary to have a Zen mindset to roll your maki (no, that is NOT a euphemism!), but I have found that, in the action, I become a small part of the answer to the koan that my life constantly presents to me.
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