In elementary school, I had a Japanese pen pal. I always enjoyed our exchanges. He told many fascinating stories about his home town and his country. This experience stoked my interest in Japanese culture. I learned a few Japanese words to spice up my conversations. I considered quitting school, moving to Japan, and majoring in martial arts (my parents put the kibosh on that idea). I started eating everything with chopsticks, and I had a special bowl adorned with Japanese letters from which I would eat noodles. I purchased bootleg videotapes of superior Japanese cartoons. I also developed a strong affinity for sushi. A trip to the sushi restaurant is one of my favorite rituals. I like to imagine that I am eating at a restaurant somewhere on Shikoku.

Last year, I heard there was sushi being produced in the SAC. I was dubious, as a university student center does not seem to be the ideal place to acquire sushi foodstuffs. Last week, however, I had a craving while on campus. Against my better judgement, I decided to give the SAC sushi a try. The SAC boasts its own actual sushi chefs, working hard to produce various delights to feed the hungry masses. Right in front of the counter is a refrigerator containing fresh, recently produced items. Many of the offerings were items containing raw fish, obviously. I figured, though, that the SAC was not the place to get anything raw, so I went with one of the basic California rolls. Each dish came with a pack of soy sauce, a small blob of wasabi, and some shavings of ginger. I paid for this bounty and retreated to my office.

I mixed my soy sauce and wasabi in the traditional manner. Then I got to eating. Unfortunately, the rolls were quite disappointing. The taste was not right. The rolls were not bad; they just were not savory. The wasabi was not really hot, and there was not enough soy sauce. I was disappointed. I went to the SAC to get a taste of Japan, and I got burned. This meal was the second biggest Japan-related disappointment in my life, ranking immediately below the day I found out that my Japanese pen pal never existed. Apparently, it had been my mother faking the whole thing. I never have been able to figure out why she did this to me.