White Men Can't Make Sushi

I'd just returned from Tijuana, where I'd stuffed my face with Caesar Salad. (I was shooting a story for CBS News Sunday Morning on the origins of Caesar Salad, which was created in Tijuana in the 1920s.) Friends had warned me: "Don't eat salad in Mexico! You'll get salmonella! And even if you don't, you'll get shot in Tijuana!"

Nonsense, I thought. In the early '90s I ate a snake - and drank its blood (mixed with a little rice wine) - in Yangshuo, China. And I've walked the streets of Bogota, footloose and fancy free. And guess what, people? I'm still here!

So after my Tijuana shoot wrapped, I didn't think twice about heading out for sushi in San Diego's trendy Hillcrest neighborhood. The taxi dropped me off and I bounded solo into a highly touted Japanese eatery (which shall go unnamed).

"One, please," I chirped to the host who sat me at the bar and handed me a menu. Not more than a minute passed when:

"Welcome to [restaurant name]," said a voice from behind the bar. "Just let me know when you're ready to order."

"Thanks, I'm just taking a quick look," I began as I looked up at the sushi chef, "and--"

I stopped cold. The chef was a white man. He seemed pleasant enough. But he was a white sushi chef. I couldn't remember if I'd ever had sushi prepared by a white man.

I did my best to seem unconcerned.

"and -- and I'll be ready to order in a couple minutes."

"No prob," said the sushi chef, whom I'll call Brad.

I'm pretty sure my surprise was simply about seeing someone new in a role heretofore reserved for someone Japanese. (Like meeting an Asian country music singer? Or a black lumberjack?) I was also slightly concerned that Brad wasn't properly trained in sushi making. (I studied Kabuki in Tokyo when I was 22 and remember well the intense years-long training that Japanese sushi chefs undergo.)

I'm sorry to admit, though, that my surprise and concern were soon overridden by a shameful and blatantly racist fear.

After I ordered, I began surreptitiously watching Brad work through the glass divider. He started, of course, by rolling and massaging my rice. The way he clumped it and compacted it made me start to wriggle in my seat. He wasn't wearing gloves. (Why should he be? Sushi chefs never wear gloves.) So his naked fingers were all over my rice like, well, white on rice.

Then he touched my toro -- and slapped it together with my rice clump. I winced.

Our eyes met for a second. I quickly averted my gaze and pretended to pluck out a message on my blackberry.

When next I stole a glance at Brad, he was touching my eel with four fingers. Ewwww. Eel is already so moist that I'm sure he left fingerprints. My stomach tightened. Was I even still hungry?

Yes, I was. And I needed to talk myself down from this upset. After all, over the years I've eaten thousands of pieces of sushi molded and rolled by naked fingers. Why were these white fingers making me so uneasy?

I think it's because I associate whiteness with pastiness. The paler the person, the clammier the hands. Fish is clammy, too. And clammy combined with clammy is a recipe for infectious. The truth is, I'd rather have black or Latino fingers handling my wasabi than white. There, I've said it.

The Caesar Salad at the bottom of my belly stopped churning - momentarily - when I saw Brad use a utensil to scoop up my sea urchin and wrap it in seaweed. (Had Brad actually touched my sea urchin, I would have projectile vomited over the counter.)

But then 'ol sticky fingers was at it again: he all but gave my tuna shiatsu. I imagined tiny droplets of sweat forming on his fingertips ... and getting absorbed by my fish. All I could think was STD: Sushi Transmitted Disease.

What do you think? Can you understand my disgust at white fingers on my nigiri? Or am I just an unreconstructed racist? (Btw is there such a thing as a "deconstructed racist"?)



Ultimately my hunger won out over my racism: I ate everything ... except that manhandled piece of tuna.

P.S. It has been brought to my attention that there have in fact been black lumberjacks. (But I still know of no Asian country music singers.)