I love Japanese food. I've always loved Japanese food. Unfortunately, I've been spending way too much time with Japanese food lately and it's really putting a strain on the relationship that we once had going. What was once exciting, exotic, and enticing has now just become common everyday fare. I thought that maybe I needed some time apart, but after a brief fling in Thailand, I became reaquainted with spice--a long ignored but unforgotten flavor--and I realized where my true loyalty lies.
It is not within the subtle textures and flavors of a perfectly presented bowl of udon noodles with strategically placed slices of scallions and pink-and-white fishcakes. It is not within the giant man-eating whole squids I get from time to time in my school lunch box. And it certainly isn't in the little miniature fish-shaped bottles doling out single servings of soy sauce.
I want my food to kick me in the ass and make me cry without looking like it just crawled out of the ocean 2 minutes ago. I want food to be salty-spicy-hot. And I don't want my meat served on a stick. A nice thick steak or a set of ribs will do.
Man, all this food talk is making me hungry. I want a burrito...
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