Like Mother, Almost Like Daughter

My friend and I were eating at a Japanese restaurant. We both ordered soup and sushi. My sushi arrived on a long, rectangular plate with the ginger and wasabi located in the upper left corner. The wasabi was a lighter green than the sea vegetables decorating the top of the sushi.

I ate a couple of pieces without soy sauce, ginger, or wasabi. Then I decided I’d add them. I moved the clump of wasabi and ginger slices to the lower right corner of the plate. My friend was telling a story. I was engrossed in listening. I also was admiring the green of the sea vegetables.

I looked down and saw the lighter green and thought it was an additional vegetable. I put the entire dollop in my mouth. Instantly, my eyes watered and my mouth yelped. Luckily, I remembered in the nick of time that the lighter green was wasabi and I spit it out.

I also remembered that forty-five years ago, when my family ate at a Japanese restaurant, my mother put a big amount of wasabi into her mouth because she thought it was an unusual vegetable. She did not realize her mistake until after she swallowed. She coughed and coughed as tears ran down her face. She never made that mistake again. And for years I didn’t either. Until the other day.