Ten years ago last month, after a decade of meatless-and-fishless youthhood, I took a bite of salmon sashimi and never looked back.

It was a very good day.

Actually, that’s not true. It was a very conflicted day. I was seventeen, stubborn, malnourished, college-brain-overloaded, and really flippin’ hungry. I’d spent a good two hours prepping for an English Lit class potluck—carving a watermelon into the shape of a peacock and adorning it with skewered melon balls, assuring myself that even if the rest of the party was a terrifying apocalypse of pizza and cheese cubes, at least I could eat my fruit bird.

It turned out the pizza was a no-show, but someone had the genius idea—and I say that without a shred of sarcasm—of bringing a huge takeout platter of sushi. I spent some time gnawing on a cantaloupe ball, glancing furtively at the fish display, admiring its arrangement in the way one might admire a Van Gogh: with aesthetic awe, but no desire to shove it into my mouth and chew. (more…)