Sushi

It wasn’t as bad as I’d thought. My first sushi. Well it was, if you don’t count stuff from the supermarket that someone carried home and which I didn’t like much.

It definitely wasn’t as bad as in my dream first thing this morning. I suppose it proves I was worrying as much about this sushi-eating business as I would about stuff like going to a new school or other traumatic event. It didn’t help that in my dream someone had built ugly redbrick tower blocks all over the main square in Halmstad.

Yes I know, that’s not got a lot to do with YO! Sushi at Piccadilly station in Manchester.

It was Dodo’s idea to eat sushi at Piccadilly before she caught her train back to Edinburgh, so Son asked Witch and Daughter (mine, not his, obviously) to come along. And it’s quite nice to eat with a view of TieRack on the station forecourt.

Luckily I didn’t have to perch on a barstool. The young people allowed me to sit on a more normal seat and my feet almost touched the floor. Almost. The food whizzed past on that track thingy and the waiter made fun of me for needing to eat with those childish style wooden tweezers, rather than with chopsticks. I did want to end up with some of the food inside me, rather than down my front and straight onto the floor.

Let’s say it was an experience. The noodles were OK, and the dessert was fine. Tofu was so-so and the dumplingy things not bad.

And I loved the coloured stripes on the plate edges, which made for some great colour combinations when stacked. When empty. After all, I’m someone who arranges things in my dishwasher according to colour.

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