this is for this week’s writing exercise. it draws from my experience visiting morimoto, which i previously blogged.
i behold the clean, white plate before me upon which rests the slab of chilean sea bass. the plum sauce surrounding it is dark; the color contrast between it and the pure, pristine whiteness of the fish, revelatory.
the sharpness of the shaved ginger and scallions tickled my nose even before their color met my eyes. yet all of that serves to turn my attention back to sea bass.
there’s no crust—it clearly wasn’t broiled or sautéed, nor does otherwise appear to have been exposed to flame, yet it’s clearly been cooked. not a single thing mars the incredible purity of color that i am seeing and it takes long moments to hit upon the idea of steaming—that must be the method of preparation!
having taken a few moments to feast upon this item visually, a more thorough inspection must now be made.
chopsticks easily remove a small morsel and i am careful to get some of the scallion and ginger. with a trembling hand, i slowly guide this bite to my mouth, carefully placing it on my tongue. in this cathedral to the glory of food, this is my communion wafer.
i am struck first not by the flavor, but the texture: the fish is dissolving on my tongue, carrying its flavor around my mouth. the plum sauce—a far cry from the sludgy paste one often finds in restaurants—is refreshingly light, and contrasts beautifully with the ginger and scallion, buoying the actual taste of the sea bass on a gently rolling wave.
i put down the chopsticks and smile, knowing that i have tasted perfection.
finis



