I've been practicing the ancient art of sushi-making, mainly through watching YouTube tutorials while eating stale ramen, which isn't exactly the most reliable way to master the technique. Anyway, my cat, an unimpressed observer, lay under my kitchen table, periodically batting at bits of fish that slipped onto the floor. Today, I'd been working on a particularly tricky roll – it involved tempura bits and mango - but the sticky rice refused to cooperate, resulting in it sticking to my fingers like an ungrateful kid on a playground, only I didn't get to have a snack when I was a kid. I stared down at a failed attempt, my fingers smeared with what could pass for rice paste in a dark corner of my kitchen. Maybe it needed a hint of desperation in its construction.
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