On my knees before a dish of shirako in one of the hidden away restaurants of Tokyo, I tapped my chopsticks against the white ruffled lump set in a pool of clear eggy liquid garnished with a lime. No one knew the English translation. I was a guest and the only foreigner at the table. I had but one choice: eat it.
Little did I know that the mental preparation it took to clear my mind and raise an unknown and undoubtedly animal-derived, most likely raw substance to my mouth would open a door to the boundless world of food.
Incidentally, shirako (translation: fish sperm) is rather disgusting, but I regaled in a dinner full of new tastes and textures: a celebration of land, culture and history dancing on my tastebuds.
I have always enjoyed cooking, but since that night, food has come to mean much more than just tasting good and filling an empty stomach. Food became the focus of my anthropology studies. I want to know everything I can about cooking and eating. Why do we eat what we eat where we eat and when we eat?
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