My Hate Affair with Sushi

I will never pretend that I have a refined palate.  I love chocolate-covered gummy bears, still order Happy Meals, and always get the same thing at any given restaurant.  I'm a wannabe foodie, though.  I love the idea of gourmet food (chipotle aioli on the side, please) that leans toward the exotic (what is "wild" duck, anyway? Do they wear leather jackets?), and trying new things (kinda).  But the sad fact is...I'm generally disappointed when I deviate from my food comfort zone.


One food I truly hate is sushi.  The first time I tried it was because a boy I liked in college wanted to get sushi, so of course I was super enthusiastic about trying it ("I've always wanted to try sushi!" = lie), and I wanted so much to like it.  Buuut...I hated it.  Everything about it.


This is the part of the story where anyone who can't believe I would hate something as wonderful as raw fish wrapped in seaweed says, "Well, what KIND did you try? You probably just didn't go to the right place and order the right thing."  Trust me...I have tried enough types on several occassions, paid enough money, and felt gross enough post-meal to know FOR SURE that sushi is not my cup of green tea.  For a while, I kind of wished I did like it.  Boyfriend loves it, and I just eat my weight in edamamie when we go out.  Plus, it's got a cache to it.  I get it...sushi is hip.  And it's undeniably pretty.  But I still hate it.


I hate the temperature.  I hate the smell.  I hate the texture.  I hate the taste. 


And I will never eat it again.


So...does anyone want to go to Rainforest Cafe tonight?