Raw Fish

 

Outside a raw fish restaurant, Sokcho

Some years ago, the faculty and staff of the middle school where I worked had lunch at a raw fish restaurant. Sitting uncomfortably cross-legged at a floor table with a bowl of white rice in front of me, I searched the many side dishes for something that didn't have any seafood in it. Although I tried to avoid looking at it, my eyes couldn't help be drawn to the fresh-from-the-aquarium fish lying on its side in a central platter garnished with leafy vegetables. The fish was intact, but its flesh had been thinly sliced to allow easy eating with chopsticks. Its round eye seemed to be looking straight at me. I felt guilty, even though I wasn't going to eat it. The young dimple-cheeked teaching assistant sitting across from me was also looking at the fish with her hands folded benignly in her lap.

'It looks so pitiful,' she said. When I grunted my assent, she took a sesame leaf from the platter and covered its face. Then she picked up her chopsticks and looked for the plumpest bits.