I have a little reflex that I call I'm not cooking. It kicks in relatively rarely, but Margy has to deal with it when it does. Tonight, I wasn't cooking. It was hot out, I was tired, I don't know what -- I just wasn't ready to stand at the stove.
In these cases I will sometimes offer Margy a plan, or even call her while she's on her way home to tell her I'm not cooking and ask which of our few decent take-out options she'd prefer. Not this time. She got home, probably expecting something to be in the works (she's not demanding, it's just that something usually is in the works), and she found me waffling desperately over a short stack of menus. I didn't want to cook, but I needed to eat.
In the end we went with one of the local Japanese restaurants, under my condition that we'd steer clear of sushi. Sushi just isn't great to go, and it isn't great at this place, period. So we ordered shrimp shumai, a salmon salad, and a big container of chicken and tofu teriyaki.
Of course, the salmon salad, which I'd never had before, wasn't sushi -- it was sashimi. Who knew? I expected cooked salmon skin, but I got raw salmon with avocado slices in a miso dressing. No harm, no foul: It was divine. I might have to give sushi at this place another shot...
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