Sushi and the Banshee


Today Rhiannon tried sushi. And for once, it was not a parent asking her to try something. Yesterday, Rhiannon and I were watching Saturday morning cartoons (which is something I did with my dad back when Scooby Doo was still a cartoon, had no Scrappy, and had animation that was considered cutting edge and humor that was "edgy"). But in the days of Cartoon Network and the Disney Channel, cartoons are everywhere. Luckily for us, we found "Sushi Pack".

"Sushi Pack" is a half-hour cartoon featuring five superheros who live in the refridgerator of a sushi bar. These heros are about six inches tall and are humanoid with sushi-like features (or maybe they are sushinoid with human-like features) and include the incomprehensible Wasabi, a crab-girl, a salmon boy whose weapons are salmon balls, an octopus-boy, and a purple thing. Together they use their sushi powers to overcome zany evil worthy of at least an old Scooby Doo episode.

So today at the grocery store, Rhiannon rides in the trolley shaped like a car with a wire basket in the back. She beeps and steers as if navigating the roads of Athens in an ill-fated taxi. I ask Rhiannon if she wants to see what real sushi looks like.

"Sure!"

So we drive to the deli counter and inside there are about a dozen boxes of pre-made sushi -- the kind that is friendly to American suburban palates (namely California rolls of about three different varieties). With red crab, green avocado, orange carrots, white rice, black seaweed, they look amazing to a five-year-old aesthete whose explorations in eating have only recently determined that macaroni and cheese is okay to eat.

"Dad! Can we PLEASE get that?"

"Do you want to try it? I like sushi a lot, and this pack has avocados in it."

"Yes!"

So into the hopper it goes, our final purchase. On the way home, we talk about sushi. Rhiannon is more interested in how sushi is like "Sushi Pack".

"Well, a 'pack' can mean a group of something, like a gang or a team, and it is also a short way to say 'package'".

Rhiannon gets the pun. "Oh! So we bought a sushi pack! And those guys are called 'Sushi Pack'".

"Yep! Very good, Rhiannon."

She returns to singing versionn 53 of her favorite, self-penned tune, "The Rose in My Heart".

When we get inside, I put away the groceries and then open the sushi pack and arrange the nine pieces in a circle on a princess plate, putting wasabi and pickled ginger in the middle.

Rhiannon is all of a sudden not so sure of her lunch choice.

"Can I just try a piece of avocado, dad?"

"Sure."

I give her a chunk. But it has of course become infused with the flavors of the crab, carrot, rice, and seaweed.

As soon as the piece goes into her mouth, she is out of her chair, bolting for the trashcan under the sink. Out it comes. Rhiannon returns to the table, a little embarassed.

"Dad, I do not want to have sushi again. Ever."

"Never ever, Rhiannon? I'm proud of you for trying it."

"Well, maybe when I am sixteen."

To Rhiannon, "sixteen" means she is grown up.

"Okay."

"Dad?"

"Yes, Rhiannon?"

"Can I have pizza instead?"

Rhiannon. Internationally Cute.

Andrew (Papa)