Sushi Night

In my old Portland life, my housemates and I used to have semi-regular sushi nights, inviting over friends to make and eat sushi. They were always lovely relaxed evenings filled with fun and often haphazard looking sushi rolls.

At my last Portland Sushi Night (actually at A’s apartment in Hillsboro), one of the more memorable, A managed to scald his leg with miso soup and spent the rest of the night not wearing pants.

After a hiatus of nearly two years, I had my first Belgrade Sushi Night on Sunday—and it passed without major incident. There were no burns or articles of clothing removed.

What there was was delicious eating and good conversation. Silly foodie that I am, I was worried about if the Chinese soy sauce and rice vinegar that I was using would taste too different from their Japanese equivalents. Possibly my taste buds have dulled a bit due to lack of exposure to ethnic food, but I couldn’t taste a major difference.

At the close of the evening, a friend officially labeled my flat ‘the good eating house.’