While doing a publicity event today, I was fed a boxed lunch.
Japanese-style.
As in, a whole bunch of sushi that came in a very big box.
Once again, I tried valiantly to like it, and although this time it wasn't slathered in mayonnaise or secretly hiding a horrible surprise tucked deep inside known as wasabi, it still tasted like a little dead fish that crawled out of the ocean into my mouth.
And unfortunately, there was no soy sauce to drown my sorrows in either.
And here's the thing: yes, I am in a foreign and evocative country and yes, I want to experience everything this country has to offer; but when that includes tastes that make me want to stop chewing and start spitting, then yes, I will go elsewhere. Because I am in a show that involves some energy and hey, a girl's gotta eat. So how terrible would it be if I confessed that I went to KFC today after the whole boxed lunch affair? And how awful would it be if I told you just how much I enjoyed that crispy chicken sandwich that was blessedly devoid of mayonnaise or wasabi or anything that had recently had a P.O. box in the Pacific Ocean?
Because I did.
And another thing, sometimes it's better just not to ask.
We were all feasting on some delicious bread at dinner tonight. The bread was black, but not burnt. It was a little toasty, but soft in the middle. I just assumed that it was made from olives or something and though I don't like olives in the least, I decided to just go with it because like I said, the bread was smashingly good.
So when my friend asked the waiter why the bread was black and he methodically told us squid ink?
I just kept chewing.
That makes up for KFC in a moment of weakness today, right?
