That’s a California Tuna Roll up there. We ate it recently at Yokohama, one of the many good sushi places here in Lawrence. I like sushi – I could watch the chefs roll it up all night. Still, I’m a lousy sushi eater – I can never get past the mental hmm of raw eel and other slithers from the deep.

I’ll take a few pieces of pure tuna and salmon, swimmers I have known, yes, but I move on fast to the warmth of tempura and donburi, oh the donburi – steaming little red pots of eggs and savory chicken and onions simmered over rice. Just one sticky-sweet bite makes me think that after 15 years of marriage, maybe comfort food is romantic. Sushi lives on the edge, and frankly, other than a quickie with hot pickled ginger, the edge makes me tired.

I’m not sure if that’s pathetic or perfect, but I’m fairly certain that if Jane Austen ate at Yokohama, she’d order the donburi. Whoops – now we all know I’m pathetic, so what the hell, I’ll also say that if Colin Firth fed me sushi by a brook, now that would be romantic.

Okay! So tell me why sushi turns you on. Is it beauty and heat, or just one too many sake bombs? Tell me what you like and how you like it.

But maybe not all of it, eh?