Icky sushi, artichoke thorns and horseradish mayonnaise

Yesterday afternoon, as I enjoyed my mid afternoon coffee between lessons, I noticed the sushi shop sign next to the cafe. Somehow, I don't think this shop's name would do well in the states.

Then on the way to the last lesson out on Nun's Island, a rather affluent suburb, I realized I had caught the early bus, and would have 15 minutes to kill before going to the lesson. There is a large shopping center near the house, and I have stopped there before to peruse the drug store or make a deposit at the bank. I decided that I would check out the supermarket, IGA and see what kind of produce they had. This is the very same named market that we patronize in our neighborhood. But when I walked in, I think I audibly gasped as the produce section alone was as large as our own neighborhood version of a supermarket. I was thrilled to find artichokes, and ripe avocados. They never have these at our market. I strolled quickly through the rest of the market noticing that everything was 20 - 50 cents more expensive than at my branch. Ha! Still, it was a dreamy experience, so luxurious! And I bought a knife.

Then I headed over to the lesson, a weekly session with a brother and sister of Japanese parents. Fresh from my produce rush, I quickly learned that the kids did not like avocados. They made screwed up yucky faces. I told them, "Do you put salt on them? Because they're no good without salt." They seemed surprised at the suggestion. The children had never seen (with cognizance anyway) an artichoke before. I explained to them how fun they were to eat, as anything generally is with butter or mayo. I asked the mother if she had ever tried an artichoke. She blushed and explained that a friend of hers made them and didn't explain the proper way of eating it. There she was dipping the leaf into the butter and then placing the whole thing in her mouth to chew, and chew, and chew, thorn and all. When her friend bust up laughing she ran to the toilet to spit it out. Since then she has had an artichoke phobia. Then her son said, "Can we have artichokes soon. Pleaaaase." She said she guessed it was time to get over her experience and we all had a good laugh. (Really, it was a Norman Rockwell moment)

The lesson finished, I hopped the bus and train home, arriving around 7:15. Spouse was home and had some meat defrosting on the counter. He spied the artichokes and immediately started to prepare the pot. I guess he had missed them too. 40 minutes later, we sat down to hot turkey sandwiches and artichokes with mayo. The mayo had some kind of spice in it. Something spicy. About halfway through the peeling of the artichoke, I asked if he had put dijon in the mayo. He said no. The wasabi paste?

"No, I used that horseradish mayonnaise that you just bought."

"I didn't buy any horseradish mayonnaise."

"Duh, of course you did, how else would it be there. Why did you buy it anyway?"

"I really don't know what you are talking about."

This causes him to leap up, making cat furball noises, and head to the kitchen. There is something vaguely familiar about the idea of "horseradish mayonnaise" , something from a long time ago. Serge arrives with the bottle of horseradish mayonnaise. I say that perhaps it is old and we just didn't notice it much. I pick it up to search for the "best by" date. I'm not a little shocked to read October 2004 on the bottle. And then I notice that the whole mass has shrunk away from the bottle, holding the bottle form but not touching any of the sides. Jiggling freely.

I read the ingredients and notice that there are whole eggs, and that it is preservative free (dammit!) We both begin to feel slightly nauseous thinking about the two year old mayonnaise coating our insides. We run to the kitchen and throw it out and prepare fresh ramekins of regular mayo. We try to talk ourselves into thinking we'll be okay. And after all that, the hot turkey sandwiches are better than the artichokes.

We've made it to morning, so I guess we have magically avoided food poisoning. Whew!