Curds and way too gross

D and I went to a cool little Japanese restaurant tonight that was extremely authentic. Everyone there spoke Japanese, the waitresses wore kimonos, and Japanese families were eating there as well (always a good sign).

The menu was a bit of a conundrum, however, as it contained a selection of many items that never make it to more Americanized sushi places. I spotted an appetizer that looked interesting -- fermenting soy beans -- and said that I wanted to order that. But Dean always wanting to push the order just one step further suggested that we get it combined with something else, as there were a few combos with this item. I agreed and he picked "sticky yams with fermenting soy beans."

Our first item combo -- assorted fish with cucumbers in vinegar sauce -- was delicious, as was the second standby: wakame (pickled seaweed). When the third item was placed in front of us, we both hesitated. Did we really order this? What is it? We could clearly see the pile of tiny brown beans in the center, but they were surrounded by this thick, white goo that was not at all yam-colored as we'd expected.

That's when Dean blurted out, "What the... is that spit?" I tried to shush him as I dipped my chopsticks in and attempted to grab a wad of the beans and slime. But as I pulled the goo towards my mouth, that's when the consistency really revealed itself... clear slime and cloudy white streamers, sticky and oozy, and looking strangely like... like... like...

"That looks like it came from my pee pee," D blurted out in a fit of giggles. (Yes, I'm dating a 5 year old.)

Again, I tried to shush him. Yes, I knew exactly what it looked like, and I was having a hard time trying to decide if I was supposed to put it in my mouth, pour it on my stomach, or give myself a facial... but I was trying not to think about any of that and praying that it would melt like buttery yams in my mouth.

I shoved the ejacu... I mean sticky yams and beans into my hesitant mouth and had to fight the instant gag wave that hit me. It was the best acting job I've ever done since... since... since the first time I had to do that same acting job. All I kept thinking while I tried to gulp down the yuck was, "Hold it together... wash it down with some tea... don't lose your cool, or Dean won't taste it."

After choking the junk down, I thanked him for ruining the experience for me with that comment and because of that, the whole bowl was his... I'd never be able to eat it with that reference floating in my mind (I failed to mention the taste).

The reaction I gave was a clear reference to a previous Asian-fusion restaurant experience in Lauderdale, where I ordered some sort of fish covered in orange sauce, to which D blurted out, "That looks like vomit," and promptly ended my ability to enjoy a single bite of the dish. Since he knew that I'd been using the "that looks like vomit" quote on him repeatedly as payback ever since, he also knew he would have to eat the current questionable slime or never hear the end of it.

He tried to reject the invitation to try his order, flattening himself against the wall of the booth and putting his hands up in an "oh no" gesture. "Oh, you'll eat it... you will eat it," I said... like some possessed dominatrix.

D timidly grappled with the slime, getting it onto his chopsticks, dropping it, picking some up again... all the while giggling like a nervous school girl. Finally, he shoved some into his mouth and held it for a fraction of a second before his expression changed to nausea and he let the sticky liquid fall from his mouth like a girl-gone-wild realizing her dignity was gone.

Then I was able to laugh at long last.

D was surprised that I managed to swallow the bunch I had. "Years and years of practice," I said with a wink... grossing myself out at the same time as I had to laugh. Then I admitted, "That was all acting, my friend... but the worst part were the chunks." At least I have a better understanding how something as vile as bukkake might have originated in Japan... start 'em young on the sticky yams and it's all downhill from there.

Our waitress came back to clear our appetizer dishes and noticed the mess we'd made of the one particular item. "You don't like," she inquired shyly? We laughed more and shook our heads in disgust. She then told us that she thought we were very experienced with Japanese menus when we ordered it, because no one ever orders that. You don't say.

Next time you're in an authentic Japanese restaurant, I dare you to order the sticky yams with or without the fermenting soy beans... and then try to put some in your mouth. Let me know if you spit or swallow... that's what separates the men from the girls (or queens, perhaps).