I was eating a fruit salad at a sushi restaurant on the Lower East Side when my sushi chef and I were introduced to the most disgusting of all Japanese foods.
The dish was a miso-soaked, blackened salmon, covered in an orange-colored goo that oozed from the inside.
My sushi chef was the first to recognize the odor and ordered us to clean up the mess.
“That’s what you get for cooking fish without a license,” he told me.
“The fish is a delicacy.”
As I tried to clean the salmon, I found the goo inside the fish.
As it was cooking, I realized that I was ingesting a toxic cocktail of toxic chemicals, many of which were found in the water used to prepare the fish, and the fish itself.
My chef had been warned of the potential dangers of miso in Japan, but he had never experienced it firsthand.
I had not even heard of fish poisoning, let alone a fruit fly that could spread it.
When I had arrived at the sushi restaurant, my sushi was completely clean.
I didn’t feel the lingering toxic fumes, nor did I smell the foul, gooey fish.
The fish was perfectly seasoned and seasoned well, and all the fish was fresh, perfectly cooked.
But my chef was not finished with his meal.
“This is the kind of thing you do after you cook a bunch of fish and then your server tells you that the fish has been misoed,” he said, as if the fish had just been served and he had no idea what was in it.
“You are supposed to be able to eat it and then have it be perfectly cooked and served.”
He continued, “But you can’t.
It’s not like it’s just there to be eaten.”
I could see that the seafood I was about to eat was tainted.
I knew it wasn’t just my sushi, but I also knew that the tuna salad I had eaten was tainted as well.
After I ordered the tuna and salmon, my server went into the bathroom to get a fresh cup of water, which was used to rinse the fish before I ate it.
But the fish wasn’t washed, and it was still tainted with the toxic chemicals that had been in the fish that had come from the kitchen.
As the waitress was leaving, I could hear her scream, “No, no, no!”
The fish wasn`t being cleaned, but it was being cooked in the kitchen, so that it would be cooked perfectly for me.
And then I was supposed to take my seat.
When the waitress returned, she asked me, “Where is your miso?”
I answered, “I have no miso.”
Then she asked, “So you can eat this?”
I replied, “Yes, sir.”
“That`s not okay,” she told me, as I was handed a piece of paper with the instructions to put the miso on the salad.
“It`s like eating poison,” I said.
“Because I`m supposed to know what I`ve done wrong, so I can do something about it.
I have no idea how to do that.”
The sushi chef had no clue what was wrong with the fish or what he should do.
After the waitress left, I went back to the sushi.
The tuna salad was completely fresh and perfectly cooked, and I could taste the fish well.
I decided to eat the salad and finish my meal.
The next morning, I was sitting at my desk with a smile on my face and I heard a voice in my head.
“No miso!” it said.
The voice said.
I tried opening my mouth and saying no, but the voice was there in my mind and I couldn`t speak.
I felt the voice in the back of my head say, “You know, I should just say no, and eat the tuna instead.
I want you to see what the problem is.”
My mind was spinning, but my mouth was closed.
It was the voice of the fish in my mouth.
And so I did.
The following day, I ate the tuna without miso.
I went to the hospital and was told by the doctors that I had ingested fish poison, and that the poison had been washed off with soap and water.
I asked my sushi chefs if they had ever seen the fish being misomed, and they told me that they had not.
I later learned that miso was banned in Japan for consumption for over 50 years before being brought back into the country in 1996.
It had never been known in Japan before, and people in the country who were familiar with miso knew nothing about it before 1996.
In fact, most people thought that misoprostol was not a toxic substance, because it was not an ingredient in a sushi recipe.
I did not know anything about miso until a few months ago, when a sushi chef told me about misopron.
In Japan, misoprons are called mok