Here they are so you can follow along.
Confessions of a Reformed Sushi Eater
By FRANK BRUNI
Published: March 2, 2005
I am ashamed of my past. Horrified by it, really. I need to glance back only a little more than a decade to catch a glimpse of my wantonness, to see myself treating something precious as if it were just so much flesh. When it came to sushi, I was a cad. I degraded it with excess wasabi paste, and my use of soy sauce was nothing short of promiscuous.
Then again, there wasn’t an abundance of exemplary sushi or expert sushi chefs back then. All too often the fish, overly chewy, and the rice, needlessly clumpy, didn’t deserve gentler treatment. At Gari, a new Japanese restaurant on the Upper West Side, they do. I would never drag Gari’s sushi carelessly through a salty, spicy murk.