Domo Arigato, Mr. Roboto

So for Japanese night i knew I had no choice but to let Chad take us out for sushi. Japanese cuisine is where I really fall down on the chic, bourgeois mother-unit. Sushi makes me gag. I cannot stomach uncooked meat, be it tartare, any kind of raw egg, or raw fish. I feel a little self-conscious about it because every time I say I don't eat sushi people look at me like an uncouth hick. So when faced with the thought of trying to gag down another California roll, I knew what had to be done. And that thing is hibachi.

I did not feel guilty at all about giving Olivia a semi-authentic (hibachi actually did originate in Japan, at hotel to entertain American guests) experience if it meant I did not have to eat fish eggs. The upside was that we were able to talk to the chef and try out our new Japanese phrases, and what kid wouldn't love hibachi?

So arigatou gozaimasu and on to India!