Lying to Children

I had a father and son duo come into my bar today. The young man and his father stride up to the bar, and I offered to seat them at a table. I told the duo that the boy wasn't allowed to sit there, and with a bit of a disappointed look, they sat at a table.

They ordered a beer for dad and just water to the son. I could see the dad peering nervously over the menu with the son; I've seen this before.

In case you didn't know, kids are scared of sushi. It's foreign, uses chopsticks, and most importantly it is raw food. Now, as a child, the words "raw" and "food" simply didn't go together. Food was something that was cooked and served, not killed and sliced. Perhaps it is the naiveté of western culture, but I didn't realize that most of the food I enjoyed were animals that were killed and butchered until the first time I had lobster. (Long story short: there were tears.  My parents love telling the story to embarrass me.)

As a society, we go into the grocery store and buy a package of chicken breasts, or pork, or beef, and many children never realize these are animals that we kill. To eat. Hell, I didn't know that a pineapple came from the ground and not some sort of magical tree until I was 18. I watched as children popped the heads off of chickens when I was living in Costa Rica, and I can't imagine my 10 year old self being able to kill anything that was on my "the farmer says" toy

(Remember this thing?!?!)

Now, do not for one second think I am about to make a case for vegetarianism. If someone told me I was only allowed to have steak if I killed the cow myself, I would do it with my bare hands if I had no other means. I love meat. I will kill things to eat all day. But, what does this have to do with lying to children?

Dad ordered shrimp tempura for the son, which usually comes with some eel sauce on top. I dropped it at the table myself, and they asked what the sauce was. I didn't miss a beat. "It's a brown sweet sauce. You'll love it." Dad told me this was his first time having sushi, and he was very nervous. Lo and behold, the kid LOVED the shrimp tempura. So I decided to be sneaky. I asked Dad if son had any allergies. This is when I decided to lie to a child.

I ordered some Crispy Squares, which are pieces of rice baked and lightly fried with a spicy tuna on top. They aren't a sushi roll and don't have seaweed, but I really wanted this young man to try raw fish. I remember the first time I ate sushi, and it was very empowering. I felt very grown up.

I brought the dish to the table and asked the young man, who had a case on his right wrist and two splinted fingers. "Brotherly love" he chirped as gave me a mischievous smile. I knew exactly what that meant.

I dropped the dish and told him to try it. He asked me cautiously what it was (spicy tuna doesn't look like a piece of fish) and I lied. I lied through my teeth. I told him it was shrimp tempura, but just looked different. I told them it was my treat and walked away, I saw him cautiously take a nibble. From my bar as soon as he swallowed, I saw his legs just kick a little bit. He actually liked it. I went back to the table and came clean.

"Hey dude, don't get worried, but you just ate your first raw fish. Real sushi." Dad looked wide eyed. The kid internalized the information, and then smiled. I knew what he was feeling.  A moment ago he wasn't allowed to sit at the bar because he was too young, and now he just ate sushi like a real adult. I told him what it was so he could order it next time. "That's the first step, man. Next thing you know you'll be eating raw octopus and growing a beard. Give it a month." He stroked his chin expectantly.

These are the moments why I do this job. He will go home and tell the story to his mom and his brother. Next time he goes to a sushi place he won't be as intimidated. By the time he can go on dates with girls he will be cultured with a real palette. He may forever remember the first day that he had real raw fish.

But he won't remember me.

Afterwards, I was neck deep in work, and the young man came up to the bar. "Excuse me, sir," he said. "I wanted to thank you for the sushi today. It was delicious. I'm not mad that you told me it was shrimp."

"That's a relief," I told him with a smile. "What's your name?"

"Sander," he said quickly. "Sander with an 'S'. Spelled 'S-A-N-D-E-R'

"I won't forget," I told him. "Take care of that hand."

I gave him a fist bump, and looked up to his father, who gave a wave. What a great kid he will turn out to be.

That's kind of the point. You see, we punctuate our lives with drinks and food. I remember my first beer and remember my first manhattan. I remember the first time I realized that rare steak is the only way to cook it. I don't remember any of my servers or bartenders. You don't either. We are the invisible facilitators of engagements, anniversaries, first dates, and nights you wish you could forget. That is the soul of this job. I will always remember young Sander, even if he forgets all about me.

Stay Thirsty,
-E