Posted on Aug 10, 2010

The Natto Experience

The tiny brown globes rested in a tiny mountain pile on top of steaming rice, almost appearing if they were steaming themselves. I leaned over and the pungent smell of ripe old age cheese seized my senses. Overwhelmed, I stumbled backwards, fingers grappling on the table to regain balance. I peered cautiously at the innocent ceramic bowl before me and then at the smiling, encouraging face of my host mother.

So this is natto, I thought to myself. I stirred the sticky mounds. The pile mushed and gossamer strings stretched, sticky on the chopsticks.

Looks and smells like a pile of steaming crap. Eww.

– circa. 2001-2002

Do you like natto on rice the most?
I do not like them, mom-the-host
I do not like natto on rice the most.

Would you like them here or there?

I would not like them here or there.
I would not like them anywhere.

I do not like natto on rice the most.
I loathe natto on rice the most.

Would you share them with a lark?
Would you like them with a Marc?

I would share them with a lark.
Nor will I like them with a Marc.
He hates them, mom-the-host
Like me, he hates natto on rice the most.

Not with a lark.
Not with a Marc.
I would not eat them here or there.
I would not eat them anywhere.
I do not like natto on rice the most.
I loathe natto on rice the most.

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