Laid bare at Hibachi
Does not catching the shrimp in my mouth at hibachi make me an unfun loser bitch? I won’t open my mouth like a hungry hippo to catch the shrimp. Only to have it hit around my mouth and watch in horror as everyone around me goes “awwww”?? I won’t do it. I refuse. And then the underpaid Hibachi chef comes back to me again for some kind of sick redemption arc, only for me to STILL be unable to catch the shrimp? And then I am the ONLY ONE who can’t catch the shrimp?
No no no. No no no no no. Not today, not any day. The girl a few seats down was a vegetarian. She was so excited to catch food in her mouth that she threw a broccoli off of her plate and onto the blackstone so she could still participate in the seal ritual. I’m in love with that girl and her sense of abandon. I HATE her!! Everyone is so fun and so game and I’m a shameful strange little bird who can’t be seen with her mouth agape. Everyone is going to find out!
But…I look like a loser to not have tried. It’s part of the Hibachi ritual. One might say it is the PINNACLE of the whole experience?! No, I think we all can agree the onion volcano is the pinnacle - that’s ridiculous. But maybe I just…should not be allowed to go to Hibachi anymore? By sitting at the table, is there some kind of contractual obligation to catch the shrimp in my mouth? In the name of community and togetherness and shared humanity? There is nothing more vulnerable than Hibachi for a friend’s birthday.
Does the refusal of the shrimp have wider ramifications? I LOVE COMMUNITY and I swear to GOD I am a fun person. I laugh. I have anecdotes of an appropriate length to share at socially appropriate times. I love getting to know people. I consider myself open and easygoing.
Except when the shrimp start flying. It’s a failure I cannot take. It’s baked in years of birthday parties, family outings, and celebrations where I NEVER ONCE caught the shrimp or the rice ball or whatever food was being thrown at my face. I would enjoy my teriyaki chicken with food in my lap and sorrow in my heart. This is a specific kind of traceable shame that, having gone Hibachi-less for more than a decade, I hadn’t had to face. Deadly.
So you know what…no. By choosing myself and my happiness in saying “no” to the shrimp toss, I am simply nurturing a self conscious and fat 9 year old. A girl whose fatness told her stories about her athleticism and coordination that weren’t true. We don’t have to do things we don’t want to do and no one cares whether we do them or not. If anything, it provides a fun and innocuous moment for people to talk shit about on the ride home. I am happy to be the giver of that gift.
Cheer loudly for the beautiful, shame-free seals at your table. Fall in love with their redemption arcs. Eat your yum yum sauce with no food in your lap and a stronger sense of self. Make like the chain gang and LOOK DOWN aggressively when the chef goes to toss. Say “oh I’d rather die, thanks” and watch as the chef moves it along. Maybe the next time Hibachi comes up, you’ll try again. Or not.
