When he passed away about a year ago, my Dad left behind a lifetime of stories that I will remember with tenderness. One of them was about the time he visited Japan in the 90s. He spoke about sumo wrestlers and geishas, and of course, about the incredible food. In particular, some nameless fish that he ate on the train early one day. He would have known too, having grown up close to the Sea in a town known for its fish. He raved about this fish so much he had no words to describe it. That picture is somehow so clear in my mind it was as if I was there. But 20 years would pass before I would visit Japan for the first time.
