Sunday Story- Sybarite

Sybarite- someone who self-indulges with expensive and pleasurable things

Ex: If you take a sybarite to a Japanese restaurant be prepared to at least partially foot a massive bill, run up by the copious amounts of Bluefin tuna toro and uni nigiri ordered to the table. What this friend lacks in self-awareness, they more than make up for in self-indulgence. The most important thing to do in these situations is to remain clearheaded and persistent in your efforts to order regular sushi rolls. The sybarite is going to try to convince you otherwise. He may tempt you with tall tales about a caviar-topped tuna carpaccio app that you just have to try, but you must, and I repeat MUST, let this sentiment flow in one ear and out the other.

Now this, this is the part where things get tricky. The sybarite, being the “foodie-slash-influencer” that he claims to be online, will almost assuredly be ordering some type of crispy-rice topped with spicy tuna situation in order to cater to his moronic, dildoic (it’s a word if I say it’s a word) snapchat fan base. I’m sure you’re well aware of the first commandment of the social media foodie: Thou phone shalt eat first. Never has this commandment been followed more fervently than in the case of a photo opportunity involving spicy tuna crispy rice. To let a spicy tuna crispy rice go un-photographed is akin to, let’s say, having a grandparent- a grandparent you haven’t spoken to in years- die, and NOT posting about it on Instagram in a shallow attempt to get some sympathy pussy. It just doesn’t happen. And the other thing to know about spicy tuna crispy rice is that white girls the world over absolutely LOVE it. If you combine these two concepts, you’ll soon realize that a picture of this dish posted to social media is bound to not only get the attention of your stupid minions, but it will also show the 2 or 3 women that you have as friends on these apps that you have a “refined” palate, and that you choose the restaurants that you dine at based on their Instagrammability (think of a dimly lit joint with a neon sign on the wall that says Live. Laugh. Sushi. - please lobotomize me!), which is apparently a good thing.

Knowing this, you are STILL going to have to SOMEHOW avoid giving in and ordering the crispy rice. How are you going to accomplish this, you ask? I’ll tell you how. By following the 10^th and final foodie commandment: Thou shalt not covet they neighbors’ food. This commandment must be followed even if thy neighbor has turned said food into food porn with his IPhone 14 Pro Max and his borderline compulsive use of snapchat filters. So instead of being jealous, you must stare down at your plate and be appreciative of the sushi in front of you. Take a long, hard look at the basic California roll on your plate. Turn it over in your chopsticks, making sure to admire its rushed assemblage that resulted in half the cucumbers sticking out of it like zombie arms reaching out from the ground in front of a gravesite. Take a whiff of the fishy fake crab, and, while your face is up real close to the roll, notice the browning on the avocado as a result of premature oxidization.

Don’t even think of looking back over at your friend’s plate. Even though the saccharine, caramelized smell coming off of the scorched rice is wafting into your nostrils. Even if the heavenly aroma of intermingling spicy and sweet components is drifting in your direction. Don’t even glance over at it. Wait? What are you doing!? No! Don’t tell him that it looks good! Have you been listening AT ALL!? Oh no. Stop. STOP! Don’t you dare ask him for a piece! Put those chopsticks down! Don’t eat that, I repeat DO NOT eat that! FUCK!!! You ate it. You seriously ate it. And now you’re…you’re reaching for the menu. It says $27, but you and I both know that’s not going to stop you. Your mind is made up. I have returned from the mountain bearing the twin tablets of foodie rules, and I come back to find you praying to a false idol in the form of a non-traditional raw fish dish that would make Jiro from Jiro Dreams of Sushi roll in his grave (wait, is he still alive? The Japanese really have unlocked the secret to aging).

Alright, suit yourself. Just do this one final thing for me, okay? At least follow the 4^th foodie commandment: Thou shalt order a goddamn (note that while taking the lord’s name in vain is outlawed in the regular commandments, it is not just prohibited by the foodie commandments, but actually encouraged by them) diet coke to go along with your meal. Make diet cokes a key part of your personality from here on out. Profess your love for diet cokes from the restaurants’ shitty balcony overlooking downtown Los Angeles. And then, only then, will your foodie followers spread over the earth in all directions and become as numerous as the stars in the sky (Foodesis: 26:4).