A French is making Sushi in Prahran.

I recently found out some people hear their thoughts as voices, like a voice-over. Like Will Ferrell in Stranger than Fiction. It blows my mind.

I'm in the other camp - thoughts flow in as feelings, emotions, colours, then my left brain catches up, wheezing, with memories, voices, speeches, pop culture references, impersonations.

So when someone told me there's a French guy making countertop sushi in Prahran, the colour I saw was diarrhoea brown, like the colour of cigaratte packaging in Australia.

And I'm upset about that because that makes me a racist. What's with the veil of 'authenticity' floating above our heads like an evil baron, right? It's a curse. I’m not even Japanese. The game, me no skin desu.

Of course a French guy can make sushi.

Just like how an Asian can make great carbonara, croissants, and tacos. If you've dined out recently, chances are an Asian made your food (and coffee).

Ten years ago, I'd probably write an angry post about how white people are ruining ramen, but in 2022 I admire whoever with the balls and optimism to start a restaurant.

Plus, I'm a grown-up now. Rather than bitching about 'what if's, why not just spend the money and try it?

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