The last issue of New York magazine that I read (note I did not say, “the latest issue” – I have a bad habit of reading magazines out of order) had a snippet about the rise of non-Japanese sushi chefs. Specifically, the article highlighted two, up and coming sushi masters of Mexican descent. All of which struck me as, well, not strange at all. That whole fusion thing, now, that was strange: taking two cultures who didn’t have anything in common and then smashing them together on my plate. This is just egalitarian.
This week, I found myself at a pizzeria staffed completely by … Dominicans, if I heard the Spanish right. The pizzeria went above and beyond the regular pizza pie call of duty to offer ginocchi on the menu, a vat of pasta e fagioli, and arangini displayed on the case above the slices. Now, I’ve seen everything from Sicilian stromboli to Jamaican beef patties on this oft used shelf, but I almost had to jump for joy when I got my very own arangine, an orange ball of risotto and meat, encrusted with bread crumbs. So while purists probably turn up their noses at Mexican-made sushi and Dominican-thrown pizza, I say well, at least they’ve done their homework.