Sushi in Purgatory
Amanda arrived in Purgatory, thinking what a wretched name for a ski resort. Unsurprisingly, Amanda didn't see much in the way of snow at the moment. That didn’t shock her: even in Colorado, it was hard to have snow in August. Still, she knew there was an alpine slide, ziplines, mini golf, climbing walls, and more here. She sighed wondering if she would get to enjoy any of it.
Three hours later as she sat in the conference room of the Purgatory Village and Lodge, Amanda knew she’d not get to enjoy a moment of her trip. Cynthia, the keynote speaker of the conference was thundering, “Given the outrageous laws passed in places like Alabama, it is clear that not only is the goal of the men proposing these laws to overturn Roe v. Wade, but to push women’s rights back into the 19th century, if not the Stone Age. Now make no mistake ladies, this is not something that we can fix by copying Lysistrata or using reason. Abortion to these men is not about reason or even sex. It is about the power to control our lives, and that is what we must understand and fight.”
Amanda winced when, as if on cue, a voice from behind her yelled, “And how do you propose to do that? You already said it’s not about sex or reason.”
Cynthia smiled. “I’m glad you asked. To answer, I have a small demonstration prepared. But let me first introduce you to Masa Ono, one of the foremost sushi chefs in the world.” Behind her stage curtains parted and a Japanese man that could have been anywhere between thirty and seventy stood on the stage. A huge TV flickered on behind him so that everyone in the room could see his demonstration.
With a bow and easy smile he began. “Thank you. First, for those of you who have never tried sushi or sashimi, let me encourage you to try it. Second, you should know that bluefin tuna is the most popular fish used for sushi.”
“It is the abortion issue of the sushi world,” Cynthia interjected. “You can’t go anywhere with a passing interest in how abortion affects women and our health any more then you can go to any sushi bar and find out which piece of sushi is the best.”
Masa smiled again, although it was much fainter than before. “Quite so. And when it comes to this tuna, it has three parts that are used in our dishes. There is Akami, which is the red meat from the top or back of the fish; there is Chu-toro, which is marbled, pink meat that comes from inside the fish’s belly; and there is O-toro, which is the fattiest portion of the belly itself. O-toro is the most prized piece of the fish.” As Masa spoke he pulled a platter he’d obviously prepared beforehand of three cuts of meat. When he said “Akami” he pointed to meat that aside from the fishy texture might have passed for raw steak. He then pointed to a slice that was the pink of a damask rose for Chu-toro, and, finally, for O-toro at a hunk the color of a Rosa ‘Eden.’
As Masa finished speaking, Cynthia cut back in. “And that is the crux of the issue. Ladies, the O-toro is considered the best part of the fish. Now, I enjoy sushi, but I couldn’t say it is better than any of the other cuts.”
Amanda noticed Masa cringe at this proclamation, but Cynthia was oblivious.
“What I know is that O-toro is the bit everyone wants, while the other two cuts of meat are only taken as an afterthought. And that is the real problem. You see, our wombs and rights to choose are the O-toro in this equation, but the Akami are mens’ balls, and the Chu-toro is the couple—not the woman alone—but the couple’s responsibility to make sure they don’t have a baby they, or either party, do not want or can’t afford. But, I’m proposing we focus on the Akami in this equation.”
Amanda was sure she saw Masa wince at this and idly wondered if he knew this was the gig he had agreed to when he signed his contract.
“Which means what!?” A new voice called out.
“It means we take a lesson from our enemies and respond to these laws with something so outrageous it will put them in a true lose-lose. In short, we strike hard and fast.”
A new woman rose. She looked prim, but curtly cut to the quick. “When you say ‘we strike,’ what exactly are you proposing?”
A wolfish grin spread on Cynthia‘s face, sending a shudder up Amanda‘s spine. “It means we propose that every male who is 18 or older must get a vasectomy when they register for the draft. We’ll agree we can’t prove when the soul enters the body or life begins. But we know women don’t get pregnant without male involvement! Besides, most of the asshats responsible for these laws are all about family planning. Well, this requirement would remove uncertainty almost entirely from the equation! That should logically force men to support this plan. It won’t work, but the beauty of this approach is unlike tying womens’ tubes, it’s reversible. So our opposition’s hypocrisy will be fully exposed! Additionally, we’d get to listen to those jackasses who think they can dictate what we do with our bodies be forced to defend their right to choose what happens to their baby-makers. We’d beat them from pillar to post for thinking they had any rights or say over their body, since the same can’t be said for us! Apropos, no?”
Amanda had intended to leave the conference room and go ziplining. Now she froze, a skier on a broken lift. It was crazy, but it made terrible sense. Suddenly, a zipline seemed pedestrian.
Three hours later as she sat in the conference room of the Purgatory Village and Lodge, Amanda knew she’d not get to enjoy a moment of her trip. Cynthia, the keynote speaker of the conference was thundering, “Given the outrageous laws passed in places like Alabama, it is clear that not only is the goal of the men proposing these laws to overturn Roe v. Wade, but to push women’s rights back into the 19th century, if not the Stone Age. Now make no mistake ladies, this is not something that we can fix by copying Lysistrata or using reason. Abortion to these men is not about reason or even sex. It is about the power to control our lives, and that is what we must understand and fight.”
Amanda winced when, as if on cue, a voice from behind her yelled, “And how do you propose to do that? You already said it’s not about sex or reason.”
Cynthia smiled. “I’m glad you asked. To answer, I have a small demonstration prepared. But let me first introduce you to Masa Ono, one of the foremost sushi chefs in the world.” Behind her stage curtains parted and a Japanese man that could have been anywhere between thirty and seventy stood on the stage. A huge TV flickered on behind him so that everyone in the room could see his demonstration.
With a bow and easy smile he began. “Thank you. First, for those of you who have never tried sushi or sashimi, let me encourage you to try it. Second, you should know that bluefin tuna is the most popular fish used for sushi.”
“It is the abortion issue of the sushi world,” Cynthia interjected. “You can’t go anywhere with a passing interest in how abortion affects women and our health any more then you can go to any sushi bar and find out which piece of sushi is the best.”
Masa smiled again, although it was much fainter than before. “Quite so. And when it comes to this tuna, it has three parts that are used in our dishes. There is Akami, which is the red meat from the top or back of the fish; there is Chu-toro, which is marbled, pink meat that comes from inside the fish’s belly; and there is O-toro, which is the fattiest portion of the belly itself. O-toro is the most prized piece of the fish.” As Masa spoke he pulled a platter he’d obviously prepared beforehand of three cuts of meat. When he said “Akami” he pointed to meat that aside from the fishy texture might have passed for raw steak. He then pointed to a slice that was the pink of a damask rose for Chu-toro, and, finally, for O-toro at a hunk the color of a Rosa ‘Eden.’
As Masa finished speaking, Cynthia cut back in. “And that is the crux of the issue. Ladies, the O-toro is considered the best part of the fish. Now, I enjoy sushi, but I couldn’t say it is better than any of the other cuts.”
Amanda noticed Masa cringe at this proclamation, but Cynthia was oblivious.
“What I know is that O-toro is the bit everyone wants, while the other two cuts of meat are only taken as an afterthought. And that is the real problem. You see, our wombs and rights to choose are the O-toro in this equation, but the Akami are mens’ balls, and the Chu-toro is the couple—not the woman alone—but the couple’s responsibility to make sure they don’t have a baby they, or either party, do not want or can’t afford. But, I’m proposing we focus on the Akami in this equation.”
Amanda was sure she saw Masa wince at this and idly wondered if he knew this was the gig he had agreed to when he signed his contract.
“Which means what!?” A new voice called out.
“It means we take a lesson from our enemies and respond to these laws with something so outrageous it will put them in a true lose-lose. In short, we strike hard and fast.”
A new woman rose. She looked prim, but curtly cut to the quick. “When you say ‘we strike,’ what exactly are you proposing?”
A wolfish grin spread on Cynthia‘s face, sending a shudder up Amanda‘s spine. “It means we propose that every male who is 18 or older must get a vasectomy when they register for the draft. We’ll agree we can’t prove when the soul enters the body or life begins. But we know women don’t get pregnant without male involvement! Besides, most of the asshats responsible for these laws are all about family planning. Well, this requirement would remove uncertainty almost entirely from the equation! That should logically force men to support this plan. It won’t work, but the beauty of this approach is unlike tying womens’ tubes, it’s reversible. So our opposition’s hypocrisy will be fully exposed! Additionally, we’d get to listen to those jackasses who think they can dictate what we do with our bodies be forced to defend their right to choose what happens to their baby-makers. We’d beat them from pillar to post for thinking they had any rights or say over their body, since the same can’t be said for us! Apropos, no?”
Amanda had intended to leave the conference room and go ziplining. Now she froze, a skier on a broken lift. It was crazy, but it made terrible sense. Suddenly, a zipline seemed pedestrian.