Sushi Squares — The Summer Kitchen Table

May. The mornings warming. The shiso unruly already. The newsletter Sunday morning. Three hundred words about the way the kombu releases its flavor in cold water overnight. The piece took four hours. The piece is what it needed to be.

Miya, 10, can shape onigiri without falling apart. She uses wet hands. She knows the order without being told. I called Ken in Sacramento. The pauses are longer now. I asked about the daikon. He told me, slowly, about the recent harvest. He grew six. They were perfect.

Cold soba lunch. The buckwheat noodles. The green onion and ginger. The summer kitchen.

Barbara called Sunday. We talked for twenty minutes. She told me about the play she is directing. I told her about the kitchen.

I made dashi at five. The day began.

Coffee with a friend Saturday morning. We talked about books, about kids, about the way our forties became our fifties. The talking is the thing.

Sunday farmers market in the rain. The vendors knew me. The Hood River apple stand had honeycrisps. I bought four pounds.

The newsletter went out Sunday morning. The opening line took an hour. The piece took five. The piece was what it needed to be.

A panic flicker Tuesday evening, brief, manageable. I breathed. I drank water. I went outside and walked around the block. The flicker passed. The body did its work.

I read for an hour Sunday night. A book of essays by a Korean-American writer about food and grief. I underlined a paragraph that said exactly what I had been trying to say in the newsletter for months.

The neighbor's dog barked at nothing for twenty minutes Sunday afternoon. The neighbor apologized. I told him I had been writing through it and the white noise was helpful. He laughed.

Tomi watered the garden Saturday morning. The shiso was head-high. The shishito peppers were producing. The kabocha was running on the fence.

I texted Miya a photo of the shiso. She texted back a heart and a single word: home.

Miya is in elementary school. The Saturday Japanese school continues. She still complains. She is still going.

I wrote at the kitchen table from six to eight. The newsletter was forming. The opening sentence was the hard sentence — they always are. I rewrote it five times. The fifth time was the right time.

Made dashi at five-thirty AM. Ten minutes in the kitchen alone with the kombu and the bonito flakes. The day's first prayer.

Therapy Tuesday. We talked about the wedding. We talked about Barbara. We talked about Fumiko. The hour passed. The work continues.

Yoga Tuesday morning. The studio in Sellwood. Eight students. The class was the class.

A reader sent me a handwritten card this week. Her grandmother had cooked Japanese food in 1970s Boise. She had felt alone in it. The newsletter, she wrote, made her feel less alone. I taped the card to the wall above my desk.

I drove to Uwajimaya Wednesday. Kombu, bonito flakes, white miso, a small bag of mochiko for tomorrow's project. The store smells like home.

The cat was the cat. Mochi at fifteen sleeps most of the day. She still eats with enthusiasm. She still sits at the kitchen window watching the back garden.

I cleaned the kitchen Sunday afternoon. Wiped the counters. Reorganized the drawer where the chopsticks live. Sharpened the knife. The reset was the reset.

The rain in long sheets Tuesday afternoon. I made tea. I watched it from the porch. The cottonwoods on the next block were silver in the wet.

I made onigiri for tomorrow's lunch. Three triangles. Salted plum in the center. Wrapped in nori. The cling wrap. The drawer where I keep them. The system.

The cold soba lunch that week was exactly what it needed to be — buckwheat noodles, green onion, the summer kitchen doing its quiet work — and it reminded me that the best Japanese food I make at home is the food that doesn’t rush. Sushi squares have that same quality: you press, you layer, you let the rice settle. Miya already knows how to shape onigiri with wet hands and calm; these are one small step further, and the kind of thing I like to have ready before the newsletter goes out on Sunday morning.

Sushi Squares

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 40 min | Servings: 16 squares

Ingredients

• 2 cups short-grain sushi rice
• 2 1/4 cups water
• 3 tablespoons rice vinegar
• 1 tablespoon sugar
• 1 teaspoon fine sea salt
• 4 oz sushi-grade salmon or tuna, thinly sliced
• 1 small avocado, thinly sliced
• 2 tablespoons soy sauce, for serving
• 1 teaspoon toasted sesame seeds
• 1 teaspoon sriracha mayo (optional)
• Small sheets of nori, cut into strips (optional garnish)

Instructions

1. Cook the rice. Rinse sushi rice under cold water until the water runs clear. Combine with 2 1/4 cups water in a medium saucepan, bring to a boil, then reduce to a low simmer, cover, and cook for 18 minutes. Remove from heat and let steam, covered, for 5 minutes.
2. Season the rice. In a small bowl, whisk together rice vinegar, sugar, and salt until dissolved. Transfer cooked rice to a wide bowl and gently fold in the vinegar mixture with a wooden spoon or rice paddle. Fan to cool to room temperature, about 10 minutes.
3. Press the rice. Line an 8x8-inch baking pan with plastic wrap, leaving overhang on all sides. Press the seasoned rice evenly into the pan in a firm, uniform layer about 1 inch thick. Lay plastic wrap over the surface and press firmly with the bottom of a flat measuring cup.
4. Chill and cut. Refrigerate the pressed rice for at least 15 minutes. Lift out using the plastic wrap overhang, transfer to a cutting board, and cut into 16 even squares using a sharp, damp knife.
5. Top and serve. Lay a thin slice of avocado on each square, then a piece of fish. Sprinkle with sesame seeds, add a small drizzle of sriracha mayo if using, and finish with a strip of nori. Serve immediately with soy sauce alongside.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 95 | Protein: 5g | Fat: 2g | Carbs: 14g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 160mg