I love sushi chefs!

Tokyo, Japan - There's something about sushi at 9:30 in the morning that makes you feel a little more like a local.
But this Tokyo a.m. didn't start out that way. I couldn't have been more of a tourist.
Six days a week before most people even get up, fisherman haul in their latest catch to sell at the Tsukiji Fish Market, and I, like many other visitors, went to catch the action and check out all the weird creatures for sale. It was the first time in Tokyo I didn't need a map. The smell took me right there.
The market is a vast, covered jumble of stalls with small forklifts zooming around narrow pathways to load purchases on the backs of trucks. It was pungent and claustrophobic and totally great (Note to self: there's a reason the workers all wear those tall, rubber boots).
I realized right away I had no chance of blending. You were either supposed to be there or you were a flash-happy tourist. After a few awkward nods to the sellers and sort of shuffling along trying not to get run over, I decided to embrace my gaijin status and just click away unabashedly ("gaijin" means outsider in Japanese; most often used derisively to describe a foreigner).
The day at Tsukiji starts out at o-dark-thirty with an auction. It's a cool scene, but it's roped off because of said camera-wielding tourists. Later in the morning restaurateurs come to purchase their selection for the day. You can actually watch them buy a giant hunk of tuna, for example, follow them back to their establishment and eat toro nigiri (fatty tuna sushi) from that very piece of fish. Doesn't get much fresher than that.
I wasn't sure my stomach could handle such a breakfast, but after a couple hours of wandering I was famished. So I stopped in a sushi place just off the market. I took a seat at the bar next to two men in tall, rubber boots who were, presumably, enjoying a meal after a hard morning's work (beer was their drink of choice).
I ordered up a big set of sushi. I love watching sushi chefs do their thing, and I had a prime seat. Sushi chefs have a swagger about them and amazing skills with a knife (how a finger placed neatly on a pile of rice hasn't ever been served I'll never know). The head chef kept peering over the glass at me as I ate, nodding approvingly at my progress and searching for my feedback.
Here's the thing, though. There were some unknowns on my plate. Sure, there were the typical tuna rolls, which I gobbled happily. And shrimp and toro nigiri - savored every bite. But to the right. To the right, there was a roll overflowing with tiny orange pods that I knew to be salmon roe but which I had successfully avoided ever before putting in my mouth. Just below that, there was some unidentifiable fish that looked unsettlingly like brain. And then there was a 7-inch slice of unagi.
Now, eel probably counts as one of my favorite creatures of the sea to eat. But typically it's charcoaled or flamed slightly on top. Not this morning. It was totally raw, which is not an issue for me normally. I eat raw fish all the time.
But this...this was so like a piece of uncooked eel.
I was surrounded by locals. The mostly endearing elderly woman to my left - she had ordered me green tea and eagerly showed me how best to dunk my sushi in the soy sauce - was staring at me and my remaining sushi as if she had bets with the others about whether I would go through with it.
I was not going to be the wimpy gaijin. I was going to eat every piece of sea thing in front of me. Salmon roe? So gross. The still unidentifiable fish? Okay, but wouldn't order it even if I did know it's name. The completely raw unagi? Swoon. It was incredibly delicious. I was sorry when the 7-inch sucker was finished.