Before starting my new job, I visited my sister in Michigan. The week before, her toilet had clogged, spewing ew water across her room's floor. I brushed off the smell, happy to see my sister again for the first time in months.

The week after, I went to a fancy schmancy sushi restaurant in New York City. They accompanied one of the dishes with fancy schmancy custom kombucha. As I sipped, the scent reminded me of my sister's room.

Do I just not have the fancy schmancy taste for this kombucha? Something about this restaurant seems off. A Chinese speaker (even not-quite-an-expert) would notice the chefs are speaking Chinese. Haha! Inauthentic!

Wait, sushi started off as essentially street food - fish wrapped in rice to prevent spoilage. The fancy schmancy preparation and serving common today already deviates so much from the original “authentic” version; a non-Japanese chef seems not-so-unusual juxtaposed against that transformation. Acknowledging the much larger Chinese (relative to Japanese) immigrant population in New York City, a non-Japanese chef seems like a practicality. Food adapts to the practicalities of new regions, sometimes to great effect.

I can judge the food directly, without encumbering myself with notions of authenticity. And I shouldn't let one poorly procured drink ruin an otherwise excellent meal.