I’m looking at the boxes of matzah on my kitchen counter. It’s just a couple this year, but not long ago, there would have been cases of them stacked to the ceiling. And this week would’ve meant prepping thousands of matzah balls and hundreds of pounds of apples for charoset.

That’s because I used to own a kosher deli.

So if you’re wondering what any of this has to do with sushi, that’s a fair question.

You wouldn’t be the first to ask why a Black woman from Mississippi who trained as a sushi chef would also run a Jewish deli. I’m glad you have questions. That’s perfect because so does Passover. It’s a holiday rooted in them. Each one is designed to help us reflect on a journey: where we’ve come from, what we’ve held onto, and what we’re ready to leave behind.

Who am I when I try to bring my full self to the plate?

When the producers of Morimoto’s Sushi Master confirmed I’d be a season 2 contestant, they also said, “We want to see you on a plate?”

Here I was, a Black woman from Mississippi, invited to compete on a sushi show. That alone challenged expectations. Then add the fact that I’ve always brought a little Southern flair into my sushi. I started this journey in Mississippi, after all.

But what people don’t often see when they look at me is that I’m also Jewish.

And about ten years ago, I decided to keep kosher, which meant adhering to a set of Jewish dietary laws that guide what and how I ate. I became a kosher sushi chef for hire, catering weddings, bar and bat mitzvah parties, and other special events. Eventually, that work grew into a full-blown kosher catering service and deli.

What part of me was I reluctant to serve?

By the time I was cast on the show, the deli had only just closed, and I was still sitting with the emotional aftermath. And I was questioning what if my next food chapter might look like. Or if there would even be one.

So when the opportunity came to meet Morimoto and compete on Sushi Master, I said yes without hesitation. It was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of yes. But deep down, I was afraid of how I’d feel once I got there. Competition aside, I was stepping out of what I thought was retirement, into a kitchen that no longer held the same rules. I wasn’t sure if the version of me who kept kosher or the version of me who once plated creative, Southern-style sushi with purpose had a place there.

What version of me would show up once the knives were out?

I didn’t have any answers when I walked onto set. When the cameras started rolling, I hadn’t decided exactly what I was bringing to the plate—literally or figuratively. What I did know was that I wanted to show up with openness, creativity, and a willingness to fully embrace the experience. Pork and shellfish included.

Being part of Sushi Master meant stepping into the unexpected. It meant embracing ingredients I hadn’t worked with in years, constraints I wouldn’t have chosen, and a spotlight I’d never stood in before. But through it all, something shifted. By the time the cameras stopped and the adrenaline wore off, I knew exactly who I was on a plate. And not because I’d followed a set of rules. But because I had questioned them.

What flavors linger, even when certain ingredients are long gone?

In the end, I decided that keeping kosher was no longer important to me. But neither was eating meat or making sushi with seafood. After stepping away from food and then choosing to return, I realized I didn’t need to reclaim everything I had been. What I needed was a fresh perspective. And while the ingredients on my plate have changed, some things remain. Intention. Mindfulness. The kind of care that can’t always be seen but is always felt. These are the invisible ingredients that flavor everything I make.

As I reflect on this winding path—through sushi, a kosher deli, a cooking show, and whatever comes next—I’m reminded that identity doesn’t have to be fixed to be real. We’re allowed to evolve. We’re allowed to ask questions like:

• What parts of you are showing up?

• Which flavors linger, even if the ingredients have changed?

• What values, stories, or quiet truths are you carrying forward?

• What are you hungry for now?

Maybe questions like these don’t always lead to tidy answers. But they help us understand the flavors that still matter, and the story we’re really telling when we bring ourselves to the table. And maybe, just maybe, the most honest meal we can serve is the one that holds exactly who we are, right now.

Originally published in Dear Sensei
”Why Is This Sushi Different Than All Other Sushi”  April, 2025