This morning, a friend and fellow sushi addict sent me an article [1] about, well, I'll just call it the "tuna rut."

It seems that Americans have a fairly limited grasp of sushi's true potential because we're so intent on sticking the tried-and-true choices, including tuna [1], salmon, boiled shrimp, and the like. Seems that while the Japanese never prized tuna, the American appetite for it has contributed to the overfishing [1] of bluefin tuna.

Sadly, it seems, that we're missing out on the real wonders of sushi. We're content with "simple" staples and sushi chefs—convinced that we're uninterested in trying anything else—continue to dole out rolls and flavor combos that would bore the Japanese palette.

I'm not entirely sure what we're missing out on, but the author seems to think that, if given the green light, sushi chefs would come up with toppings that are "fun, flavorful, and peculiar."

Personally, I'm game. I know that I've fallen into a tuna rut, and tend to stick to my favorites, such as spicy tuna rolls, caterpiller rolls [2], along with salmon and hamachi. Every now and then, I'll order some uni [3] (sea urchin), just to feel more adventurous.

The secret to discovering great sushi, as you may already know, is to sit at the bar and ask the chef to unleash his creativity. Here are some tips suggested by the article's author:

• Opt for mackerel [4] instead of tuna.
• Use your fingers instead of chopsticks. (Some of us already do this, and are thrilled to learn that it's just fine.)
  
• Skip the wasabi and soy sauce; let the chef determine the flavors and seasonings if only to let some of the more subtle flavors come through.

Meanwhile, the article reminded me of the single best morsel of food I've ever had the pleasure to enjoy.

It happened a few years, at my neighborhood sushi restaurant. I was with a large group, and not paying any attention at all to menus, the waitress or whatever it was that someone ordered for the table.

Suddenly, a boat overloaded with sushi sailed onto our table. I reached for a piece of a sushi roll. I didn't know what it was, just that it was entirely white—and whatever it was that I ate was astonishingly, staggeringly good. To this day, I have no idea what it was, but I suspect that the roll involved a bit of turnip.

I guess that's the deal. Give the chef carte blanche and you're likely to be delighted— even if you never know what, exactly, was so delightful.