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Illustration by Sarah Lofgren

I didn’t eat maple-glazed cinnamon sushi for a month

Here’s what happened

These days maple-glazed cinnamon sushi is everywhere. You can barely get through a single day without seeing its delectable icing or smelling its pungent, fishy aroma. Whether it’s Joe at the office bringing in a box, or your bf sending you videos of kittens dressed in maple-glazed cinnamon sushi costumes, this treat is ubiquitous.

This might seem normal to us, because we’re modern humans used to modern things, such as emojis, artisanal beard gel and fancy flush toilets. But, back in historic times, maple-glazed cinnamon sushi was a rare treat enjoyed only by those in the upper classes. A commoner might get to eat one piece of maple-glazed cinnamon sushi a year! Some plebeians died without the magical combination of yellow fin tuna and sugary maple ever dancing across their tongues.

Yes, this might seem like a tragedy.

However, the human body isn’t engineered to digest too much maple-glazed cinnamon sushi. Those old timey proletariats were probably healthier than we are today, because they ate the sort of things the human body is meant to digest, such as potatoes and broiled opossum.

What does this mean for us?

Early this year, I began to wonder if my maple-glazed cinnamon sushi consumption was affecting me more than I realized.

Could it be influencing my sleep? Perhaps even my energy?

Some people say maple-glazed cinnamon sushi can have addictive qualities. Was it possible was addicted?

It was time to make a difficult choice. I decided my March would be entirely devoid of maple-glazed cinnamon sushi. I wouldn’t eat a single piece. You’re probably astonished at my willpower right now.

I was, too.

Not only was I hoping to break my addiction, but I also wanted to find out what would happen if I stopped eating maple-glazed cinnamon sushi for a month. Would I sleep better? Would I have more energy? Or, would I suffer a mental breakdown equivalent to the time my DVR didn’t tape the Game of Thrones finale?

There was only one way to find out.

The first thing I did was tell my husband, so he would hold me accountable. I even asked if he would like to join me in my mission.

“Hell no,” he said, taking a big bite out of a piece of maple-glazed cinnamon sushi, the icing dripping down his chin.


They say the first day is the hardest. Initially, it wasn’t difficult. I was busy with work and trying to get photographs of the neighbors’ chickens. My thoughts didn’t drift toward maple-glazed cinnamon sushi once.

Then the sleepy afternoon stretch arrived.

And things got a little tricky.

I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t type. My thoughts raced. I munched on a peanut butter and cottage cheese sandwich to try and distract my mind, but the ploy didn’t work.

“Maple-glazed cinnamon sushi,” demanded my brain. “Maple-glazed cinnamon sushi, now!”

“Arg! Shut up, shut up!” I responded.

At that point my husband walked into the room. “How’s it going?” he asked.

“Not well.”

“I’m so proud of you! I know this can’t be easy.”

I stared at him, watching as he morphed into a dancing piece of maple-glazed cinnamon sushi before my eyes. Never had I seen anything so delicious. My face grew vacant. A rivulet of drool spilled from my open mouth.

Fortunately, my husband knows me well and quickly left the room so I wouldn’t do anything I regretted.

As the month wore on, I expected there would come a day when the experiment became easier. Perhaps I’d stop thinking about maple-glazed cinnamon sushi 5 minutes. Perhaps I’d find some other treat to occupy my mind.

This did not happen.

My sleep also did not improve. During the few hours I managed to sleep, I began sleepwalking. My sleeping self would tear the apartment apart, trying to find the store of maple-glazed cinnamon sushi my husband was hiding for himself. It wasn’t in his sock drawer. It wasn’t nestled inside his hard drive. Darn him.

Did my energy improve? Perhaps, but I spent most of that extra energy drawing terrible pictures of maple-glazed cinnamon sushi rolls, so I can’t say it was an overall win.

But, despite all those struggles, I did manage to make it the whole month without eating a single piece of maple-glazed cinnamon sushi. I think this conclusively proves I’m not addicted.

All the same, I’m glad it’s April.

Guess what’s for dinner!


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Engaged in inadvisable wordsmitheries and other creative acts.

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