“You’ve gotta ask yourself one question: ‘Do I feel lucky?’ Well, do ya, punk?”
Clint Eastwood’s iconic words to a cornered armed robber in his title role of Dirty Harry could well apply to fans of fugu, the “Russian roulette” of Japanese cuisine.
Fugu is another name for pufferfish or blowfish, which has been an Asian culinary delicacy for generations. The problem is that a breathtakingly small portion of a fugu’s liver, eyes, ovaries, kidneys, or skin is all it takes to turn a meal into a nightmare.
Pufferfish poison is called tetrodotoxin (TTX), a substance that is 1200 times more toxic than cyanide. If the smallest portion ends up on a diner’s plate – the slip of the chef’s knife from a careless filet – there will be a tingling sensation. Then numbness. Ingesting a larger dose leads to full-body paralysis. Victims are fully alert but unable to speak until their lungs finally stop working. There is no known antidote.
Every year about 100 people in Japan experience some measure of fugu poisoning, primarily from fish that are prepared in the family kitchen. At least 23 people have died this century. Back in 1958, before national safety standards were adopted, 176 people fell victim to the thrill of eating a few fatal bites.
Devotees of blowfish say it tastes delicious. But is it really worth rolling the dice?
Fugu is the only food that the Emperor of Japan, by law, is forbidden to eat – a legal boundary designed to ensure his safety. Certainly the notion of “forbiddenness” attracts thrill-seekers and adds to the mystique of ordering a platter of pufferfish.
Several decades ago, Japanese officials decided that since the passion for fugu was not going to vanish, restaurant chefs would need strict training and certification.
The training, which takes around three years, is rigorous, since even the smallest mistake in the preparation of a blowfish can have fatal consequences.
The licensing exam is threefold: a written test, a fish-identification test, and then a kitchen demonstration in which fugu is prepared and eaten by the candidate chef. Only about a third of the applicants pass. For some, the final exam is literally final – deaths have been recorded in the kitchen phase of the certification process.
In the end, eating fugu in Japan comes down to an act of faith. Do you trust your chef or not?
Lovers of this delicacy admit they sometimes wait a year or so after a new chef is certified to see if his patrons typically walk away from the dinner table.
It’s amazing that those who prepare fugu for a living must submit to years of rigorous preparation, followed by some serious accountability.
If only that were true in the realm of religion.
Let’s face it: Anybody can start a church or open a place of worship. In most states you can find a website that will “ordain” you for a couple of bucks, so you can officiate at the wedding of your friends this Saturday. Without so much as a single hour of preparation at the feet of a recognized teacher, you can launch your own religion. Preach on a street corner. Collect donations. Make outrageous truth claims.
Most amazing of all, you can probably find a few people who will believe you. Or maybe even believe in you.
And you will almost certainly cause more heartbreak, more harm, and more disillusionment than any fish dish on any menu.
Spiritual growth involves more than just trust in God. On any given day, it comes down a secondary act of faith. Do you really trust your spiritual mentor, pastor, or teacher?
There is no emergency alarm system that sends out spiritual warnings: Alert. Bad theology incoming. This is not a drill.
We must take responsibility, at least in part, for our own spiritual security. It’s not a bad idea to imitate those restaurant-watchers in Japan. Keep your eyes on a particular pastor or teacher. Wait to see if the people under his or her care are getting sick. See if their lives are becoming richer and deeper, or if they are becoming more frantic, fearful, graceless, or rigid.
In other words, choose your spiritual “chef” with prayer and care. Be sure to find someone who serves the Bread of Life.
After all, we don’t want our Last Supper to end up being our last supper.
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