Aquaman #22 has caused a serious malfunction in the parts of my brain that govern suspension of disbelief. Why? Well, it’s embarrassing, but I’ll just come right out and admit it.
It’s the sushi.
For those of you not following the title, a portion of San Diego has fallen into the sea. Its citizens have been converted against their wills into water-breathers (which is better than drowning, they admit, but it’s an adjustment). And, as this issue indicates, their diet now consists largely of sushi.
Sushi. Bite-sized combinations of fish, rice, and vegetables. Prepared underwater.
Now, parts of this hang together. Obviously, raw fish is an entirely reasonable foodstuff for people who live underwater. It’s abundant, it’s easily obtained, and it provides a good deal of nutritional value. The uncooked presentation also spares the Sub Diegans from having to worry about things like directional heat or developing stoves and ovens that function underwater (without electrocuting anyone or losing any worthwhile cooking heat to a significantly colder, heavier “atmosphere,” or heating the surrounding water to such a degree that it actually cooks the cook). Sushi is often wrapped in nori, a processed form seaweed, and seaweed would also be abundant if used in its unprocessed state. (Nori would actually just reconstitute and fall apart if left in water for too long, I would think.)
But, on the very first page of the issue, some of the sushi on Lorena’s plate seems to have rice in it. How, precisely, would someone prepare rice underwater? I would think the individual, uncooked grains would drift everywhere, even if there were a reliable way to transfer them from an air- and water-tight container into a cooking vessel, and then you’ve still got the whole functional stove question. Even if you prepared the sushi rice on the surface, then transported it underwater, the sticky consistency would be compromised by the sea water. You wouldn’t be able to shape it. (I told you this was an embarrassing train wreck of thought, didn’t I?)
My clearly fevered brain goes on to wonder about the logistics of getting a plate of sushi – small bites of fairly light food – from the food preparation area to the diners. Okay, the plate would become essentially a fixed object subject to the forward motion of the server carrying it. The sushi, as best as I can figure, would still be subject to the resistance of the medium – salt water at high pressures – through which it moves (unless you fixed it to the plate somehow, which doesn’t sound particularly appetizing). The same problems would apply to the method of preparation, chopping the individual components into small pieces. They’d drift all over the place. I’d lose my mind. (For those of you who just started a thought with “Um, dude, hate to break it to you, but”, I already know.)
Lastly, in the dreaded sushi panel at the bottom of page one, I cannot possibly see what I think I see. That surely isn’t a bowl of soy sauce for dipping beside Lorena’s platter of food, is it? Because that would be just plain stupid. It would work in, say, Spongebob Squarepants, which is supposed to be charmingly absurdist, but… it’s an open bowl of liquid surrounded entirely by liquid! (Brain… hurts… so… much…)
Sometimes, Aquaman asks reasonably interesting questions about how humans would adapt to life underwater. There’s the interesting bit about the illegal drug trade developing designer drugs to cater specifically to Sub Diegans who can’t rely on the traditional means of ingestion (such as smoking and snorting).
This sushi thing is moronic, though. And it forces me into public displays of total geekery. Again. Some more.