If only I had better hands, maybe I could make sushi.

        I remember when I was in high school, long ago, taking one of those ancient dexterity tests that required me to move pegs from a set of holes in one board to another as quickly as possible. As I groped and fumbled, they could have timed me on a sundial.

Sushi chef Aung Soe (right) helps Chuck Martin learn the art of rolling raw fish. (Michael Snyder photo) | ZOOM |

        Looking at my test scores, the guidance counselor (generously) told me I could pretty much pursue any career.

        “Except jobs that require you to use your hands,” she warned.

        That, of course, should rule out assembling sushi — the elaborate Japanese specialty based on rice rolled around fish and other ingredients. But this, plus the fact that Japanese sushi chefs train and apprentice years to learn their art, didn't dissuade me from wanting to learn to make sushi.

        I'm OK in the kitchen, after all. I can whisk up a vinaigrette in minutes. I can hold down a carrot, slice and dice it. Can it be much more difficult to roll sticky rice around raw fish?

        The instructor for my brief sushi course would be Aung Soe, sushi chef at Wild Oats Market in Rookwood Commons in Norwood. A native of Rangoon, Burma, Mr. Soe never had eaten sushi until he moved to the United States two years ago. He learned to make it during an intensive course in California, then worked in sushi shops in Ithaca, N.Y., and Chicago before moving to Cincinnati last summer, when Wild Oats opened.

        I'll admit I felt more at ease going into my sushi class because the friendly 23-year-old Mr. Soe didn't appear intimidating — until I saw his hands at work: slivering fish with a razor-sharp knife, deftly spreading rice to perfect margins on a rectangle of dried seaweed called nori, using a bamboo mat to tightly roll the rice and fish, and then cutting the roll or maki into equal portions — all in less than a minute.

        Still, I thought I could accomplish my goal. All I wanted to master was a simple and presentable tuna roll — the Japanese call it tekka-maki. The rice was cooked and seasoned. The tuna was ready to cut and roll. How could I fail?

        Well...

        Let's just say I found many ways to fail — and fumble — at sushi.

        Thankfully, Mr. Soe was patient. He demonstrated a technique, corrected me and then demonstrated again. Many times.

        Although I did produce areasonable-looking tekka-maki (we foisted samples on courageous Wild Oats customers), I wasn't satisfied with my progress at lesson's end.

        “How long would it take to learn to make a perfect tuna roll?” I asked my teacher.

        “Depends on you,” Mr. Soe replied sagely.

        If it depends on my less-than-dexterous hands, we'll need a calendar to plot my progress.

       1. To learn to make a tuna roll or tekka-maki, sushi chef Aung Soe first shows me how to slice the fresh and uncooked ahi tuna. He places his left thumb and forefinger on the fish, then positions the very sharp knife at the proper width (about 1/4 inch) between his fingers on the fillet. Angling the knife severely, he glides the knife toward him to produce a thin sliver of bright pink fish. This technique seems horribly awkward when I try it. My cuts turn out too wide and uneven. And I worry I'll amputate my left thumb.

       2. After Mr. Soe puts the sliced tuna aside, he grabs a ball of cooked sushi rice that has been seasoned with sweet rice wine vinegar. With flair, using only one hand, Mr. Soe dabs the rice ball to a stack of nori, dark green, rectangular sheets of dried seaweed, to snag one sheet. (By the way, nori is rich in nutrients.) I am able to successfully grab a nori sheet with a sticky rice ball on my second attempt.

       3. My confidence is short-lived, though, as Mr. Soe proceeds to show me how to spread rice over the top of the nori. The key here, he says, is to create a 1-inch margin at the top of the sheet while pushing rice evenly to the other edges. The chef accomplishes this in seconds, using a rapid pinch-and-pull method with thumbs and fingers of both hands. His rice looks like a light dusting of snow. When I spread rice, it's uneven — resembling a blizzard with deep drifts.

       4. It gets tougher. Mr. Soe places the rice-covered nori on a flexible bamboo mat and lines three strips of tuna across the center. Using his thumbs to roll the mat over the fish, he keeps his fingers on top to hold the tuna and rice in place. When I try this maneuver, the filling squeezes out at the top.

       5. Talk about good hands. In the next step, the sushi chef rolls the mat over to complete the maki. He presses down to compact it, then tugs the top of the mat to tighten the tuna roll further. When I roll the mat over, fish and rice squirt everywhere.

       6. In the final step, Mr. Soe eyeballs the tuna roll and cuts it into equal segments for serving. As easy as it looks and sounds, I manage to cut the maki unevenly. I fail to notice the chef's cutting technique. He slices through the sushi with one smooth motion. I try to “saw” my way through it, creating ragged cuts. I need more sushi practice, but I'm not sure I can afford that much tuna.

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