Hello. My name is Tom Dillon and I'm a tofu-holic.
Yes, I fork down tofu by the saucerload. I slice it and dice it into salads and dump it wholesale into sukiyaki. I spear it up from the misty depths of my miso soup and snarf the deep-fried variety like candy. When I raid the fridge late at night and find a tofu tub quivering in fear behind jars of jam and wrappings of "chikuwa," I show no mercy.
But it hasn't always been like this. There was a time when I considered Japanese food -- and indeed much of Japanese life -- to be the epitome of bland. I didn't accept either right away.