Trust your nose or keep it closed

I am told not to smell it before I eat it, but that's just not possible. Even in a sushi restaurant with dead fish sliding by on conveyor belts it is by far the most pungent scent. I thought that the restaurant had health code issues. The sickly sweet smell of moldy cheese and feet kept passing me by. And I say feet when I'm being kind. If I were to be true to my olfactory system I would more accurately describe the smell as vomit that has spent days fermenting in an old, fungus filled sneaker. That could just be my nose though, because here in Japan natto is a delicacy. In Ibaraki Prefecture it is famous and beloved by the entire (non-foreign) population. There is even a natto museum commemorating the wonders and rich history of this unique food.
Now it's my turn to take a bite of this flavorful, nutritious morsel. It's just a small bit, wrapped in seaweed and rice, it gets worse. I've watched the children at my school dig into cups of natto plain or with a little soy sauce and mustard. The long sticky strands like snot or fat spider webs dangling from their chopsticks and licked off in delight. I know it's healthy, packed full of pro-biotics and reputed to have many benefits to health and longevity. I know it's just fermented soybeans. I know that as a foreigner I am expected not to like natto, it's an acquired taste. But I also know the looks of pleasure, the clapping of hands and exclamations of “sugoi!” I would receive from Japanese co-workers and friends if I actually enjoyed the taste. There would be a new gleam of pride and approval in their eyes. Perhaps they might reevaluate my gaijin status if I loved natto, or even pretended to. It's funny how much food can mean to a culture.
I place the natto sushi next to my lips, imagining I am taking a strange form of Japanese communion. I take the bite, and force back the urge to vomit. It tastes worse than it smells. I don't hide my repulsion. I suppose I will have to find other ways to earn my acceptance.