I didn't grow up eating sushi, and, like any other convert, when I fell for sushi, I fell hard. I was consumed by a desire to learn about sushi -- not just the form, but the language and rituals. The experience of learning to eat sushi was slow and sometimes awkward. While I knew that sitting at the sushi bar was the best way to learn more, I was intimidated. It often seemed like the sushi bar was reserved for those who already knew about sushi.

In America, too often I look around sushi restaurants and realize that most people are ordering American-style sushi -- large speciality rolls that often involve multiple kinds of fish, fried shrimp and gooey sauces. There is absolutely nothing wrong with American-style sushi, but classically prepared Japanese sushi has so much to offer, and I hope that this article will inspire readers to try something new.

I ate at many wonderful restaurants while researching this: The following stood out for different reasons, but each exemplifies a core aspect of the Japanese sushi tradition.

Driving up McKnight Road on a bitterly cold day in January, I was annoyed by the drive, the weather and my errands -- this was not how I wanted to spend my Saturday. Unbelievably hungry with nothing but chain restaurants in sight, I suddenly remembered, "Isn't there a sushi place near here?"

As I walked into Sushi Tomo in Ross, I felt my shoulders unclench, my hunger pangs ease. I took a long breath, and I couldn't help but smile back as a cheerful server gestured me toward the sushi bar, bringing tea, a menu, a hot towel. Thoughts of errands and anxieties disappeared.

I contemplated my choices -- although traditionally sushi meals start with sashimi, thinly sliced and elegantly arranged raw fish or shellfish, I decided to start instead with nigiri, small blocks of rice topped with a piece of fish. Then perhaps I would have a te-maki -- a piece of nori fashioned into a cone filled with a combination of sushi rice, raw fish and garnishes, also called a hand-roll. If I was still hungry, I would order a sushi roll.

As I sipped green tea and contemplated my choices, I felt totally at ease. Scallop nigiri were cool and smooth. Uma-ebi (sweet shrimp) came with the fried heads, which I love but have to close my eyes to eat or the little black eyes and trailing legs are too distracting. Focusing only on the texture, the crunchiness of the fried shell gives way to a soft, smooth, warm mouthful. If you're squeamish, try not to think about what you're eating.

An American-style futo-maki (large roll) showed off the marvelous contrast between soft, silky avocado and the crisp tempura shrimp.

Enjoying this unexpected oasis from my chores, I watched the sushi chef dart from task to task -- preparing sushi and sashimi for assorted diners, constructing a large tray of rolls for a take-out order but always ready to answer a question, greet a new arrival or call out a goodbye.

Sushi Tomo exemplifies the most important aspect of a great sushi bar: It makes you want to come back.

Station Square, with its glaring lights and suburban-mall atmosphere, was the last place in Pittsburgh that I expected to find authentic sushi. Even as I crossed over to the serene, calm atmosphere of Kiku, I was keeping my expectations low.

As we took our seats at the sushi bar, the sushi chefs smiled and nodded, welcoming us. The younger chef, who spoke English hesitantly, but well, handed each of us a small appetizer -- a plate of cucumber and octopus marinated in a vinegary dressing. He placed a ceramic jar of soy sauce on the small shelf above the sushi bar, explaining "our house-blended soy sauce."

These words were very promising. The best sushi restaurants blend their soy sauce in a house recipe that usually combines dashi broth, mirin and sake, because straight soy sauce is very intense and might overpower the delicate taste of the fish itself.

As we waited for our sushi, we nibbled fried oysters almost the size of my palm, so beautifully cooked that as I bit into one, warm juices gushed into my mouth.

The sushi chef placed a small wooden stand, a geta, on the shelf in front of the sushi bar. He asked, "Can we put the wasabi horseradish on for you?" Although Kiku doesn't use real wasabi -- very few restaurants do -- the chefs apply horseradish wasabi to nigiri between the rice and the fish. If you'd like more or less wasabi, you can just ask.

Real or powdered wasabi mixed into soy sauce quickly loses its potency, so if sushi chefs don't put it on for you or if you're eating sashimi, use your chopstick to dab a small bit onto the corner of the fish.

As the chefs expertly formed nigiri, te-maki and maki, they immediately placed them on the geta so we could eat them when they were absolutely perfect.

The first thing I noticed was the rice. It was served slightly warm and loosely packed so that it broke apart immediately in the mouth, just as I'd been told it was supposed to.

I needed to eat these nigiri by hand, in the traditionally manner. If I had tried to pick one up with a chopstick, it would have fallen apart.

I carefully turned my first nigiri over, dipping just the corner of the hirame (flatfish) in the soy sauce, opening my mouth as wide as I could and eating the nigiri in one bite. Hirame doesn't melt in your mouth the way fattier fish like tuna does. It is chewier, a bit firmer. The taste is full, with a complex sweetness, almost a touch metallic.

Uni appeared, an oblong package of seaweed filled with glowing orange sea urchin, a tiny raw quail egg glistening on top. Unctuous and otherworldly, the taste of uni can be a bit shocking if you've never had it before.

The nori of a hand-roll crackled as I bit into it, and I tasted first the sweet-sourness of the rice, then the buttery softness of batons of yellowtail, sparkling with crisp shreds of scallion.

Kappa maki, thin cucumber rolls, are the most traditional roll and commonly end a meal. These went from the sushi chef's hand to my mouth so quickly that the crunchy coolness of the cucumber echoed the crunchiness of the nori.

I hesitated to order dessert -- the tastes of this meal had been so balanced and clean I wanted to let them linger.

"Homemade green tea ice cream?" asked the sushi chef. How could we resist? Rich, smooth and very faintly sweet, it was the perfect ending to a perfect meal.

One of the best ways to experience sushi is with an omakase or a kaiseki meal. Omakase means "I leave it up to you." The chef will decide what he or she serves you and in what order, although tradition will set the general structure of the meal.

Kaiseki refers to a many-course meal that balances color, texture, taste and even temperature. It should be extremely seasonal and should show off the artistic and technical abilities of the chef.

If you order either of these types of meals, you should be prepared to try anything and everything you are brought. If you have food allergies, you should, of course, make them known, and if you go often to a particular restaurant, they will learn your preferences. But in general, you are putting yourself in the hands of the chef, and you should be willing to be brave and try new things or try things again that you have not liked in the past.

Chaya in Squirrel Hill takes reservations only for kaiseki meals. I couldn't help but notice the envious stare of waiting customers as we were ushered to a spacious table.

The first dish was a stunning still-life of orange and green. It was a single piece of uni served on a large perilla leaf in a very small bowl with a little mound of wasabi and very finely shredded scallion. This uni tasted faintly of the ocean, with a sharp note of wasabi that made me catch my breath.

Next came a small teapot. I removed the lid and inhaled a clear, pure scent of mushrooms. A few mushrooms and shrimp floated in unassuming, clear broth. Our server instructed, "Pour the broth into the cup and drink it, then eat the rest with chopsticks." The woodsiness of the Hoji-manji mushrooms paired perfectly with the briny sweetness of the shrimp.

Next came a platter of little appetizers. A steamed oyster in its shell topped with a spicy sauce was so delicately cooked, it tasted almost alive. Pickled lotus root had a chewy, almost glutenous texture.

A heap of finely shredded white daikon radish was topped with pinky-orange salmon roe and served with tiny whole dried fish mixed with sesame seeds. The fish tasted like candy, intensely sweet, and the salty salmon eggs popped in my mouth.

Even more ordinary dishes, such as an elegant plate of sashimi, were served with careful attention to color, shape and space. Salmon tasted unusually sweet with a slightly fermented flavor that reminded me of rice vinegar.

Course after course appeared, each a dramatic shift in taste and texture, each intricately arranged to please the eye before the palate.

I found that my experience at Chaya oddly echoed my experiences with Kevin Sousa's Alchemy Menu at the Bigelow Grille. Although one is based on ancient tradition and one is all about the cutting edge, both of these meals inspired a childlike experience of food, where every mouthful is a surprise.

Sushi is always expensive. The ingredients and the skill necessary to prepare them command a high price. Bargain sushi is generally not a good idea.

At Umi, it is more expensive. The portions are small, and the bill adds up very quickly. But Umi offers an impressive experience of luxury and style, two qualities that play an important role in the tradition of sushi.

It is undoubtedly Pittsburgh's most beautiful sushi restaurant. Blue and gold, expanses of wood and stone gleam in the soft lighting. Pieces of fish gleam in their case at the sushi bar -- no plastic wrap here. The restaurant was packed even on a Tuesday, a typically slow night at Pittsburgh restaurants.

Don't bother sitting at the sushi bar here. A server will take your order and deliver your food no matter where you sit.

The quality of ingredients and execution of techniques are both impeccable, so everything is good. But, the best way to experience Umi is to order from the list of specials.

Many dishes can be classified as new style sushi, a type of sushi that features unique integrations of American ingredients and techniques into classically prepared sushi and sashimi.

Kumamoto oysters served with a dipping sauce of ponzu citrus are cool and briny, without a trace of grit. Black cod with miso glaze has an intensity of flavor -- both meaty and sweet -- that is surprising in fish.

A piece of lobster nigiri garnished with black truffle was absurdly delicious.

If you're lucky enough to be a regular at Umi, I imagine Chef Shu has some incredible surprises in his arsenal. And for those of us who order off of the regular menu? There is still plenty to impress.

Everywhere I ate sushi in Pittsburgh, I encountered sushi chefs and servers who were friendly, welcoming and ready to help. Although there's no need to give up California or dragon rolls, for those who want to expand their horizons, Pittsburgh sushi restaurants offer abundant opportunities for doing so.

Go forth and eat sushi.

Restaurants visited for this article:

KIKU
225 West Station Square Drive, South Side; 412-765-3200; smoking section in dining room; wheelchair accessible, with accessible restroom in mall; kikupittsburgh.net.

LITTLE TOKYO BISTRO
2122 E. Carson St., South Side; 412-488-9986; nonsmoking; wheelchair accessible; littletokyopittsburgh.com/bistro.

PENN AVENUE FISH CO.
2208 Penn Ave., Strip District; 412-434-7200; nonsmoking; wheelchair accessible; pennavefishcompany.com.

SAKURA TEPPANYAKI & SUSHI
5882 Forbes Ave., Squirrel Hill; 412-422-7188; nonsmoking; wheelchair accessible.

SUSHI TOMO
4812 McKnight Road, Ross; 412-630-8666; nonsmoking, wheelchair accessible.

UMI
5849 Ellsworth Ave., Shadyside; 412-362-6198; nonsmoking; not wheelchair accessible but affected parties can order off the Umi menu downstairs in Soba; bigburrito.com/umi.

Other Japanese Restaurants in and around Pittsburgh:

NAKAMA JAPANESE STEAKHOUSE AND SUSHI BAR
Corner of 17th and East Carson streets, South Side; 412-381-6000; bar allows smoking, hibachi tables are nonsmoking; wheelchair accessible; eatatnakama.com.

SHOGUN JAPANESE STEAK HOUSE
8 Tech Center Drive, Monroeville; 412-372-0700; nonsmoking; wheelchair accessible.

SUSHI KIM
1241 Penn Ave., Strip District; 412-281-9956; nonsmoking; wheelchair accessible; sushikim.com.

One of the best ways to experience sushi is with an omakase or a kaiseki meal. Omakase means "I leave it up to you."