This is the fifth of my posts about my six-day trip in Japan.
Though it was slightly disheartening, Kat and I welcomed the Tokyo drizzle and the relief it brought from yesterday's heat. And armed with umbrellas, we set out to explore Tokyo's hot spots during this, our second day in Japan.
A word of advice: two days in Tokyo is sufficient to see the highlights.
We crept past the terrifying Raijin, god of thunder, to enter the Senso-Ji temple complex where we rattled sticks in an aluminum tin and had our fortunes told for Y100 (U.S. $1.16). We wafted incense over our hair and faces for good luck and listened to the eerie chanting of the monks to the unsteady beat of the accompanying drum.
With Kat quickly mastering the dizzying Tokyo metro system, we zigzagged around the city, taking in the latest gadgets at the Sony building in the upscale Ginza neighborhood, and then viewing manga culture firsthand in the Akihabara neighborhood.
A world more animated
Manga and anime comprise Japan's comic book culture, complete with otaku, the obsessive geeks who "thrive" in this environment of crowded over-stimulation -- think Vegas with comics in a much more confined space. I'm not sure "thrive" is exactly the right term, so much as "completely recoiling from society into a alternate universe of comic book fantasy," but hey, who am I to judge?
The manga/anime themes of over-stylized, pseudo-erotic cuteness have paved way for the many maid cafes -- cafes with waitresses tarted up as maids (think sexed up, short skirts, high stockings and stacked heels, not Alice from the Brady Bunch), who will call you "Master" or "Mistress" as they serve your coffee.
Truthfully, I was caught completely off guard as I stepped into Akihabara. I was interested in trying out a maid cafe, but I was expecting more "old world refinement," and less, "naughty girl playing dress up." In my mind, the maids would look more like Mary Poppins in long skirts and high collars, and Kat and I would drink coffee from china teacups.
Stepping into Don Quijote
Wandering through Don Quijote, an emporium home to the world-famous maid cafe @home Cafe, I quickly realized there was nothing "spoon full of sugar" about this place.
Honoring the neighborhood's black market roots, Don Quijote had all the name brand and knock-off electronics and fashion you could shake a stick at, all packed in so tightly you that you and your purse need separate aisles. There was also anime/manga paraphernalia in droves -- everything from action figures, books and hair accessories featuring favorite characters to sex toys and costumes used for cosplay, or costume play.
Floor after floor, Kat and I wound upward through the claustrophobic micro-universe. On the sixth floor, teenaged boys lined up to have a popular author sign the latest manga card. Herded together in the cramped lobby, their scrawny, pimply forms sweltered together, and I recoiled from their pungent, unwashed stench.
A quick peek into @home Cafe was all I needed to realize it wasn't the place for our afternoon coffee and cake. I thought the district would be cute and bubbly, like Pickachu, but the whole area had a slightly seedy feel to it. Kat's stories of anime pornography and tentacle rape didn't help. I looked at those middle-aged men in the individual viewing booths, and, with a surge of pity, I left in a hurry -- not because I felt like I was in any danger (the otaku probably don't even know what to do with real, live, human girls), it just wasn't my scene.
Out of Akihabara
Kat and I whizzed off to the ultra-chic Roppongi Hills, an opulent neighborhood of dining and nightlife, but finding ourselves on the brink of exhaustion, we hastily ate a bowl of udon, strolled a bit and then headed back to the haven of Anne Hostel.
Next stop: Kyoto!
Check out my photos, "Tokyo, Metropolitan Mecca," on my Facebook page.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Stalking Sushi - Part II
This is the fourth of my posts about my six-day trip in Japan.
We had finally arrived at Sushi Dai. However, I was forced to quell my notions of diving headfirst into ebi (shrimp), maguro (tuna) and unagi (eel) as we lined up outside, peering into the cozy sushi bar.
So we waited. And waited.
There were only four people ahead of us, but another eight quickly filed in behind. The menu was taped to the glass door, written first in Japanese, then in English. There were only two options.
Option A: 12 pieces of nigiri (seafood on rice), assorted rolls, side dishes, miso soup: Y3,900 (U.S. $40)
Option B: 7 pieces of nigiri, assorted rolls, side dishes, miso soup: Y2,500 (U.S. $28)
For the better part of an hour, we stood under the awning, avoiding the drizzle, until we were seated with the four ahead of us. Even in this rough and tumble part of town, the service was rendered with the utmost courtesy. Pretty words were spoken as large ceramic cups of the greenest of green teas (think pond scum) were set before us.
I was so excited, I could barely sit still, and I surrendered all attempt at not looking like a tourist and semi-shamelessly photographed my food. I drew the line at shooting the three industrious chefs (their knives were sharp and their wrists quick), but did sneak in a little video.
The sushi was flying, each piece arriving solo in a staged culinary journey though Japanese waters. First there was a slice of marbled, pink and white fatty tuna, the thought of which still makes me salivate. Simultaneously delicate in flavor and rich in texture, the fish consumed me more than I consumed it.
The tour continued with sea urchin, clam, snapper ("Big eyes," the chef told me with a wink.), Japanese salmon, knife fish, mackerel, sea bass, shrimp, a beautifully braided, silver gizzard shad and a sea eel so fresh that rigor mortis had yet to set in, and the delicious morsel fell apart in my mouth.
The chef coached us.
"No [soy] sauce," he indicated with certain slices of fish.
I willfully committed sushi sacrilege and was slapped on the wrist for every infraction.
"No separation," Chef said as I ate my fish alone, leaving the rice for later.
"Sushi only one bite," he said as I sloppily ate my nigiri in two bites.
In my defense: Why should I cram a huge piece of sushi down my throat and barely taste it when two bites will allow me to savor the flavor so much better?
Still, he smiled and laughed at us, the only foreigners in the little restaurant. It was mid-afternoon, and yet the line outside continued to grow, so we gladly paid up for what had been a king of meals and walked out into the gray day giddy with seafood-stuffed bellies.
Check out my photos, "Tokyo, Metropolitan Mecca," on my Facebook page.
We had finally arrived at Sushi Dai. However, I was forced to quell my notions of diving headfirst into ebi (shrimp), maguro (tuna) and unagi (eel) as we lined up outside, peering into the cozy sushi bar.
So we waited. And waited.
There were only four people ahead of us, but another eight quickly filed in behind. The menu was taped to the glass door, written first in Japanese, then in English. There were only two options.
Option A: 12 pieces of nigiri (seafood on rice), assorted rolls, side dishes, miso soup: Y3,900 (U.S. $40)
Option B: 7 pieces of nigiri, assorted rolls, side dishes, miso soup: Y2,500 (U.S. $28)
For the better part of an hour, we stood under the awning, avoiding the drizzle, until we were seated with the four ahead of us. Even in this rough and tumble part of town, the service was rendered with the utmost courtesy. Pretty words were spoken as large ceramic cups of the greenest of green teas (think pond scum) were set before us.
I was so excited, I could barely sit still, and I surrendered all attempt at not looking like a tourist and semi-shamelessly photographed my food. I drew the line at shooting the three industrious chefs (their knives were sharp and their wrists quick), but did sneak in a little video.
The sushi was flying, each piece arriving solo in a staged culinary journey though Japanese waters. First there was a slice of marbled, pink and white fatty tuna, the thought of which still makes me salivate. Simultaneously delicate in flavor and rich in texture, the fish consumed me more than I consumed it.
The tour continued with sea urchin, clam, snapper ("Big eyes," the chef told me with a wink.), Japanese salmon, knife fish, mackerel, sea bass, shrimp, a beautifully braided, silver gizzard shad and a sea eel so fresh that rigor mortis had yet to set in, and the delicious morsel fell apart in my mouth.
The chef coached us.
"No [soy] sauce," he indicated with certain slices of fish.
I willfully committed sushi sacrilege and was slapped on the wrist for every infraction.
"No separation," Chef said as I ate my fish alone, leaving the rice for later.
"Sushi only one bite," he said as I sloppily ate my nigiri in two bites.
In my defense: Why should I cram a huge piece of sushi down my throat and barely taste it when two bites will allow me to savor the flavor so much better?
Still, he smiled and laughed at us, the only foreigners in the little restaurant. It was mid-afternoon, and yet the line outside continued to grow, so we gladly paid up for what had been a king of meals and walked out into the gray day giddy with seafood-stuffed bellies.
Check out my photos, "Tokyo, Metropolitan Mecca," on my Facebook page.
Stalking Sushi - Part I
This is the third of my posts about my six-day trip in Japan.
We peered into the tiny sushi bar where 12 people sat shoulder to shoulder, like sardines in a tin.
In the dingy alley of the wholesale fish market, a line of diners waited to get into the hatbox-sized restaurant. It was 2 in the afternoon. All the faces in line were Japanese.
And anyone who knows how to hunt authentic haunts knows to follow the locals and choose the place where patrons will happily wait an hour to get a seat at the counter, even at non-peak hours.
Oh yeah, we were at the right place. But I confess we had a little help finding this hole in the wall.
The Tsukiji Metropolitan Central Wholesale Market, touted as the biggest wholesale fish and seafood market in the world, roars to life at about 3 a.m. when the first fishermen roll in with their catches. It's in full swing by 5 a.m. when licensed buyers from restaurants, processing plants and large retailers come to the market to participate in the live auction. Indeed, the seafood from Tsukiji will reach the four corners of the globe. By 8 a.m. the activity is winding down, and by the time Kat and I arrived at 1:30 p.m., the market was a wasteland of cardboard boxes, Styrofoam containers and rubber-boot clad men engaged in clean up.
We'd heard this is the place to be for sushi, but we were wandering in the wrong area and quickly losing patience with the quest for food. (OK, I admit, I was losing patience. Kat rarely loses patience.) So, Kat pantomimed the gobbling of raw fish to an obliging fisherman who quickly led us to the right area.
"The best?" he asked.
We nodded fervently, but he motioned that it wouldn't be cheap. (Cultural note: I've noticed in Korea and Japan, the American "OK" sign, made with the thumb and forefinger forming an "o" and the other three fingers extended, means "money.")
"That's OK," we clamored.
In some other countries, I'd be worried this man was being paid a commission for his recommendation, but he pointed at the restaurant and disappeared so quickly that I dispelled the notion. We barely had time to bow our thanks and spit out some "arrigatos."
Oh, I was primed to dine.
Check out my photos, "Tokyo, Metropolitan Mecca," on my Facebook page.
We peered into the tiny sushi bar where 12 people sat shoulder to shoulder, like sardines in a tin.
In the dingy alley of the wholesale fish market, a line of diners waited to get into the hatbox-sized restaurant. It was 2 in the afternoon. All the faces in line were Japanese.
And anyone who knows how to hunt authentic haunts knows to follow the locals and choose the place where patrons will happily wait an hour to get a seat at the counter, even at non-peak hours.
Oh yeah, we were at the right place. But I confess we had a little help finding this hole in the wall.
The Tsukiji Metropolitan Central Wholesale Market, touted as the biggest wholesale fish and seafood market in the world, roars to life at about 3 a.m. when the first fishermen roll in with their catches. It's in full swing by 5 a.m. when licensed buyers from restaurants, processing plants and large retailers come to the market to participate in the live auction. Indeed, the seafood from Tsukiji will reach the four corners of the globe. By 8 a.m. the activity is winding down, and by the time Kat and I arrived at 1:30 p.m., the market was a wasteland of cardboard boxes, Styrofoam containers and rubber-boot clad men engaged in clean up.
We'd heard this is the place to be for sushi, but we were wandering in the wrong area and quickly losing patience with the quest for food. (OK, I admit, I was losing patience. Kat rarely loses patience.) So, Kat pantomimed the gobbling of raw fish to an obliging fisherman who quickly led us to the right area.
"The best?" he asked.
We nodded fervently, but he motioned that it wouldn't be cheap. (Cultural note: I've noticed in Korea and Japan, the American "OK" sign, made with the thumb and forefinger forming an "o" and the other three fingers extended, means "money.")
"That's OK," we clamored.
In some other countries, I'd be worried this man was being paid a commission for his recommendation, but he pointed at the restaurant and disappeared so quickly that I dispelled the notion. We barely had time to bow our thanks and spit out some "arrigatos."
Oh, I was primed to dine.
Check out my photos, "Tokyo, Metropolitan Mecca," on my Facebook page.
Busting in on the Scene : Toyko Wanderings
This is the second in the series of posts about my six-day trip in Japan
Unsatisfied with my spaghetti sandwich, Kat and I made our way to a Japanese, greasy-spoon diner, where despite the massive efforts of Japan to curb the appetites of its nicotine-loving citizens, patrons could still happily puff away.
After a long morning of travel, we happily dug into a meal of the Japanese versions of Salisbury steak and chicken-fried steak, the latter the enormously popular dish called tonkatsu, a breaded pork cutlet served with Japanese "gravy." By the time lunch was over, it was time for check in at the well-appointed, clean and friendly, Anne Hostel in the historic Asakusa neighborhood.
We got settled and then wandered down the street where we interrupted a film crew shooting in front of Senso-Ji Temple, the oldest in Tokyo dating back to 680 A.D. Night had fallen, and the temple was closed, so we explored the booths of the Nakamise-dori marketplace teeming with snack foods and souvenirs, both cheesy and classic.
Now, dear reader, you will know that I am the most honest of narrators when I confess, 12 hours in my vacation in Japan, I am not diving into a bowl of icy soba noodles or spearing a too-fresh-to-be-believed sliver of raw tuna ... No, I'm sitting at Denny's.
I saw those brightly illuminated yellow letters and was overcome by my need for a honest-to-goodness tuna melt. Don't ask me where these crazy cravings come from. I also blame, in part, the last novel I read, which took place in a Tokyo Denny's.
We opted for the non-smoking section -- not that it mattered in the big, square restaurant. I opened my menu, flipped through all 10 pages -- twice -- closed the menu and walked right out of Denny's.
The have NO tuna melt.
"I'm only in Japan for six days -- that's 18 meals -- and I'm not about to stay in a restaurant out of courtesy," I told Kat who was feeling abashed for drinking the water and then bailing.
We left and had some lovely curries and nan down the street from Anne Hostel. There would be time enough for sushi tomorrow.
Check out my photos, "Tokyo, Metropolitan Mecca," on my Facebook page.
Unsatisfied with my spaghetti sandwich, Kat and I made our way to a Japanese, greasy-spoon diner, where despite the massive efforts of Japan to curb the appetites of its nicotine-loving citizens, patrons could still happily puff away.
After a long morning of travel, we happily dug into a meal of the Japanese versions of Salisbury steak and chicken-fried steak, the latter the enormously popular dish called tonkatsu, a breaded pork cutlet served with Japanese "gravy." By the time lunch was over, it was time for check in at the well-appointed, clean and friendly, Anne Hostel in the historic Asakusa neighborhood.
We got settled and then wandered down the street where we interrupted a film crew shooting in front of Senso-Ji Temple, the oldest in Tokyo dating back to 680 A.D. Night had fallen, and the temple was closed, so we explored the booths of the Nakamise-dori marketplace teeming with snack foods and souvenirs, both cheesy and classic.
Now, dear reader, you will know that I am the most honest of narrators when I confess, 12 hours in my vacation in Japan, I am not diving into a bowl of icy soba noodles or spearing a too-fresh-to-be-believed sliver of raw tuna ... No, I'm sitting at Denny's.
I saw those brightly illuminated yellow letters and was overcome by my need for a honest-to-goodness tuna melt. Don't ask me where these crazy cravings come from. I also blame, in part, the last novel I read, which took place in a Tokyo Denny's.
We opted for the non-smoking section -- not that it mattered in the big, square restaurant. I opened my menu, flipped through all 10 pages -- twice -- closed the menu and walked right out of Denny's.
The have NO tuna melt.
"I'm only in Japan for six days -- that's 18 meals -- and I'm not about to stay in a restaurant out of courtesy," I told Kat who was feeling abashed for drinking the water and then bailing.
We left and had some lovely curries and nan down the street from Anne Hostel. There would be time enough for sushi tomorrow.
Check out my photos, "Tokyo, Metropolitan Mecca," on my Facebook page.
Spaghetti Sandwich - Foray into Japanese Haute Cuisine
This is the first in the series of posts about my six-day trip in Japan.
Two snow white swans paddled leisurely in the expansive moat. To the right, acres of precisely manicured lawns sat framed by cookie-cutter copies of dense, triangular trees. Each blade of grass, each leaf, each branch had been sculpted just so. To the left, massive stone blocks, each taller than a tall man, formed a fortress wall. Beyond, one could catch the most fleeting glimpses of the slate-tiled rooftops on the Imperial Place's inner grounds.
Structure and beauty, exclusivity and secrecy -- ladies and gentlemen, we had arrived in Japan.
From the climate controlled room in a movie theater, this scene, set against the backdrop of a breathtakingly sunny day, would be too good to be true. And while my travel partner, Kat, and I were grateful for the lack of the forecasted storm, in truth, it was hotter than Hades out here. It had only been 20 minutes since I stepped off the train, and already, I'd sweated through my clothes and likely the ones in my backpack, too. Next to me, Kat trudged red-faced, periodically heaving heavy sighs.
But this wasn't meant to be the "relax and recover" sort of holiday. This was going to be the power vacation to end power vacations, and we were in full "see stuff, do stuff" mode. To hell with the sun. We could take it.
It wasn't yet noon, and Kat and I had already traveled from Busan, South Korea to Tokyo, Japan to appear before the front gate of the Imperial Palace, where the emperor and his family take up residence. To my surprise, they wouldn't let us in. (Do please note the use of the sophisticated literary device, sarcasm.) So, we made do perusing the miles -- or kilometers, I should say -- of pristine gardens and historic guardhouses of the palace's outer grounds.
It was everything you'd expect Japan to be -- clean and orderly, well-mannered and courteous. You don't know if they mean it, but they're smiling to your face. It was all beautiful, but sweltering, and fair-skinned Kat was burning to a crisp, so we adjourned to a convenience store where I sampled my first snack of the trip -- a Japanese delicacy of soft, crustless white bread sandwich stuffed with ... wait for it ... spaghetti slathered with soy sauce. Can't say I loved it, but I'm broadening my cultural horizons one sandwich as a time.
Check out my photos, "Tokyo, Metropolitan Mecca," on my Facebook page.
Two snow white swans paddled leisurely in the expansive moat. To the right, acres of precisely manicured lawns sat framed by cookie-cutter copies of dense, triangular trees. Each blade of grass, each leaf, each branch had been sculpted just so. To the left, massive stone blocks, each taller than a tall man, formed a fortress wall. Beyond, one could catch the most fleeting glimpses of the slate-tiled rooftops on the Imperial Place's inner grounds.
Structure and beauty, exclusivity and secrecy -- ladies and gentlemen, we had arrived in Japan.
From the climate controlled room in a movie theater, this scene, set against the backdrop of a breathtakingly sunny day, would be too good to be true. And while my travel partner, Kat, and I were grateful for the lack of the forecasted storm, in truth, it was hotter than Hades out here. It had only been 20 minutes since I stepped off the train, and already, I'd sweated through my clothes and likely the ones in my backpack, too. Next to me, Kat trudged red-faced, periodically heaving heavy sighs.
But this wasn't meant to be the "relax and recover" sort of holiday. This was going to be the power vacation to end power vacations, and we were in full "see stuff, do stuff" mode. To hell with the sun. We could take it.
It wasn't yet noon, and Kat and I had already traveled from Busan, South Korea to Tokyo, Japan to appear before the front gate of the Imperial Palace, where the emperor and his family take up residence. To my surprise, they wouldn't let us in. (Do please note the use of the sophisticated literary device, sarcasm.) So, we made do perusing the miles -- or kilometers, I should say -- of pristine gardens and historic guardhouses of the palace's outer grounds.
It was everything you'd expect Japan to be -- clean and orderly, well-mannered and courteous. You don't know if they mean it, but they're smiling to your face. It was all beautiful, but sweltering, and fair-skinned Kat was burning to a crisp, so we adjourned to a convenience store where I sampled my first snack of the trip -- a Japanese delicacy of soft, crustless white bread sandwich stuffed with ... wait for it ... spaghetti slathered with soy sauce. Can't say I loved it, but I'm broadening my cultural horizons one sandwich as a time.
Check out my photos, "Tokyo, Metropolitan Mecca," on my Facebook page.
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