The Japanese have a thing for pizza. The pizza I've encountered here is either very thin crusted and extremely light on sauce or totally peculiar with popular toppings like mayonnaise, eggs and corn. Those are actually kind of good...but eel, dried fish flakes, kimchi, cod roe and scallop balls aren't my cup of green tea. I won't say that they're an abomination to pizza lovers everywhere, the Japanese just have a very unique taste profile. To each their own.
No mention of Japanese pizza would be near as entertaining without mentioning squid ink pizza though. Yes, that dark substance that is secreted out of cephalopods, like a stink bug I imagine.
Secreted, a world I like to think about while eating. Tasty. Squid ink replaces the tomato sauce in an oh-so-yummy, stain-your-mouth-black, tastes-earthy-like-wet-leaves kind of way. Those poor shrimp look like they're dying in black tar. You find squid ink used often here for sauces and pastas.
When the base WTF lives on opens it gates a few times a year to the local nationals, the first place they bee-line it to are our two pizzerias-Sbarro's and Anthony's. These aren't exactly the finest representation of American style pizza but when you've been eating squid ink and scallop balls (do scallops even have balls?) and thinking it tastes good, the doughy, greasy, gooey, cheesiness of a good 'ole slice of American pizza is probably like the search for a glass of water amidst the dry, sandy emptiness of the Sahara. Anything will taste exquisite.
These ladies were sporting pizza box carriers, because cheap grease is best when served from a stylish print.
With a little dutch courage down my throat I found myself contemplating unleashing my inner tone def self...and with a whole lotta dutch courage, I found myself deep in the waters of bad, really bad, singing. Karaoke is such a quintessential Japanese experience I couldn't concern myself with the bleeding ears of my fellow karaoke singers.
Karaoke is arguably the most popular social activity in this country. Salarymen visit after work to loosen their ties and drown away their stresses in free flowing biiru and J-Pop. Taken so seriously by some, professional karaoke coaches are employed to help transform the talentless to that of the best of an average American Idol contestant...wait, aren't they all average?
My girlfriends and I visited a karaoke box カラオケボックス, el Notes down on Blue Street. We had our own private room, kitted out with karaoke paraphernalia-microphones, tv video machines and tambourines no less. For ¥2800, the room was ours for an hour and a half and included all-you-can-drink top shelf liquor, though I found the gin and tonic to be more like tonic and tonic. The biiru was surely tasty though and I knocked back my fair share.
Before the singing even started, we were treated to a prelude of what was to come later in the evening??? I don't really know what the heck it was, it was a laughable mixture of the hilarious and the disturbing. That was one drunk panda!
I've got video of my singing prowess, and it is truly spectacular, but now that the alcohol is no longer diluting my blood stream and unless it's 5 o'clock as you read this, it shouldn't be running through yours either, so there is no reason to subject you to the deafening notes that came from my voice. Pictures will have to suffice. I will say that my favorite song to sing was Baby Got Back by Sir Mix Alot and the best showcase of my talent was Friends in Low Places by Garth Brooks. And for all my Memphis gals, I closed the night with In the Ghetto by none other than Elvis himself.
Singing it however was a little like guessaoke. I thought I knew the words by heart until it was time to sing it and the words escaped me despite them being on the screen. And there was a little shareaoke, where I tag teamed my way through a song and wandered around the room with the microphone like Wayne Newton and even a song or two of sweariaoke, were some of the lyrics got turned around and we cussed just for the hell of it.
It was a ridiculously fun evening, so much so that I am now a card carrying member of el Notes! To Daisuke Inoue, the man who invented karaoke, thank you for being as tone def and musically inept as me and giving the world over such a good time.
Canned coffee, both hot and cold, are staples found in every vending machine you encounter in Japan. WTF Husband and I were giddy (okay, I was giddy, he was thirsty) with excitement when we had our first can of hot coffee from a machine. Then we read the names. No doubt I should be more mature about it, but truthfully, every time I see these, I can't "can" my laughter. No commentary necessary, these speak for themselves:
I'm aware that I’ve probably committed some blogging sin by not updating for the last 10 days. I really had very good intentions and if it is any consolation I’ve got lots of posts in half-finished states that will be ready for reading eyes very soon but with no real good excuse for my tardiness, let’s just jump into my next topic du jour.
Masks. I’m not talking about traditional wooden Kabuki masks or Noh masks worn during Japanese musical dramas. Cold masks. Outside of an operation room, we don’t see many of these in America, ‘cept for maybe a tradesman not wanting to inhale insulation while finishing off the Jones' basement.
From the moment we boarded our plane bound for Japan, we were introduced to this peculiarity of Japanese culture. When the lady sitting in seat 34F next to us veiled her face with one of these masks, my first reaction was one of defensiveness...no lady my kid ain't going to hack on you, really though, she was just concerned that her germs might permeate the air and infect us.
I suppose regarding it as a peculiarity isn't accurate, but this fork loving family just isn't used to seeing a stranger care so much for the others around them. Herein lies a major difference between our cultures. Japan values the group, the collective whole's interests being placed before the individuals. That isn't to say Japan is some utopia where everyone is in perfect harmony with their neighbor but culturally speaking, it is as if part of their genetic makeup calls them to be concerned for the health and welfare of others, lest group productivity be diminished. Someone has to keep the steady flow Toyota Prius' rolling so Al Gore has something to talk about.
Maybe the Japanese people should just stay at home, negating the need to don one of these cold masks. Perhaps they don't get six sick days a year like we do in America. I always used mine, though I can't honestly say that I was sick all the times I cashed them in. I hope you're not reading this Jonathan. They aren't very flattering to the face and it really could wreak havoc on your makeup. And I just imagine that a runny nose isn't very comfortable behind the cotton cup. And what do you do if you have to cough? If you lift the mask off your face, then what was the point of wearing one, but if you cough into while it is on your face, are you not just circulating the germs your body is trying to rid itself of?
I had to speak to a man just a few days ago wearing one. It kept slipping off his nose and he kept pulling it back up, all the while I kept picturing a portly plumber who pulls up his pants so his crack doesn't show. What was the point, it kept falling off. I wanted to giggle but I thought better of it.
It is such staple of every day life here, they even make really fashionable ones, not just plain boring ones like a pair of tidy whiteys. There are even funny commercials selling them. I'm not sure if it is proper etiquette to remove the mask to ohh and ahh over the tiny black dress in the window display, but apparently when talking to your boss, it is expected to remove it. Isn't that going to get him sick though? Maybe that is the idea, get rid of the boss and then go shopping.
The funniest mask I've seen though is the one worn by a man driving his car...alone. It was my first day driving out in town...beads of sweat percolating on my forehead, a death grip on the steering wheel as I tried to navigate the ridiculously narrow street. When I looked to my left and saw this man, I couldn't help but wonder who was he protecting his germs from? And then I almost took out his rear view mirror. Oops, gomenasai, hope your cold gets better Mr. Mask Man.
As a gaijin, we're already prone to looks from the locals. When we're sick, we ought to be prepared to feel even more gaping eyes on us. People will actually step aside from you, turn two and walk in the opposite direction. I even saw a mother grab her child from the path of a sick person, as if they were going to catch death not the common cold. Feel like a leper much?
Knowing this though, trying to understand the cultural differences, makes living here exciting. I'm sick today and wished I had a mask to wear, to show that while in this country, I can get down with the group like the best of them.
WTF got new cell phones. Cool Japanese cell phones. It is a bit harrowing signing a contract when you have no idea what it says, what with it being in Japanese. I am hoping I didn’t sign away my right kidney or agree to a 1,000,000Yen disconnection fee, roughly the equivalent value of my kidney on the black market. I don’t have the slightest idea of all the things it can do, again, what with the manual being in Japanese. This much I’ve figured out. Buy a train ticket, yes. Track my weight and daily steps, yes. Flash news updates, yes. Navigate me home from my shopping trip, yes. Plan an evacuation route in case of an island destroying earthquake, yes. Fix a flat tire, maybe, I just can’t read the screen to confirm.
The phone is thin and lightweight. Very sparkly too, an added benefit for The Warden, not so much WTF Husband. I think I will call her Baby. Frances Houseman just didn’t sound right. Confused, guess you haven’t watched Dirty Dancing. Baby makes our old phones look outmoded and prehistoric.
Here’s the thing I’ve noticed though. The Japanese people want to ruin my Baby with straps and charms of all kinds. Called keitai straps, that little wrist strap you add to your phone, has become a cultural phenomenon here, well beyond its basic utility. I hate these things. They get in your way of nicely and neatly tucking your phone away in your purse or your husband’s pocket, along with the lipstick and mirror you ask him to carry. In a small country with such a dense population, I suppose anything to help identify you from the person next to you becomes a necessity. Everyone from karoke-singing, Sapporo-drinking salarymen, to the hunched-over grannies who don’t look before stepping into oncoming traffic, to the Gothic Lolitas in Harajuku all adorn their cell phones with this little, useless strap. To the point that the phone could give you tennis elbow for all the charms and do-dads hanging off it.
Maybe I’m being too hasty. I think I’ll get strapped too, with this Shear Panther Sexy Underwear Cell Phone Strap. For a good chuckle, check out the description. WTF Husband would love a little Erokawa.
Just a few observations from our first days in country. These are in no particular order.
1. Vending machines, everywhere you go, vending machines. We’re not talking about Pepsi vs. Coke. Coffee, fruit drinks, sodas, something confusing called water salad, soups. All in a can, all in a vending machine. Hot drinks, cold drinks. Living in harmony all in the same machine. And in the category of why don’t we have these in the US…liquor, condoms and umbrellas of course. 2. Music playing, heated toilet seats. 3. Plastic food models to help passerbys visualize restaurants’ culinary offerings. Perfect for confused gaijin with limited Japanese vocabulary. 4. Individually packaged, warm, damp napkins available at fast food eateries. 5. McDonald’s (not that we eat there) that looks more like a chic cosmopolitan restaurant than a greesy fast food joint. 5. Real one-stop shopping, groceries on aisle 1, cars for sale on aisle 2. 6. Convenience stores that are truly convenient. Pay your utilities, ship something, and grab a bite to eat. 7 Eleven’s here aren’t like back home, they have a huge variety of top quality, tasty food on the go. Sorry no Slurpies. 7. Kitchen gadgets galore. Wanna a hard boild egg in the shape of a star, this is the place for you. I’m in heaven!
Where's the Fork will be a depository of all things Japan, from the perspective of the Fegley Four, primarily The Warden, a name bestowed upon me for dolling out half rations to Homer. "No soup for you!" Husband will likely scoff at the idea of being a contributing writer. As in most things, he defers to The Warden when it comes to literary reportage. And of course, this blog will be peppered with jems and one liners from the Kawaii Girls. Here's your first lesson on Japanese pop culture, the meaning of Kawaii.
