EPTTrevor’s house, though, was something special. Shrines, temples, castles, spectacular views — don’t get me wrong: I love them all. But as I said to Trevor at the time, seeing a real house from a real foreign culture that real people really live in is “the sort of thing that gives me a cultural boner.” It is rare to get a glimpse into how people of a foreign country actually live, and I appreciated the glimpse.
Trevor’s father-in-law owns several rice paddies and rents out portions of them to friends and family. The paddies themselves are scattered around the town, and apparently the yield is so great that he is able to grow a year’s supply in a single growing season with rice to spare. “There’s something honorable about growing your own food,” said Trevor.
“Especially the main staple of your diet,” I said.
We walked to the grocery store. Beautiful slices of heavily marbled beef were everywhere. There were gorgeous, deep purple tuna filets and pork cutlets to die for. “Is this Kobe beef?” I asked.
Trevor laughed. “Oh no, this is way too good of a deal to be Kobe beef.”
I glanced at the prices. By my standards, this was heinously expensive beef: 400 yen for 100 grams (around $15 per pound).
Our quick trip through the grocery store reminded me that I was starving, having not eaten anything since breakfast nine hours prior. I should not have worried. Trevor’s boasting about “cabbage, pork, and egg pancakes with fried chicken the size of your fist and impossibly large beers” was entirely accurate. These pancakes, called okonomiyaki, are delicious, but the fun is in the atmosphere. The restaurant delivers a giant bowl of ready-to-fry goodness, and you prepare it however you like. “It literally translates to ‘as you like it’,” Rob said. “The joke is that you can’t screw it up. That’s just as you like it.”
Well, the “impossibly large beers” part of Trevor’s statement might not have been accurate. They were large — .8 liters each, to be exact (around 27 ounces) — but that did not stop each of us from drinking three of them. The fried chicken in Japan, I should mention, is as good as I have had anywhere. Because there were five pieces of chicken between the three of us, we had an intense battle of rock-paper-scissors to determine who would not get a second piece. Trevor proved once again that he is unable to beat me at anything. Rob and I devoured the chicken as Trevor sulked in the corner of the booth.
Completely stuffed, I assumed we were done eating. Trevor had other plans. We hopped on a train to another neighborhood and, stopping along the way to urinate and purchase a charger for my Nintendo DS, arrived at a yakitori restaurant staffed by a middle-aged man and two young waitresses. The next portion of the evening requires some explanation, so bear with me.
My roommate, Sebastian, and I have a running joke, one that particularly applies to waitresses. When we see an attractive girl, we will simultaneously say, “Dude, the search is over. There she is. She’s the one. It’s fate.” We then proceed to argue over which one of us she is fated to be with for the next 20 minutes. It’s juvenile, to be sure, but we are simple creatures, my roommate and I. Forgetting that I was not in the company of Sebastian, I looked over at Trevor and Rob and said, “This is it, boys. There she is. The search is over.”
Normal friends would have laughed and moved on, but Trevor and Rob, determined to show me their mastery of Japanese compared to my complete ineptitude, began hitting on the waitress on my behalf. I protested. I put my head in my hands. I made gestures to Mami, the waitress, indicating that this was not my idea. Worse still is that Trevor and Rob are both married men. Fueled by alcohol and a desire to live vicariously through me, they were relentless. Mami seemed receptive to it all, though, and I was left pondering the world of possibilities that might await me. We drank another four beers each while sharing plate after plate of juicy, skewered chicken. Yakitori is a funny thing. It is so simple. But a few chunks of quality chicken, some seasoning, a sauce, and maybe a leek later, you end up with something truly special. I have spent much of my free time on this trip considering the variations of yakitori I am going to try when I arrive back home. My favorite idea thus far is pork loin with asparagus and a cilantro-lime dipping sauce.
Mami eventually joined us for a drink. (She stuck with tea.) Nearly an hour later, she offered me a ride back to my hotel, an act that was beyond generous. To be honest, I think she was concerned for my safety; there is no way I could have navigated the rail network in my current condition. Trevor and Rob were high-fiving each other as I left with Mami, but I want to stress that nothing inappropriate occurred. She dropped me off and made sure I made it inside before leaving. I stumbled up to my hotel room and forgot to turn on the air conditioner before falling into a deep, deep sleep.
