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| Hello everybody. Minasan konnichiwa.   |
If we are lucky, we have among our family and friends someone who is a really good gift-giver. I am a terrible gift giver. If I ever start to think otherwise, my children dredge up true tales of birthdays spent weeping and Christmas mornings characterized by perplexity at best with a layer of raw disappointment the usual order of the day. Oh, sure, occasionally I'll hit the big time in the same way that a broken clock is right twice a day. But history aside, it has not stopped me from wandering into the fantasy world of gift giving.
If there were support meetings for bad gift givers as there are for other recoveries, I would be attending one tonight. I need something to keep me from buying a second suitcase full of things I imagine friends and family would like. The problem is that, given the consumer resources this city offers, I am beginning to fantasize that I could become that really good gift-giver in your life. My problem is not that I am a bad gift giver, the problem is that, until Tokyo, I've not had the resources commensurate with my dormant, gift giving talents.
It is impossible to explain the intensity of the consumer focus of Tokyo. Every store and stall in the city is one of two types: retail or food. The food part is easy. It's the retail that confounds me. So I have manufactured a plan and it's this: when I see something that I am tempted to buy, I take a photo of it and keep on moving.
Here are some of the photos I took today of stuff-I-didn't-buy-but-thought-about. I leave it to any of you who knows me to to breathe sighs of relief that I did not give into my impulses.
TI think that should put the gift giving issue to rest. For those of you harboring delusions along the lines of, "I wonder what Eileen is going to bring me from Japan?" get hold of yourself. Find a meeting.
On to the Food Scene. Today I went to Ueno, home to the University of Tokyo, (the Harvard of Japan I've been informed), but also home to an old street market and a number of museums that I wanted to check out. The market was fabulous. It was Monday so except for a shrine and the public park, the museums were closed.
Since I'm on a I-didn't-buy-you-this roll, here are a couple photos of food at the market I managed to pass up. It wasn't dominated by old folks, so they weren't giving out samples either. Can't figure out the red octopus. Crabs appeared breaded and deep fried.
But then there's always the lunch challenge. Today, I scored on that. I sat myself down at one of those outdoor tables where people were eating hot, steamy bowls of soup. I assumed it was a Ramen stand so I looked around at what people were eating and this is what I picked. It was deep, rich and perfectly spiced. The broth was still bubbling when it arrived.
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| Monday's lunch: a bowl of ramen, I think, at Ueno. Spicy and satisfying. |
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| Scene from the kitchen with the cooks preparing my bowl of ramen. |
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| Stash of ingredients below the window where the cooks were working. Yes, those are pig's feet and a bag of dough.
With all due respect to the proprietor's casual regard for refrigeration, I am pleased to report that it has been nearly eight hours since I ate at this little bit of Ramen heaven and am feeling just fine, thank you. As long as someone is not shooing away flies and vermin with a piece of cardboard, I feel fairly safe going with the street food crowd.
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| One of the cooks working a pile of chicken parts at the Ramen stand. |
Street Food Update
I have begun to reevaluate Japanese street food in a new and discerning light, having had quite a bit of it. (Ed note: the Domino's pizza is officially gone. ) On first bite, because the flavors are new--which also makes them exciting--my knee jerk response is to think that what I'm eating is really good. Upon reflection, that is not necessarily the case. Take yesterday. I took myself over to the Harajuku area of the city where a guidebook mentioned that on Sunday's, the Japanese Rockabillies gather in the park dressed as Elvis, attended by young women wearing what I assume would be trashy Western wear and big hair. Not so. At least not yesterday. So I was adrift in the outskirts of the park, looking for something to eat. There's food everywhere. It is never a problem to find it. It's deciding what to eat that's the challenge. A row of about six stalls, each manned by guys cooking pancakes stuffed with noodles, cabbage and eggs looked, at first glance, very appealing. (Why do they all sell the very same thing at the same place, right next to each other? Surely there's a graduate marketing thesis in there somewhere.) So I got in line--in Tokyo, one learns to tolerate lines-- and did my smiling, pointing, nodding, nodding, nodding ritual that I've pretty much perfected and was rewarded with a pancake weighing about 5 pounds, painted with a dark sauce, then a festive squirt of mayonnaise, sprinkled with something green and parsley-looking, and, finally a lot of fish flakes: very thin, dried, fishy-smelling flakes of what might be fish scales but probably aren't. It cost about $5. A can of Asahi was another $5. Off I retreated with great happiness to a nearby bench. One does not walk about eating in Tokyo. One sits or stands near to where the food or drink was purchased.
Whatever this delicacy was called, it smelled like dried fish and tasted like paste. After about three bites, I'd had enough. Now here's the problem. Tokyo does not have trash cans. When you are finished eating from a stall, you are expected to take your trash back to the stall and hand it over to the proprietor. They accept it back with good cheer and appreciation. I didn't want my pancake guy to think that I was not appreciative of his efforts, so I shoved this confection into my backpack and hauled it around for the next 5 hours. This was not a good idea. The plastic bags are thin. Chopsticks poke holes. Mayonnaise runs. Dried fish does what dried fish does. If I were a better gift giver, I'd buy myself a new backpack. (See above photo of backpack display.)
My Monday is already finished and yours is just beginning. If anyone wants one of those cute purses, let me know by first thing tomorrow morning. I'm headed back to Ueno for another bowl of Ramen --if I can find the stall again-- and to put in some serious museum time. Preview: The admission cost for adults at the Tokyo Science Center is $6 for adults, $3 for children and, check this out: Over 65 is free! I love a country that respects its elders.
See you tomorrow.
Mata, ashita.
I have begun to reevaluate Japanese street food in a new and discerning light, having had quite a bit of it. (Ed note: the Domino's pizza is officially gone. ) On first bite, because the flavors are new--which also makes them exciting--my knee jerk response is to think that what I'm eating is really good. Upon reflection, that is not necessarily the case. Take yesterday. I took myself over to the Harajuku area of the city where a guidebook mentioned that on Sunday's, the Japanese Rockabillies gather in the park dressed as Elvis, attended by young women wearing what I assume would be trashy Western wear and big hair. Not so. At least not yesterday. So I was adrift in the outskirts of the park, looking for something to eat. There's food everywhere. It is never a problem to find it. It's deciding what to eat that's the challenge. A row of about six stalls, each manned by guys cooking pancakes stuffed with noodles, cabbage and eggs looked, at first glance, very appealing. (Why do they all sell the very same thing at the same place, right next to each other? Surely there's a graduate marketing thesis in there somewhere.) So I got in line--in Tokyo, one learns to tolerate lines-- and did my smiling, pointing, nodding, nodding, nodding ritual that I've pretty much perfected and was rewarded with a pancake weighing about 5 pounds, painted with a dark sauce, then a festive squirt of mayonnaise, sprinkled with something green and parsley-looking, and, finally a lot of fish flakes: very thin, dried, fishy-smelling flakes of what might be fish scales but probably aren't. It cost about $5. A can of Asahi was another $5. Off I retreated with great happiness to a nearby bench. One does not walk about eating in Tokyo. One sits or stands near to where the food or drink was purchased.
Whatever this delicacy was called, it smelled like dried fish and tasted like paste. After about three bites, I'd had enough. Now here's the problem. Tokyo does not have trash cans. When you are finished eating from a stall, you are expected to take your trash back to the stall and hand it over to the proprietor. They accept it back with good cheer and appreciation. I didn't want my pancake guy to think that I was not appreciative of his efforts, so I shoved this confection into my backpack and hauled it around for the next 5 hours. This was not a good idea. The plastic bags are thin. Chopsticks poke holes. Mayonnaise runs. Dried fish does what dried fish does. If I were a better gift giver, I'd buy myself a new backpack. (See above photo of backpack display.)
My Monday is already finished and yours is just beginning. If anyone wants one of those cute purses, let me know by first thing tomorrow morning. I'm headed back to Ueno for another bowl of Ramen --if I can find the stall again-- and to put in some serious museum time. Preview: The admission cost for adults at the Tokyo Science Center is $6 for adults, $3 for children and, check this out: Over 65 is free! I love a country that respects its elders.
See you tomorrow.
Mata, ashita.
I must admit that I am not tempted by the pug or tuxedo cat purses. However, if you can somehow manage to slip a bowl of that Ramen into your checked luggage for me, that would be most excellent!
ReplyDeleteKate
I remember one Xmas when you got Meredith a Marge Simpson doll! I think we were in high school and it was her main gift from you... boy was she pissed!!!! i am cracking up as I write this...
ReplyDeleteI want you to know that I really need that cat purse and I am fairly certain that both meredith and sharon need matching pug purses! please ??????