Not only did we watch a Spanish movie, La Orphanata, but we ended up going to a very nice Spanish restaurant, about 10mins walk from our apartment.
The restaurant was a great deal more up-market than the attire that we chose to wear to the restaurant... our lax choice of attire didn't seem to make a difference though. We had some nice red wine to start off the meal and then we spent a good while trying to figure out the menu...
On the eve of Christmas eve we toddled down to the shiny lights of Roppongi [六本木] we headed towards the Mori Towers and then into L'atelier (L'Atelier de Joel Robuchon), a two Michelin star restaurant. It had a great atmosphere, the Japanese waiters all spoke French (and some English) and were not intimidating at all, being very friendly and attentive. The decor was a cool black and red, with various bottles and jars full with food for colour.
Greg's starter: cous cous, with a mango chukney
My starter: Avocado and tomato
Greg's second course: Duck in a cheesy potatoey bake (it wasn't described as badly as this on the menu)
My second course: Fishy on some (very tastily cooked) potatoes
Palate cleaning lime sherbet with fruit
My dessert [also not exactly on the menu - but non-dairy...thus wayway friendly]: Pear Sorbet (in a cylinder of ice) with berry fruits
Greg's prepped and ready for his dessert...
some dairy thing, I'm not allowed to eat...
...then it's gone!It’s Monday, so I head into uni and leave Emily to go to Asakusa before meeting the others for a day of sightseeing. I thought I would just go in and work on my presentation that I have to do each term to both my lab [Hongo Campus] and Koseki lab [Komaba Campus] so that they know what I’m doing and to show what I’ve been doing for the past 6 months; which isn’t much…ooops. Anyway, not so simple. At about 9am I get an email from Isobel saying that it’s actually today that is best for returning the tent (I borrowed a tent – *deluxe* apparently, but I never got to try it out so I wouldn’t know – for a climbing trip to Ogawayama; very good Granite I’m told, But the trip fell through; so no climbing.) and Isobel needed the tent back for some running event she seemed to be trying to pull together. I had obviously misunderstood the email she had sent earlier that morning so anyway, I went back to my apartment o pick up the tent then came back to uni for my 430 lecture then left, with the tent, to meet Isobel at Nagatacho. Had a nice but short chat then we jumped on to the Hanomazon line and I headed off to Shibuya to meet the Brits.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t had time to make a reservation with the restaurant, which is always packed. It’s a very popular restaurant and thus a reservation is really the best idea if you want to eat some thing that day; I was shown the restaurant by Amy – an unofficial mentor of sorts; Malaysian Chinese and doing a PhD at Todai as well.
This restaurant is pretty damned hard to find if you aren’t shown where it is. It has a very well hidden entrance which you have to walk through and behind a building to find. From under the small plastic canopy which covers the little walkway leading to the entrance to the left of you train lines are about a meter from you. Then, when you do get to it, it’s literally a hobbit sized wooden sliding door, which even I have to crouch to get through. Once through the door you enter a different world. The calls of the staff shouting orders and welcomes to customers, the smell and sounds of food cooking, and the busy chatter of the guests fills the air. There is a very small entrance area with a big flat-topped stone which steps up to the floor level of the restaurant. There are small cupboards for shoes and from the entrance area you can see the chefs counter with guests seated around. I try to explain to the guy who greets us that we want to eat there tonight but don’t have a reservation. He looks a little sceptical, in a friendly and apologetic way, and has to discuss with a fellow waitress who spoke English, that they didn’t really have space, but if we came back at 930pm we could be squeezed into a booth meant to seat 4. ‘paaaah! That’s fine!’ I say. So, we head off to Tight to await dinner. I personally thing that the wait will be worth it, even though I’ve not been in there yet…
I drop the girls off at Tight, then accompany Ian to Bic Camera so that he can buy himself a camera. He says he needs to replace his because it’s broken…I think he just wants a new toy...So, yeah, we have a little look at the selection, and try and work out how their labelling system for the camera specifications works. We harangue a couple of shop assistants for a while, trying to work out in broken Japanese what all the numbers mean.
Ian makes his choice pretty damn quickly and within about half an hour he’s chosen his camera…we then buy the thing and use some of the points to get a SD card, then head back to the bar.
We get to Tight to find Isabella, Laura and Emily a little tipsy, they seem to have found a new drink of choice…kahlua and milk, and have already made their way through 2 each. Tight is *packed*, which isn’t hard, but is fun to see. There are the most number of people that I’ve seen in the bar, ever, 9 (if I remember correctly). Squeezed into the bar and wedging themselves above the stairs by bridging between the wall and the banisters.
I could tell that Emily was hungry, because she started chewing on the coasters and asked me what time it was every 5 minutes…and when the time was nigh, we trotted off back to the restaurant. At the restaurant, we were led down some stairs to the basement where there was more seating, and were taken to a western-style seated booth, which happily seated the 5 of us. They took one look at us and handed us the English menu; which was great, because it had some pictures of the food too. We started with some salad; which apparently incurred a service fee, and it was tasty! The crispy noodle-like stuff was particularly ingenious, to complement the softness of the veggies, and topped with a lovely dressing. To follow that, we got hold of some, kimchee, fresh tofu, beans in black sugar, jimuchee pancake, and some fried veggies.
I had to take a break from the ordering to eat some of the salad before it all disappeared…then I ordered some Strawberry Shoujuu (fruit wine), as recommended by Amy as well as ebi mayo and negitoro-something-something.
Ian was enamoured by the selection of food, and proclaimed that the meal just went from strength to strength…then ranted a little about how amazing the sauce on the Ebi mayo was; I said ‘…well…it probably involves mayonnaise for one; on account of the name and tomato sauce…’ on the bright side he still loved it despite a dislike of mayonnaise. The Strawberry Shoujuu, seemed to go down well too, it actually involved real strawberries and had the general aura of something which wasn’t alcoholic. I’m sure this makes it very dangerous.
Time to go home and get some rest I think, they all have an early start tomorrow to get a train to somewhere which isn’t Tokyo. And yes, I’m applying the same kind of geographical ethic I have for the UK: where there is London, and ‘Other places which aren’t London’; Japan has a more complex system of: Tokyo, near Tokyo, and ‘Other places which aren’t Tokyo’.
I *love* this restaurant…something tells me that I’ll be here again…
After a hard day of climbing at pump2 sustenance is a must. So, off we toodle to Shimbashi (a common point in between where we who climb live) and having no idea of what’s good, we wonder around trying to find a nice restaurant. My climbing buddy is attempting to take me down bigger streets, where he thinks there will be more restaurants, while I’m trying to go down smaller roads…yes, possibly dark Japanese alleys. Not dodgy at all until I get there. Anyway the idea is: small alleyways = small cool restaurant…
So, we’re wondering around the back streets of Shimbashi, and there are indeed lots of little restaurants around. More importantly I see one, which has a bit of a shabby exterior and a big glass front window. Through the big window, the first thing I noticed was the fact that it was very smoky. It was also crowded and alive with business men in suits some sitting at small cramped tables around the edge of the room, and further in the background the restaurant looked as though it disappeared off to the right, possibly to more Japanese-style dining. The centre piece however, was a single cook wearing a yukata, looking very sweaty, sitting in front of a large open barbeque, on to which he was throwing a selection of the prepared items that were laid out on display in front of the barbeque, much like a butchers shop. There was a low counter surrounding the display of uncooked food and people sitting at the counter on small chairs. I looked on in sheer glee as the sweaty cook reached out for a large utensil which looked much like an oar, put a plate of cooked food on it, then extended out the oar parading it in front of the people seated at the counter starting from the far right of him, swinging it around until it probably would have completed a full 180 degree turn, if it had not been intercepted by on of the customers who had presumably ordered it.
There was no way I was going to try and find a different restaurant. THIS is the one for me! So we went in and were offered a place at the counter, which I was ecstatic about because this was where all the fun was, and there was also the potential for pointing at things if we didn’t order from the menu. It was very smoky, and reeked of charcoal, but the atmosphere was great: the sizzling of the fire and the energy of the discussions going on around us added to all the other waiters wearing yukata I actually felt like I was in a Japanese restaurant rather than a pseudo-Japanese restaurant with western décor.
I was able to order stuff that I could see in front of me an was written entirely in either hiragana or katakana, the other stuff just read ‘kanji-kanji’ or better yet ‘kanji kanji-for-chicken-kanji kanji’ which meant that I couldn’t shout at mr. cook what it was I wanted, and as the food display was 2-3 rows deep pointing wouldn’t have been soo much of a help unless I too were armed with a large stick like the cook was. So, we ordered a few things and sipped the beer while we watched the components of our soon-to-be-meal being cooked. What we had ordered was not going to be enough for a whole meal, and faced with the whole kanji issue, I ended up asking the Japanese guy sitting next to me. Who appeared to be on a date with the lady he was sitting with, but who had just gone to the loo, so:
Me: Sumemasen!
Gentleman looks at me as if to say: ‘you want me?!? Why?!’
Me: kono kanji, yomi-katta wa dou desu ka?
[pointing at something on the menu which had the character for chicken on it. Also, I think the question actually makes little sense in Japanese but it gets the idea across.]
Gentleman: ‘nani nani nani’
[sorry, I have the memory of a goldfish with short-term memory loss and thus have no recollection of what he said to me…]
This goes on for a few more things…and I apologise to him lots while thanking him for his help as his lady friend returns. He’s very nice though and asks if we need any other help…But in my usual arrogantly dismissive manner I politely decline, saying that we’ll be fine, knowing full-well that in 3minutes we won’t be.
We watch the cook like hawks, waiting for our dish to be ready. mr. cook carefully arranged our little fish on a plate, garnished it then placed it on the food paddle. Then, did his graceful swinging manoeuvre, at which point my eyes lit up and I sat up straight ready to receive our dishes on the proffered paddle. This whole cycle continued through the night, interrupted by either me trying to get a waiter to tell me how to pronounce some of the other kanji on the menu or the odd bit of food envy, where other peoples food looked really good so we tried to order what they had.
We even tried some little parcels of natto (fermented soya beans) which was very nice, despite most peoples claims it’s an acquired taste.
At the end of the meal our bill was some how calculated. I guess some of the other yukata wearing guys were noting down what we ate. So, then we left the coolest restaurant that I have found so far in Japan…My clothes were impregnated with the smell of barbeque for weeks.
My mother was right... I would regret not continuing to learn Chinese. Yeah…I don’t think I’ll ever live this down. I’m damn-well not going to be allowed to forget it. But in the wisdom gained from my increasly rapidly passing years, combined with the grim realisation of what a ungrateful, unappreciative and difficult teenager I was. For some time now, I have been having to come to terms with the idea that my mother hadn’t spend her entire mothering-life trying to spite me by sending me to chinese school every Sunday.
Chinese school was the first educational establishment I was introduced to. At the age of 2, I was driven for an eternity* every Sunday morning to Harrow…the other side of London to go learn how to write pretty stuff and play and read nice picture books. Aside from the issue it created for me at Infants and Junior school, when I finally got there, with the side books opened on. Then, later, at secondary school, where being occupied on a Sunday meant a reduction in available socialising time when people inconveniently organised everything on Sundays…curses…
It’s not that I hated everyone at chinese school…it’s just that they were all rather obsessed with looking cool. Which was something that, despite my valient efforts, was just not going to happen. So, I never hit it off with any of the guys there. Nothing personal. Just the lack of common interest. And personality.
Anyway, what was I going on about? Oh yeah, Chinese. SO. I should have paid more attention at Chinese school, and maybe have been less eager to disassociate myself from it as soon as humanly possible. Why? Because, I’ve actually been using more chinese in Japan than Japanese... people in halls, people at Uni, shop assisstants, waitresses etc…
In fact, one night, Greg and I were having dinner in Shimbashi (I think) at a nice little Japanese isakaiya (equivalent to a pub…you’re mainly there for the Sake and beer but the food is a hell of a lot better and cheaper…only downside is the smoking, and nearly everyone smokes in Japan…particularly anyone I have to sit next to in a restaurant. It’s a conspiracy I swear.). It was typically Japanese…with the little wooden plaques with the food names and prices all in Japanese hung outside the restaurant, on the inside you sit at about floor level on cushions (you have to take off your shoes) with the table not too much higher than where you sit and you put your legs into the void under the table…sometimes they release poisonous scorpions into this ‘pit’…so it’s best not to move, just in case…
Anyway, the restaurant. Yes. Well, as I said, the menu all in Japanese…so, I could work out what meats they had…if things were grilled (yaki), japanesified foods…like ‘sa-la-do’ [which! If you order in Japan, I cannot stress enough how it redefines how you view salad…try ordering a potato salad and you’ll see what I mean…but they are nice. Well, I like them.] and I guessed a lot. The first bit was easy…just order drinks…the food was a little more complex.
First I started off with ‘what do you recommend’…at least this is what I thought I said. I think the waiter heard ‘what monkey like typewriter’. He looked puzzled. The rest of the altercation was a series of pointing, me speaking Japanese using a series of verbs with no joining particles and then every so often saying…ok we’ll have that one (having very little idea what I was actually ordering. It’s like lucky dip everytime!) and the waiter looking hardpressed to find simpler words to describe already very fundemental things…oh yeah, and sashimi (very easy to order…unless they ask you which platter you want…then it’s back to lucky dip again).
After ordering a couple million ducky lip [reference: Mr. Harrington, Technology teacher, Tiffin Girls’ School] items we await our food…mainly because it would be nice to know what we ordered.
The food arrives, adorned with a lady, who, as she puts down the food, asks me in Japanese: ‘are you chinese?’
Me: ‘….errr, yes [Japanese]’ thinking to myself….well yes, I know it looks that way… followed swiftly by ‘Do you speak chinese? [Chinese]’.
[rest of the conversation is in chinese]
Waitress: ‘Yes, I’m Chinese’
Me: ‘Oh! How did you know I was chinese?’
Waitress: ‘The other waiter sent me over, he said that he thought you were chinese and that I might be able to help’
Me: ‘wow, that’s very nice of him’
Anyway, revelling in the joy that for once someone actually thinks I look chinese, and the fact that the whole communication situation is looking up, I’m now grinning my head off as she leaves. Not only does she make a special effort to check that we are alright through our meal in chinese, but we also have a chat just as we leave. It was all very nice. So yeah, chinese is useful. Even in Japan.
*when you’re 2 years old 2 hours of your life is a VERY long time…Probably because it’s a larger proportion of your memorable life than when you are 24, combined with the added hyperactivity and short attention span of a child, you’ve then got a starting point as to what an eternity feels like. In child time when someone says to you ‘we’ll be there soon’, ‘soon’ is expected to occur in the next 10 seconds. For the responosible adult ‘soon’ can mean anything from 10 minutes to a month^ .
^This is linked to relativivity theory…(wayway’s version…not the overly complex…and probably a-hell-of-a-lot-more-useful one by Einstein) where a measure of time is all relative to, well…what you’re referring it to…
We wondered around for ages and still could not find where the guide book said Daiwa was...I ened up asking this guy at a stall in very bad Japanese where building 6 was (this is what the guide book gives as an address). Anyway, we were blatently in the wrong place, so we eventually wondered back out of the fish stall bit...trying to avoid being run over by the little motorised trolleys zipping about in very tight spaces laden mostly with polystyrene...
A very bad picture of one of the motorised trolly things...
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| Earn an online associates degree . |
