Sushi-ed Out

Maybe it's the fact that I learned McDonald's has my beloved WiFi. Maybe I should've taken it as a sign that I was craving a chicken sandwich this afternoon. Maybe I should've known the deal when Makoto asked me if I was hungry today, and I pointed to some cafe and said, "coffee," meaning I wanted an espresso and a western-style pastry. Which we promptly got, and I didn't care that I was paying $10 for a tiny coffee and equally tiny piece of chocolate capuccino cake. Or whatever the hell they called it.

It seems to happen on a lot of trips. On the fourth or fifth day, I just get sick of the local food. My mouth is screaming for a break. Not that I don't have a sophisticated palate, nor is it that I don't respect the local foodways. I'm just used to the amazing diversity of food in California. And let's face it: Other than fast food joints and hundreds of horrendous looking pseudo-Italian restaurants, the dining is pretty homogenous around here. Just like how in Spain I tired of jamon and queso every day and night for the better part of a week, I think I need a break from raw fish. Or maybe chopsticks, even. Hell, eating my cake today, I felt awkward using a fork for fuck's sake.

I think tonight's dinner was the proverbial straw causing the proverbial breakage of the proverbial camel's proverbial back.

Aunt Hiroko, Makoto and I walked around the corner to the local sushi joint. I knew not to expect anything spectacular, but I was just as happy to be at "the local," enjoying freshly made food provided by an old couple who have been doing this for years. Some Japanese serial drama was on the TV in the corner, the hot sake flowed, and my kinspeople - as soon as I gave them the "nademo-ii" go-ahead - started ordering like potheads with a case of the munchies.

The flaming dish of scallops was awesome. So were the flaming oysters. And my ceviche-like preparation of some white fish was brilliant, whatever the hell the swimming critter may have been before my friendly neighborhood sushi-ya filleted it, doused it in ponzu and spring onion, and put it in a bowl in front of me.

Then I got to my moriawase of sushi and I took pause. Yes, the shrimp was tasty. The toro was to-die-for good. But then I hit a wall. My squid, while fine, bored me. The maguro bored me as well. Even the uni (sea urchin) didn't do anything for me. By the time I got to the tai, I could barely put it down. I was so tired of raw fish flesh that I didn't even want to swallow it. But spitting it out in your napkin isn't an option here. Because there are no napkins. You have the wet handtowel they give you before the meal, but it seems a bit daft to hork up a piece of fish into it.

It's not like I haven't met a piece of sushi I didn't like before. But this wasn't some cheap-ass $2 sushi, or a sushi tray from Safeway's deli section. This was fresh, we-just-pulled-it-out-of-the-ocean-with-our-bare-hands shit.

Luckily, I think this only applies to raw fish. After the feeling of nausea and gastronomic ennui subsided, I avoided subsequent raw fish but went to town on a plate of sea bream head, cheeks, and belly. Cooked, of course.

Still, this doesn't bode well for tomorrow when we head to my mom's hometown. Which is a fishing village. Although I found out during dinner tonight that we'll be pit-stopping for a night in another town on Shikoku, as I have some long-lost relative who's supposedly dying to see me. The good news is that I'll be staying in a hotel for the first time this trip, which means I can stop feeling like I'm imposing on my relatives - whom I have to frikkin' trick into letting me pay for things. The bad news is I'll probably still be without internet, meaning at next login, I'll have to post another two day's worth of stuff.

Ohayo Gozaimasu!

In many ways, this is a typical morning.

I woke up all groggy and tired. Flipped open the ol' PowerBook and started replying to work emails. Uploaded files to the company servers. Chatted with my boss. Fired off some more emails. In fact, there's nothing really reminding me that I'm 6,000 miles from home.

Which is the complete opposite of everything last night.

Other than being surrounded by Japanese speakers and hearing announcements in Japanese, I felt pretty insulated until about 7:30 last night. That's when our flight landed in Osaka, and in the plane's nosecone-mounted camera, we could see the ground crew guy waving our plane in with glowsticks. Once the plane came to a stop, he put his sticks down to his side... and deferentially bowed to the pilots. It was at that point when I got the, "Holy crap, we ain't in Kansas anymore" feeling one seeks on an overseas trip.

An aunt, an uncle, a cousin, and a family friend greeted us upon arrival at the airport, loaded up our bags, and took us for a ride into Osaka proper. I think my mom was more excited than I was.

"Isn't this freaking you out?" she asked.

"No mom. I've been on the left hand side of the road in a right-hand drive car before. Hello, we lived in England?"

"What about the narrow lanes?" she challenged.

"Nahhh," I yawned. "They were even narrower in Spain."

"So none of this looks weird to you?"

"I dunno, it looks like a city. With a bunch of neon in Katakana. And there are walls along the highway, so you can't see anything anyw-- WOAH! WHAT WAS THAT!?" I exclaimed as there was a gap in the highway wall.

My uncle answered, "Osaka castle."

There's a freakin' old-ass Japanese castle right there amongst all the tall, shiny buildings. And it looks awesome. Better than any picture in a guidebook. And with its modern surroundings, it's all the more surreal. It was right out of my 2nd grade daydreams of wielding a katana and going all apeshit samurai on someone's ass.

"Can we go there? Can we go there? Can we go there???" I asked my mom.

"Didn't you want to do nothing but eat and drink? I thought you didn't want to see tourist stuff."

"Surely I can eat somewhere near the castle..." I giddily schemed.

Of course, I didn't want to get ahead of myself. There was some eating to be done tonight.

We pulled up in front of my Aunt Fusako's restaurant - a modest little place, with bar seating, a few 2-tops, and a family-size table toward the back. I sat down and dishes started to march out. First up, some braised fish whose species I couldn't recognize as anything but delicious. Accompanying that was big homestyle bowl of oden, a hearty stewed mixture of various root vegetables I'd grown up with. A big basket of crabs came out, each bearing a belly full of eggs - not my favorite, but I had to give it a try. Fusako's specialties - okonomiyaki (often called Japanese pancakes) and yakisoba (fried noodles) - were also on offer, and absolutely delicious.

Then there was the highlight of this little family meal. My cousin Makoto walked out with a plate of sashimi - white beltfish and horse mackerel, to be exact. Makoto, being a chef in Italy, does not mess around. Even when he's on vacation. This was by far the freshest, sweetest, most amazing sashimi I've ever had. The crazy part is, Osaka's not even renowned for their fish. It's all about the fried foods here, apparently. But damn, all I want is more sashimi.

Of course, it's not even 8:00 in the morning, so I think I might have to wait a while. In the meantime, I'll get back to my emails. I hope the coffee here is decent...