tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-273958792024-03-13T17:22:25.644-04:00Collarbone HighMe and nobody see eye to eye.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.comBlogger78125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27395879.post-46826727588207874682010-03-30T04:05:00.005-04:002010-03-30T04:33:11.977-04:00#12: Old Vine, March 8I'm a bit of a marketing geek, so I'm fascinated by the study of consumer behavior. It's a subject I think about a lot as I walk around my neighborhood, which is oversaturated with restaurants. How do people choose? Why did that crowd of salarymen pass up a bunch of izakayas in favor of an identical izakaya? How did the well-dressed couple decide between overpriced French, overpriced Italian and overpriced Korean? How does a tiny sushi shop in a basement on a side street draw customers? Why is Zest still in business?<br /><br />So how did Teri and I choose Old Vine for happy hour? In this case, it wasn't some intangible combination of ambience, decor, reputation, or any of the other hundreds of factors that drive consumer behavior. We chose Old Vine because it was open. Specifically, it was 5:30 p.m., and most restaurants in this neighborhood are closed from 2 to 6. Old Vine opens at 5. Sometimes choices are made for you.<br /><br />Old Vine boasts of having one of the most extensive wine lists in Tokyo, but for an after-work drink, we were more intrigued by the 500 yen glasses of champagne. The waiter brought small dishes of salami (about three bites apiece) meant to offset the 500 yen table charge. I can't drink on an empty stomach, so I ordered some bread and a dish of crab, scallops and mushrooms in white wine sauce. (I hate mushrooms, but Teri likes them, so we split the dish oddly.)<br /><br />I feel too uninformed to write much about this place, because we didn't sample the wine nor the teppanyaki menu, which is somewhat like attempting to review a steakhouse after having a soda and pretzels at the bar. All I can say is, the sparkling wine was good, it was cheap, and Old Vine is a 90-second walk from my apartment. All of these are good things.<br /><br /><a href="http://oldvine.jp/old_vine/">http://oldvine.jp/old_vine/</a>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27395879.post-67819720926485862202010-03-30T01:18:00.005-04:002010-03-30T03:44:31.785-04:00#11: Homework's, Feb. 25I enjoy life in Tokyo for a lot of reasons, ranging from the major, life-altering ones (unlike in D.C., no one has been fatally shot on the street in front of my house) to the extremely minor (wide availability of iced jasmine tea). Another one on the minor end of that scale: minimal chance of encountering American cheese.<br /><br />I have to explain here that I LOATHE American cheese. Not merely in the way I dislike, say, cauliflower, which I don't eat but don't actively hate. No, my abhorrence of American cheese rises to the level that I can't think about it without feeling queasy. And I simply cannot take the chance that I might eat it by accident. I won't eat any dish that lists "cheese" as an ingredient unless the waitstaff can assure me it's not American. I once sent back an omelette because both cheddar and American were options, and I thought the cheese looked suspiciously shiny. I will not eat it in a box; I will not eat it with a fox.<br /><br />Most Japanese cooks either feel the same way, or see no need to import slick, oily slices of plasticine "cheese product" when there's already so much good cheese available here. In nearly three years, I'd never come face to face with my culinary nemesis. And so I've let my guard down, ordering food without interrogating waiters and biting into sandwiches without first whipping out a jewelers' glass to examine the cheese for telltale sheen.<br /><br />I didn't think I needed to exercise such caution at the Hiro-o branch of Homework's, a popular burger and sandwich chain, because American cheese wasn't even on the menu. But one bite into my bacon cheeseburger, I knew the awful truth: this cheddar wasn't cheddar. It was too pale, too slick, too reminiscent of the McDonald's bacon, egg and cheese biscuit I ate for breakfast <em>every single day</em> when I was 19. (My American cheese aversion didn't kick in until age 23, the same day my McDonald's aversion kicked in, both courtesy of a terrible Filet-O-Fish.)<br /><br />And here we enter the Discourse On The Differences Between American And Japanese Culture.<br /><br />In America, I would have rejected this burger on the spot. I hate sending food back, and I'd like to think I'm never a bitch about it, but I <em>would</em> have politely explained that the cheese wasn't what I'd ordered and asked for a new burger with a non-orange cheese, partly so there would be no chance of a second mixup and partly because even if cheese #2 WAS cheddar, my brain would nettle me with taunts of "It's American, it looks American" and I wouldn't be able to eat it without gagging.<br /><br />But in Japan, I just don't feel right doing that. Part of it is the language barrier -- I can order food fine, but I don't speak well enough to engage in a lengthy argument over varieties of cheese. Part of it is that I already feel I'm causing hassle for the staff by my mere presence, with my first-grade-level reading skills and my general ineptitude at understanding spoken Japanese, and I'm loath to cause any more by sending back food.<br /><br />And there are two bigger factors, that microcosmically represent my entire viewpoint on my life in Japan.<br /><br />One: I don't want to be <em>that gaijin</em>. I'm grateful to Japan for allowing me to live here, because: they don't have to. America? Has to put up with me. I'm a citizen. I have a God-given birthright to live in America, no matter how horribly or even criminally I behave. (Not that I behave criminally, but I <em>could</em>.) Japan doesn't; they could deport me. Not for sending back a hamburger, obviously. But I feel a responsibility to my adopted home, to fit in as best I can, and to behave like a Japanese citizen, not like an obnoxious American throwing my weight around. It's part of the bargain, you know? You let me live here; I don't <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WXHV_pscgkI">get into fistfights in fast-food restaurants</a>.<br /><br />Two: This is sort of Broken Windows Theory, but: Japan begets Japan-ness. My first time at a movie theater here, I tried a handful of caramel corn and had some leftover kernels, and I was stumped on what to do with them. In the States, I'd have thrown them on the floor along with the spilled sodas and Milk Duds and god knows what else was on the floor. But this theater was sparkling clean; I didn't feel right throwing them on the floor. So I put them in my pocket.<br /><br />Similarly, service people here are unfailingly polite. They may be saying rude things about me behind my back (or even to my face, I wouldn't know) but -- always nice. I, in turn, am compelled to also be polite.<br /><br />I was always dismayed, in the States, how quickly so many transactions went to hell. Sometimes it's purely bad customer service, but usually it's a chain reaction of things: the traffic is bad so customer #1 is a jerk so the waitress is upset and then rude to customer #2 who is then annoyed and therefore rude to the barista and so on. It's a roundabout way of saying that in the States, I often feel comfortable being confrontational because the entire transaction has been a confrontation. You ignored me for five minutes and threw my change at me, so I feel entitled to throw a fit about the cheese being wrong. But when I've been offered Ritz-Carlton-level service at a diner, I'd feel like a jerk making a scene over cheese.<br /><br />So I scraped off the cheese with a fork. The burger wasn't bad. (Again with the tartar sauce.) I'll go back. Non-orange cheese next time.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.homeworks-1.com/">http://www.homeworks-1.com/</a>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27395879.post-74858953662812120402010-03-24T02:27:00.002-04:002010-03-24T03:08:26.722-04:00#10: Chinese Cafe 8, Feb. 20My expectations for Chinese Cafe 8 were high, not only because my friends love it (the food AND the giant gold penis hanging from the ceiling) but because I had to sit through "Avatar" before dinner. By the 120-minute mark, I was starving, and wishing the movie would hurry up and get to the ending we all saw coming so I could eat already.<br /><br />Adding to my anticipation: the promise of Peking duck. I'd never eaten this, primarily because of the requirement in many stateside restaurants that the dish be ordered in advance. To me, Chinese food is not something you <em>plan</em> to eat; it's a meal of last resort, when the cupboards are bare, the nearest takeout joint requires shirt and shoes for entry, and you just had pizza for lunch. It's what bubbles up from the bottom of a dwindling pool of options.<br /><br />There's no such requirement at Chinese Cafe 8, a crowded, lively place popular with tourists (thanks to that golden schlong) next to Roppongi Hills. A window between dining room and kitchen displays row after row of ducks on spits, reassuring fellow procrastinators that no matter how last-second our dining decision was, we won't be denied our duck.<br /><br />We ordered a bottle of apricot wine for the table and what turned out to be way too many appetizers -- salmon dumplings, spicy beef, fried rice, a hot pot. I was already getting full when a chef wheeled the glistening duck to our table, held it up for our drool/approval, then deftly sliced it. He somehow managed to wedge the platter of duck onto our crowded table along with plates of its traditional accompaniments: steamed pancakes; sauces, including hoisin and a honey sauce; vegetable sticks; and crispy chunks of fried wonton.<br /><br />From my first bite of duck, I regretted the appetizers. Don't get me wrong -- they were fine -- but I wanted to go 20 minutes back in time to when I had an empty stomach, the better to fill it with slice after slice of crisp, juicy duck. This was doubly true when it became apparent that, despite our best efforts, we weren't going to finish it. Wikipedia (which is never wrong, it's on the Internet!) informs me that traditionally, the leftovers are sent home with the diner. But doggy bags are outlawed in Japan, so we had to abandon everything we couldn't cram into our bulging bellies.<br /><br />Did I mention the duck is only around $40, and can easily feed three or four people? I should. This is a great place to take a group. The staff is used to accommodating large, loud groups of gaijin, the duck is a delectable, filling bargain, the booze is cheap and the sprawling menu has something for just about everyone. Also there's a giant gold penis. I really can't stress that enough.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.chinesecafe8.com/">http://www.chinesecafe8.com/</a>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27395879.post-87687281593578846502010-03-04T04:03:00.003-05:002010-03-04T04:18:16.326-05:00#9: Bistro Lyon, Feb. 13Another busy Saturday, another meal in <a href="http://kdbrecht.blogspot.com/2010/01/3-pasta-ricotta-jan-9.html">the Omotesando-eki food court</a>. (I said I was going to try new restaurants, not new locations.)<br /><br />Bistro Lyon's big business appears to be huge filled crepes, but I wanted a smaller meal. I was just about to order quiche when I saw a sign advertising croque monsieur and changed my order in mid-sentence. (I was sorely disappointed recently to find out that my favorite croque monsieur in Tokyo is no more. Cafe Hana, in Nishi-azabu, is no longer serving food, only drinks and cake. I'm bummed that I'll never again taste that peppery sauce, but Sarah put things in perspective: "They're serving cake? How is that bad news?")<br /><br />Big mistake. I got the worst excuse for a croque monsieur <em>ever</em> -- about eight bites of sandwich filled with tough, stringy meat that I think might have been pastrami. It definitely wasn't ham, unless it was ham that had been cooked to the texture of leather. The flavorless cheese didn't help to offset the awful meat, either.<br /><br />It's a good motto for life: when in doubt, order the quiche.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27395879.post-75300912680127511602010-02-04T01:29:00.002-05:002010-02-04T01:54:58.571-05:00#8: La Gorda, Jan. 25Another Metropolis find, La Gorda is a Cuban restaurant tucked away on a side street in Roppongi that has so many awesome-looking eateries, I could spend the entire year dining only on that street and still not hit all of them.<br /><br />I was lured in by the siren song of roasted chicken, a dish I crave constantly but rarely find. (Add to my list of things I miss about the States: rotisserie chicken in grocery stores.) Metropolis specifically mentioned this chicken -- along with lamb kebabs and ropa vieja -- and La Gorda's menu touted it as the restaurant's specialty, marinated for hours in the chef's special sauce.<br /><br />I ordered a quarter chicken and settled in with a book, visions of Boston Market dancing in my head. (And my mouth.) I was surprised when my order came out barely three minutes later; surprised again that the chicken portion was smaller than I'd been picturing; and surprised most of all that the entree came with two sides that hadn't been listed on the English menu -- black beans and rice, and a colorful salad with carrots, red peppers, Romaine lettuce and purple cabbage. The cost for this meal? 1,000 yen -- an unheard-of bargain at dinner. Lunch sets in this neighborhood usually cost around that much and include a side or two, but at dinner, the prices go way up and the sets are abandoned.<br /><br />For 1,900 yen, I could have gotten half a chicken, or a whole one for 3,700. At first, I wished I'd gotten the half, but the beans and rice were filling, and midway through the meal I knew I'd gotten the right portion. The chicken itself was a bit of a disappointment -- the white meat was somewhat on the dry side, surprising given the long marinating process. The crispy, tangy skin was delicious, though. I could have made a meal out of that! Not a healthy meal, mind you, but if you served me a half pound of that skin, I wouldn't complain. (This reminded me of a former boyfriend who'd grumble every time I ordered French onion soup. He knew I had little interest in the broth, and zero interest in the onions or the soggy crouton. "Why don't you just ask for a big glob of melted cheese?" he'd say. "That's all you really want." It was true. "Can I have half a chicken worth of skin?")<br /><br />La Gorda also offers your typical rum drinks -- mojito, pina colada -- and a couple of beers. I'd planned to get a pina colada but was distracted by the handwritten sign outside offering "hot rum." It was cold out, and the thought of a delicious mug of hot buttered rum, the brown sugar melting in my mouth, was irresistable. I hesitated for a second before ordering it, with one side of my brain arguing that the sign didn't say anything about "buttered." It just said "hot rum." But the other side said that was ridiculous; of course they wouldn't just serve a big glass of heated Havana Club.<br /><br />Yeah. It was just a big glass of heated Havana Club. About 12 ounces, in fact, served in a soda glass that was too hot to hold for most of my meal. That wasn't much of a problem, because once I realized I could smell the pure rum from six feet away, I had no intention of drinking it. I called for some water and spent the meal praying that the women smoking at the bar wouldn't ignite my neglected drink. The lesson here is clear: never pass up a chance to drink a pina colada.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.lagorda.co.jp/">http://www.lagorda.co.jp/</a>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27395879.post-1729406746461781292010-02-02T05:28:00.003-05:002010-02-02T05:48:04.427-05:00#7: Marvelous Cream, Jan. 18<em>Speaking</em> of things that wouldn't fly in the States: a photo of this storefront would end up on FAILblog, and deservedly so.<br /><br />Oh, get your minds out of the gutter: it's ice cream. And it really is marvelous.<br /><br />Marvelous Cream is similar to Cold Stone Creamery, in that its staff chops up ingredients on a marble slab to blend with your ice cream. It's different in that the portion sizes are manageable, so you don't waddle out feeling like you just ingested 8,000 calories worth of butterfat and Oreos.<br /><br />I ended up here not because I felt a need to expand my ice cream horizons, but to kill time between "(500) Days of Summer" and "The Young Victoria" on MLK Day. Most of that time was spent translating the katakana menu, but I <em>was</em> able to read it, albeit slowly, and I settled on a combination involving raspberries and raspberry macarons. Heavenly, especially the bites with macaron chunks.<br /><br />Marvelous Cream is a chain based in Japan (I went to the Hibiya Chanter location) that's also expanded to Singapore. I'd have to make more visits (many more visits ... raspberry macarons ...) to say for sure, but I think I prefer it to Cold Stone, which is inexplicably popular in Japan, with lines stretching out the door even in winter.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.marvelouscream.com/">http://www.marvelouscream.com/</a>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27395879.post-55934695368045555152010-02-01T03:49:00.003-05:002010-02-01T04:13:20.841-05:00#6: GARB Pintino, Jan. 12GARB Pintino is one of the reasons I started this project. It's next to my doctor's office, so I'm always walking past it and thinking its patio looks inviting and <em>intending</em> to try it, but never getting around to it. My underlying goal this year is to stop <em>intending</em> to do things and actually <em>do </em>them. So after my latest doctor visit, I decided to move this place out of the "I should eat there sometime" column.<br /><br />The patio that looked so enticing in the summer was open despite the rain and the chill, thanks to thick plastic sheeting and heaters, but I chose to sit inside because the padded benches looked cozier and I wanted to be far away from the weather.<br /><br />The lunch menu offered half a dozen sets for around 1,000 yen, but my choices were limited to the dishes whose kanji I could read. (I'm kind of surprised that GARB -- sitting across the street from the entrance to Tokyo Tower -- didn't have an English menu, because it seems like an ideal spot for tourists.) I picked strips of whitefish in a delicate tempura batter flavored with wasabi, and loved it. My only complaint was that the tomato sauce accompanying a side of grilled zucchini spilled onto the fish, which masked and ruined the flavor.<br /><br />Lunch sets are the best way to eat cheap in Tokyo, and this one was no exception -- it also included a huge salad, a post-meal cup of tea or coffee and two delicious rolls. The waitress didn't seem to mind my lingering over a book, and even offered me more rolls.<br /><br />I'd like to come back here for dinner, when the patio is open, and with someone who can understand the menu better than me. I don't think there's any hope for understanding the restaurant's odd name, though.<br /><br />GARB Pintino: <a href="http://www.garb94.com/pintino/">http://www.garb94.com/pintino/</a>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27395879.post-77447680184470832002010-01-29T08:22:00.004-05:002010-01-29T09:59:15.049-05:00#5: ZipZap, Jan. 10Bad name, good burgers.<br /><br />This project would be so easy if I wrote only four words about each restaurant.<br /><br />Speaking of the project, I've given it a name: Project Palette. (Bravo network, if you'd like to buy this concept from me, give me a call.)<br /><br />We hit ZipZap for brunch the day after the '90s party (which also included several hours of food at Zest, which doesn't merit a mention in PP because I've been there far too many times) and we were all starving by the time we arrived and persuaded someone to take our order.<br /><br />Now, brunch means different things to different people. Some people want lunch, but with an excuse to order a mimosa. Others want a huge meal, thinking it needs to make up for the two they're missing. To me, though, the best brunch is simply breakfast eaten at a more civilized time of day. So I was a little underwhelmed that ZipZap's brunch menu included only burgers and sandwiches. Even when I'm not starting my day until well after noon, I still need to ease into the day -- some eggs, some pastries, maybe a little smoked salmon. And tea. Lots and lots of tea.<br /><br />One bite in, though, my mouth silenced any of my brain's lingering objections to greeting the day with hamburger. Although I'd been tempted by sandwiches (especially the turkey sandwich, a creature not native to Japan and rarely spotted on Tokyo menus), I picked the smaller 150 gram burger and splurged on two kinds of cheese -- cheddar and monterey jack -- as well as housemade bacon. The burgers come with lettuce, tomato, a "house sauce" that tasted a bit like barbecue sauce (or maybe more like Arby-Q sauce), and ... tartar sauce? This wasn't the first time I've encountered tartar sauce on a burger here. I'm not sure why the Japanese think tartar sauce belongs on a burger. Maybe they don't understand why we think it doesn't. I ordered mine without sauce, and it came with the house sauce but without the tartar, and that worked out OK.<br /><br />This was a downright delicious burger, the kind of food I can't stop eating even when I'm full, then past full, and knowing I'll regret my binge later but unable to resist the tactile sensations of tasting, biting, chewing.<br /><br />Ryoko ordered the turkey sandwich I'd rejected, and I didn't regret my choice. The sandwich lacked any dressing and looked very dry. Reva's tuna melt was intriguing -- served open face on two rolls, with a different cheese on each side -- but not enough to make me turn my back on the burger.<br /><br />I wish two things were different about ZipZap (OK, maybe three. What's up with that name?).<br /><br />One, although lots of restaurants have irritating Web sites (too much hey-I-just-learned-Flash and too little information), this one takes the prize for its sound effects. It was apparently designed by the same person on the Star Trek team who thought that in the 24th century, humans would like their doors to beep and whoosh every time they opened.<br /><br />Two, I wish the location was easier to find (and that the map on said Web site gave better directions). I followed Ryoko there, and I'm not sure I can find it again. Maybe that's just as well, though; there are lots of great burgers in Tokyo, and I need to keep moving on, trying new ones.<br /><br />ZipZap: <a href="http://www.zip-zap.jp/">http://www.zip-zap.jp/</a>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27395879.post-33350285616877042892010-01-20T00:50:00.004-05:002010-01-20T00:59:03.571-05:00#4: J-Pop Cafe, Jan. 9I didn't eat much at J-Pop Cafe -- we were there for a '90s party, so our food choice was limited to what was on the party plan menu. Unlike a lot of party plans, though, we didn't run out of food, and the space was cool. It's on the top floor of a building in Shibuya, under a big dome and surrounded by windows. I'm told some of the scenes in "Babel" were shot here. That movie keeps getting pushed to the bottom of my Blockbuster queue.<br /><br />J-Pop cafe: <a href="http://www.j-popcafe.com/">http://www.j-popcafe.com/</a>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27395879.post-7022487477261873762010-01-15T00:09:00.002-05:002010-01-15T00:49:32.735-05:00#3: Pasta Ricotta, Jan. 9I don't have much to say about Pasta Ricotta, except that the Pasta Genovese, with shrimp and a white fish I couldn't identify, was tasty and filling.<br /><br />I have a lot to say about the place I found it -- a food court of sorts in the Omotesando train station.<br /><br />One thing that amazes me about Tokyo is that, densely packed though it is, there's probably another 30 percent of the city underground. Not just subway tunnels, but entire malls. This is smart growth at its finest -- not only do you not need a car, but you could buy just about anything without ever leaving the station.<br /><br />This was my first experience with a Japanese food court, so I hung back a bit to see how it worked. Pretty much like an American one -- restaurants on the perimeter, tables in the middle, every shopper for herself. I was ordered and given what I assumed was a buzzer, then snagged the only available seat at a counter. I'd also asked for water, and the staffer said something I didn't understand and pointed toward an enclosed seating area. I guessed at first that he meant I could buy it there, but I discovered instead that, at the door, was a built-in water dispenser with dozens of cups.<br /><br />It's hard to imagine this in the States. Sure, small restaurants have a "help yourself" water pitcher, and some fast-food places give free water from their soda machines (although they usually charge for the cup). It just seems likely that, on a Saturday afternoon, the cups would have long since been swiped by teenagers, or a mom would have given her toddler the whole lot to play with.<br /><br />I got my water, waited a few minutes, and sure enough, the pager buzzed and I collected my lunch. While I ate I people-watched, and also tried to answer the question of what I should do with my (actual glassware) dishes when I finished. I saw a woman nearby abandon her table -- and within seconds, a uniformed woman swooped in, took the empty tray and wiped the table. I then saw that there were small signs on each table with directions: leave this side up if you're coming back, the other side up if you're finished. Over and over again, I watched this play out with precision. No "finished" table sat untouched for more than 30 seconds, and I gained huge respect for the woman who was somehow spotting and clearing these tables in a crowded dining hall crammed with shoppers and shopping bags.<br /><br />Again, it's hard to imagine this working at your average stateside mall. It's rare enough to see anyone cleaning in the food court, let alone with the efficiency of a private butler. And while no one seemed rushed, they didn't linger, either; instead, everyone seemed innately aware that the place was crowded, people were waiting for tables, and they ate quickly, cleared out quickly, and the dishes were whisked away equally quickly. I can't picture those table signs -- made of paper -- lasting one day in your typical American mall. They'd be shredded, stuffed into handbags, made into elaborate towers involving various foods, dishes and salt shakers. (I may have been partly responsible for some spectacular towers o' tableware at Denny's back in the day. Possibly some salt shakers stuck upside down in benches at Burger King. And definitely occupying one table for four hours while my friends and I ate our "two slices of pepperoni and a small drink for $2.50" from Pizza Plus while casually vandalizing the planters.)<br /><br />What was missing from this scene? No straw wrappers being shot through the air. No abandoned stacks of 900 napkins and 50 packets of Taco Bell hot sauce. No ice cream cone turned upside down and left on a seat. Nobody hanging out, harassing passers-by, mashing their food into a repulsive mush, littering, loitering.<br /><br />What there is, instead, is a code. This is how things are done. Everyone knows it. And everyone follows it.<br /><br />Call it a conformist culture if you want, but it sure is nice to sit down without worrying there might be a melting ice cream cone on your chair.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27395879.post-86612251494670502152010-01-14T03:51:00.002-05:002010-01-14T04:14:03.469-05:00#2: Lauderdale, Jan. 3I read about Lauderdale in <a href="http://metropolis.co.jp/">Metropolis</a>, and what piqued my interest was not yet another restaurant in Roppongi, but the fact that this place actually serves breakfast. Not just weekend brunch, but honest-to-god <em>breakfast</em> -- we're talking pancakes and croissants here -- and on weekdays. Aside from McDonald's and chain coffee shops, it's rare to find a restaurant in this part of Tokyo that even opens before 11.<br /><br />It's also rare to find me out of my house before 11, so my first meal at Lauderdale was Sunday brunch, served until the civilized hour of 4 p.m. The French-influenced, rustic-looking restaurant is in a part of Roppongi Hills I usually avoid -- Keyakizaka-dori -- because Tiffany and Escada aren't part of my everyday wardrobe. But I liked this place so much, it might tempt me to venture out on weekday mornings at the ungodly hour of 10 a.m.<br /><br />I had the Floridian omelette, filled a generous portion of smoked salmon, dill and lime. The combination sounds odd, but everyone at the table agreed: it was somehow just perfect. My favorite dish, though, was the roasted chicken breast atop creamy mashed potatoes with a hint of rosemary. Brunch comes with two sides as well as a huge bread basket with enough rolls for each of us to have three, and we were impressed with the generosity of the beverages. Tea came in a three-cup pot, and the waiter tried to refill Ryoko's hot water -- something I've never seen here. Kanako's coffee, too, was refilled over and over. Alas, the impressive menu of cocktails doesn't include free refills.<br /><br />Lauderdale's specialty is souffles. The gruyere and mushroom sounds delightful, except for the mushroom part. We shared an apple-cinnamon souffle, and it was just the right amount -- no way could I have eaten a whole one. It was airy and tasty, with a sugar-crusted rim where it met the ramekin.<br /><br />Everyone else was eager to go back for dinner, when the menu is dominated by mussels and duck confit, but I'm more a breakfast person. Not that I wouldn't go at night. It's just that I think I'm going to be spending a lot of mornings here, especially once it's warm enough to sit out on the patio.<br /><br />Lauderdale: <a href="http://www.lauderdale.co.jp/index.html">http://www.lauderdale.co.jp/index.html</a>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27395879.post-24037456111792639282010-01-13T23:14:00.004-05:002010-01-15T00:09:17.077-05:00#1: Worldstar Cafe, Jan. 2I found Worldstar by accident, thanks to a sudden whim to explore a new street. I'd ventured out into the surreally silent Roppongi (the neighborhood adjoining mine, and Tokyo's nightlife district) to make a Don Quijote run, and as I approached Roppongi Crossing, a small parallel street beckoned to me. I'd only ventured a few feet down this street -- to drink at the Travel Cafe and, embarrassingly, to eat at Outback -- and I thought, why not. It was a nice day, I had no place to be, and thanks to the holidays, I had the streets to myself.<br /><br />The street itself proved uninteresting (and not parallel as I'd thought, although I found a good shortcut to Food Magazine supermarket). Worldstar was about the only place open, and as I passed, two bored waiters standing on the porch waved me in. But I didn't want to eat -- I wanted to <em>explore</em>. And to buy cat litter.<br /><br />An hour later I was back, and the waiters were astonished. "You came back!" they said, clearly delighted that their sales pitch had worked, and that they had a customer. (Everything in Tokyo pretty much shuts down until Jan. 5.)<br /><br />As it was late afternoon, only the set lunch menu was available. I had a grilled chicken thigh in mustard sauce and thin rounds of homemade bread with a tasty red spread. The meat wasn't the highest quality -- I found a few chunks of gristle -- but it was tasty, and the Irish coffee from the full bar warmed me up. (And, until 2 a.m., kept me up.) I missed out on Worldstar's best features, though -- a water bar with high-end waters (yes, really) from all over the world, a tapas menu, and an extensive wine bar in the back room. They're open until 8 a.m. (yep, that's <em>until</em>, not <em>from</em>), making this a great place to wait out the first train.<br /><br />Worldstar: <a href="http://www.worldstarcafe.com/eng.html">http://www.worldstarcafe.com/eng.html</a>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27395879.post-32263861124059632862010-01-13T23:02:00.003-05:002010-01-13T23:14:55.320-05:00the restaurant projectWow, over a year since I blogged. Pathetic! Anyway, for anyone still reading, I'm revving it back up this year as part of a New Year's resolution to try new restaurants. I wanted to track my progress, and I realized, I already have a handy place to do that. So Collarbone High is born again! I'm trying not to turn it into a food blog, because there are already hundreds of bloggers who write about food far better than I ever could. Instead, I'll just do a brief write-up of each new place I try, and I'll aim -- but not promise -- to write about other topics as well.<br /><br />I abandoned the blog before because I was having a hard time striking the right tone. I realized what the problem was when my friend Tim told me he missed my stories about coping with life in Tokyo. And therein lies the snag -- after a little over two years here, I don't have to <em>cope</em> with Japan anymore. I just live here. Occasionally a comical misunderstanding or language-barrier snafu will arise, but those occasions are getting fewer and farther between. I no longer have the "gee whiz Japan is <em>weird</em>!" naivete that entertained people reading in the States. I don't want to write an expat blog, either, or to pepper my posts with references to people, places and Japanese terms that would make sense only to my friends in Japan. So I kind of got stuck. But the restaurant project has given me a focus and a new reason to write. It's good to be back!Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27395879.post-46461495475713247132008-10-23T09:33:00.003-04:002008-10-23T10:24:55.861-04:00mini milestones, and a big one coming upTwo weeks from Sunday will be one year since I moved to Japan. I promise to write a long, deep post about the past year, what I've done and learned, etc. In the meantime, to tide you over, two amusing anecdotes:<br /><br />1) Last week Sarah, Jon and I went to Tokyo Disney. Or, rather, we tried to. By the time we arrived at 10:30, the park was already at capacity for the day, so we went to Disney Sea instead. Sea is more about the experience than the rides -- there's nothing in that park that compares to Space Mountain, or even the Matterhorn -- and I'm more about the rides. (Space Mountain! Matterhorn!) It was fun nonetheless -- a bit odd to hear Mickey Mouse speaking Japanese, but still fun. Japan and Disney are a match made in heaven; the Happiest Place on Earth meets the Most Inclined To Spend Ungodly Amounts Of Money On Cute Things Place on Earth. (see also: tiny dogs)<br /><br />Now to the anecdote: There are two exits at the Disney subway stop, marked with signs in Japanese and English. As we surged through Minami Deguchi/South Exit, a Japanese girl, about 8 years old, tugged her mother's hand and pointed to the sign. "South! South!" she exclaimed, clearly proud to have recognized the English word. At the same time, I was saying to myself, "Minami! I recognized that kanji!"<br /><br />2) Also last week, I finally made my first pilgrimage to the Shibuya outpost of Tokyu Hands, a DIY store with supplies for just about any hobby or craft you could name, plus things like luggage and bikes. I quickly realized this could easily be an 8-hour errand; six stories of amazing goodies! But I focused, got my beading supplies, and was on my way out when I was distracted by an entire floor devoted mostly to clocks. This may surprise people who've been in my apartment in Tokyo, which has NO clocks except the one on the microwave, but I LOVE clocks. I don't know why -- I barely use them, preferring my cell phone -- I just do. Then I saw a wall of posters, including an amazing, '50s-era map of Tokyo, with its major streets named "Avenue A," "19th Street," etc., just like New York City, during the occupation. I instantly thought the map would make a great going-away gift for Allison, one of my fave reporters, who just left for Italy.<br /><br />There have been a lot of times in the past year when I wasn't able to buy something because I just didn't know how to communicate what I wanted. But I stood back, I did some mental vocabulary review, and I realized, I can make this purchase. So I found the nearest staffer and said, in Japanese, that I'd like to buy that map of Tokyo, on the wall over there, with a frame.<br /><br />For the first time EVER, there was no hesitation on the part of the Japanese half of the conversation. She didn't look at me as though I was speaking Greek; she didn't say "sumimasen?"; she didn't repeat the request back to me in English; she didn't call a co-worker to come translate. She just went to the posters drawer, pulled out the map I'd asked for and said "Kono wa?" (this one?) I said yes, she asked if I wanted a white frame or a black frame, I said white, she asked me to wait while she framed it. And I had. The whole. Conversation. In Japanese. Without having to apologize, or explain that I only speak a little Japanese. It's like I actually can maybe sort of communicate, or something.<br /><br />Thrilled with my purchase, and pumped about my conversation (<em>Nihongo wa dekimasu</em>, bitches!) I headed home, and decided to treat myself to the salami/proscuitto plate at my neighborhood pasta joint. It came, and my first thought upon seeing it was, I'm glad they brought chopsticks with this, because the basket on the table only has forks, and proscuitto is damn near impossible to cut with a fork. So I scooped up a hunk of delectable-looking ham.<br /><br />Or, started to, but something immediately went wrong. The top chopstick shattered, and pieces flew everywhere. I was baffled -- what the hell just happened? -- but then, as I picked a sliver out of my hair, I realized ...<br /><br />... that they were actually breadsticks.<br /><br />Utensil identification FAIL.<br /><br />(As Stacy helpfully pointed out to me later, what kind of jerk makes breadsticks <em>that look exactly like chopsticks</em>? In <em>Japan</em>?)Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27395879.post-84167358857908202882008-09-11T22:04:00.003-04:002008-09-11T22:36:36.750-04:00year-round insanityOne of the many cool things about Tokyo is that nearly every restaurant employs guys who zip around on little motorbikes, delivering food to anyone too busy/lazy/cold/hot/etc. to go get it themselves. You can get just about anything delivered here: curry, sushi, pork cutlets. Even booze!<br /><br />Even this:<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244950996693542418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 229px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="201" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_POvNXeKj3u4/SMnPJH4_5hI/AAAAAAAAAAw/1oXYspGXKU0/s320/pizza.JPG" width="320" border="0" /><br /><br /><br />The skeptics among you may be thinking, yeah, this has been on the Internet for a while. It's totally Photoshopped. Funny, but fake.<br /><br />Let me restore your faith, o cynics: this is NOT Photoshopped. This was in my mailbox when I got home from work last night. (And my 'Shop skills are nowhere near this good.) This is the Four Seasons pizza from the oddly named Strawberry Cones (the name makes me want ice cream, or maybe crepes, but not pizza).<br /><br />Let's take a look at what we have here, shall we?<br /><br />Clockwise from top left, this culinary masterpiece has four topping sections:<br /><br /><ul><li>Sweet corn, in what appears to be curry or barbecue sauce</li><li>Tuna with potato, tomato, onion, garlic and parsley, crisscrossed with mayonnaise</li><li>Salmon and broccoli with "gratin sauce"</li><li>5-cheese margherita</li></ul>The toppings aren't that noteworthy -- pretty typical for Japanese pizza, especially the corn and the mayo. (Why must they ruin all food by squirting mayo all over it?)<br /><br />The part that takes the cake, er, pie, is the crust. Note the artful arrangement of the extras. Each section gets two. First, the yellow globs (I think, based on my previous experiences with Japanese pizza, that these are mozzarella; this topping does not hold up well, as the globs get cold and congeal quickly.) Not in the mood for rubbery cheese balls? Well, you're in luck, because the other half of the crust is topped with ... pigs in a blanket!<br /><br />All this can be yours for only $25!!!!!*<br /><br />* For a medium. Large pizza is $35.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27395879.post-11844962784480987022008-08-22T23:58:00.002-04:002008-08-23T00:07:28.109-04:00i sort of need that toe, thanksYesterday morning I managed to bash my left pinky toe into my coffee table. I hoped the combination of ibuprofen, wine and sleep would banish the pain by today, but it still Hurts. So. Much. If I did a "Things I Hate Right Now" list*, this would be number 1.<br /><br />The pain's not really the problem, although I can't say I enjoy it. The bigger issue is that my primary mode of transportation is through the courtesy of my two feet. So impairing my ability to walk is the equivalent of wrecking my car.<br /><br />* I've thought many times about creating this list, but I'm always reminded of the C&H strip where Calvin starts a list of "A million things that really bug me" and Hobbes says "How about excessively negative people?"Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27395879.post-87241194293774768332008-08-21T08:37:00.002-04:002008-08-21T08:44:41.112-04:00nihongo wa sukoshi shika dekimasen("I can only speak a little Japanese.")<br /><br />I thought it would never happen, but Tuesday night I finished Book I of Japanese for Busy People -- the equivalent of finishing a year of college-level study. Up next: Book II, which will prove to be a bit more of a challenge because parts of the book, including the dictionary, are written in kana; and starting the daunting challenge of learning to read and write kanji, the alphabet consisting of thousands of Chinese characters. I'm working from a book called "Easy Kanji," which is a ridiculous oxymoron. It's from the same series as the "Easy Hiragana" book I mocked in an earlier post, but I have to admit, that book, and its companion, "Easy Katakana," did teach me those alphabets. So I was kind of superstitious about sticking with the same series for kanji. But I've already realized -- I'm going to need a LOT more books. <em>Muzukashii desu</em>! (It's difficult.)Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27395879.post-10490787199011129462008-08-18T06:43:00.002-04:002008-08-18T06:46:11.917-04:00photos from my korea vacationI'm leaning toward posting pics on Facebook rather than on Flickr these days, because Flickr allows only a few uploads per month unless you pay for a premium account. This album is accessible even to people who aren't on Facebook:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.new.facebook.com/album.php?aid=37486&l=2a87f&id=720561445">http://www.new.facebook.com/album.php?aid=37486&l=2a87f&id=720561445</a><br /><br />Enjoy!Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27395879.post-72834065078578827412008-08-01T09:09:00.004-04:002008-08-01T10:12:28.949-04:00gain a fortune, lose a kettleI started this morning the way I've started every work day this decade: put the kettle on to make tea; check e-mail while I wait for the water to boil.<br /><br />The e-mail held the news I've been waiting nine months to hear: my house is sold. I've been afraid to even mention that it was under contract -- I know all too well that real estate contracts can fall through right up until closing. But it's done: all the i's are dotted, the t's crossed, every one of the 10,000 documents required to transfer a house is signed, by some guy named Carlos (the buyer) and by Mary Ellen (acting as me, through the magic of a power of attorney).<br /><br />I'm 99 percent ecstatic about the sale. I wanted to sell for a lot of reasons:<br /><br />1) My infernal ARM was due to adjust in November (yes, I'm one of those people who took out a hybrid ARM with the intention of flipping the house before the interest rate went up, thereby contributing heavily to the mortgage crisis. You're welcome.)<br /><br />2) The mortgate, along with the various expenses of maintaining an empty house, were eating up a lot of the disposable income that was supposed to be one of the perks of working in Japan.<br /><br />3) Most importantly, I didn't want to move back to that house. One big thing I learned from living there is, I am not handy, and I'm not a person who gets any pleasure from yardwork or gardening. I grew to hate the huge yard, which always needed to be mowed, or raked, or sprayed for ants, or have a giant nest of angry bees removed. I think my happiest moment in packing up the house was when I pushed my flimsy snow shovel into the trash bin and vowed that, as God is my witness, I'll never shovel again. On top of that, after living car-free in Tokyo, I can't imagine ever going back to a lifestyle that doesn't let me walk to nightlife, grocery stores and public transportation. It was a cute house and I'm glad I owned it, but next time around, I'll be looking for something very different.<br /><br />The 1 percent is a bit of unavoidable melancholy that I always feel when I have to give up something that's been a part of who I am. (I think my bitterest tears were shed for my 1976 cobalt blue Corolla, with the rotting floorboards and the sticking carburator that stranded me on so many cold winter nights.) The melancholy is mixed with a soupcon of fear -- I literally can't go home again. I've cut my last physical tie to D.C., as well as giving up my biggest adult achievement and my primary source of equity.<br /><br />But the fear yields something else: freedom. With that chain unbound, the world is my playground -- when my contract at Stripes ends, I can live anywhere I want. (Anywhere with gainful employment, that is.) Into the great wide open, and all.<br /><br />Wait a minute, you're saying. Was there a kettle in this story? Was there a <em>point</em> to this story?<br /><br />Yes, and yes. Getting there.<br /><br />So, I read the e-mail. I did cartwheels. (Mentally.) I let out a breath I've been holding for nine months as the housing market descended to lows even Dante couldn't conceive. Then I put my last Earl Greyer teabag into a cup and picked up the kettle.<br /><br />I should mention here that the kettle is, I believe, older than me. It's a sturdy old Pyrex percolator that my mom made <em>her</em> breakfast tea with, my whole life, until she got a bigger one and gave me the old one.<br /><br />Ah, here it is, and it appears these were made between 1952 and 1960. Damn, it's older than I realized:<br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229548097596326818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_POvNXeKj3u4/SJMWSZUMg6I/AAAAAAAAAAo/mqm7KwXB3sw/s320/pyrex.jpg" border="0" />Just as I started to pour, the kettle <em>broke in half</em>. Just under the metal band -- suddenly I was holding the handle and the lid, and the bottom of the kettle was on the stovetop, and boiling water was everywhere. I got lucky -- most of the water ended up on the counter and the floor, although some of it did splash me, and I have a pretty nasty burn on my stomach. But it's small.</p><p>Somehow, though, the loss of the kettle hit me much harder than the loss of the house. Part of it was the shock -- the house has been under contract since May. (Also, physical pain played a role.)</p><p>I didn't mean to turn the kettle into a metaphor, but I just now did, in my mind. Because even though I'm sad to lose my heirloom (I maybe cried a little bit), I'm also excited to shop for a new kettle. Just a couple of weeks ago, I was eyeing jewel-toned OXO kettles at FrancFrancFranc, an awesome housewares shop. I coveted them, but turned away because I had a perfectly good kettle at home. And now, out of the loss, comes freedom, to buy a new one. So it's just like the house. And that's enough of this tortured analogy. Good night.<br /></p>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27395879.post-74200467435548396442008-06-15T05:36:00.002-04:002008-06-15T05:39:59.188-04:00better late than neverNow that I finally have Internet (hooray!) I've gotten around to posting photos from cherry blossom season on Flickr, as well as some exterior shots of my apartment. I'll try to post interior shots later this week, but first I need to clean. :(<br /><br />To see them, use the link at right, or find me on flickr -- username brechtgirldc.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27395879.post-9680577469102780102008-05-08T02:27:00.002-04:002008-05-08T03:08:38.505-04:00those were some weird earthquakesWhen I got home from work last night I was puzzled by a rythmic clacking sound coming from my bedroom. The culprit turned out to be the jewelry rack hanging on the bedroom door; the necklaces were gently swaying, and the sound was the noise they made as they hit the door. Clack, clack, clack.<br /><br />I'm used to these tiny earthquakes by now -- another time, I noticed one only because I saw the reflection in my bedroom mirror rippling. But I noticed this one lasted longer than usual. Aftershocks, I thought, and then I felt an odd buzzing in my right ear -- kind of like a mosquito, but (for once) there were no bugs around. (I have a slight mosquito problem in my apartment.)<br /><br />Something was definitely afoot with the earth's crust.<br /><br />I sat down on my brand-new, super-comfy sofa to flip through a magazine while I waited for sleep to come -- and about half an hour later, the shaking started in earnest. (That turned out to be the 6.2 quake that hit at 1:43.)<br /><br />Living atop four constantly clashing tectonic plates doesn't bother me: most of the resulting earthquakes are too small to feel. Even the bigger ones, I only really notice if I'm in bed, and they just feel like someone grabbed the bed frame and rolled it back and forth. (True story: my first quake happened when I was living at Hardy Barracks, and my first thought was that the people in the room next to me were slamming their headboard against the wall.) Obviously<br />I'm hoping the fates and the plates will postpone the Kobe-level, city-leveling quake that Tokyo is overdue for, until I'm done living here. But I don't waste time worrying about the possibility. If it happens it happens, and there's nothing I can do to prevent it.<br /><br />Last night's quake was the worst one I've experienced. The shaking seemed to go on and on -- I estimated it at 3 or 4 minutes, but co-workers said it probably was more like 1. At one point I wondered if I should be in a doorway (the safest place to be, so you're not struck by falling debris), but it ended just after I had that thought. I think. The ear-buzz returned during the second quake -- I think the shaking played havoc with my inner-ear balance -- so I had a hard time gauging whether I was actually moving or just felt like I was. (Kind of like getting off the Spider at an amusement park, and you stagger drunkenly for a few seconds because you feel like you're still spinning.)<br /><br />Nothing fell, though, and I dozed off and slept through the other quakes. (Reuters says there were five.) So I'm looking on the whole thing as establishing my expat cred -- now I have a "big quake" under my belt.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27395879.post-37771475857741421822008-04-21T03:48:00.002-04:002008-04-21T04:09:58.662-04:00free Internet! (with $12 sandwich)I'm posting this from the iGooogle Art Cafe in Roppongi Hills, a fancy-schmany mall in Tokyo. What's the art cafe? Well, as I posted on Facebook, I'm not entirely sure. It appeared overnight --a little cafe in the Mori Tower with glass display cases and a tiny laptop on each table. It seems like it would have taken a lot of time and money to set up -- but it's only here for two weeks.<br /><br />I guess it's an art exhibit of sorts -- the name gave it away, and there's a list of famous Japanese artists outside. But when Sarah and I tried to look at the art yesterday, we were told we couldn't just walk around looking at it. The only thing we could do was order food and use the Internet. Apparently the art is just supposed to be ignored.<br /><br />You know where you won't find any info on this cafe? On Google.<br /><br />(Also? The default search engine is MSN Live, which cracks me up. You'd think if Google spent all the money to plaster its name and logo all over this place, not to mention creating sodas, an entree and a dessert based on its colors, they'd take the extra 30 seconds to set up Google as the search engine, no?)<br /><br />So I came back today, and ordered a ham sandwich and tea so I could check e-mail on the seven-inch-wide keyboard and ignore the art, which is what all the Japanese patrons are doing. (I can report there is a giant orange Converse sneaker that appears to be made of plush in one of the display cases.)<br /><br />This place is SO Japanese. Allow me to elaborate:<br /><br />1) No fooling, a ham sandwich and a cup of tea cost 1,200 yen. (I'm overlooking that in favor of the exciting news that I ordered the food in Japanese, and even asked and understood what kind of cheese was on it.)<br /><br />2) Like all electronics in this country, the laptops are miniature. They're about the size of a sheet of copier paper. I've made an estimated 600,000 typos while writing this due to the teensy keys.<br /><br />3) The staff is super-over-helpful-genki-OK! I was hoping to maybe watch Top Chef on YouTube, but five IT guys and four waitresses are hovering around the customers, in case we somehow need help checking e-mail or are incapable of pouring our own tea, so it seems like that might be frowned upon.<br /><br />4) Just, in general, WTF? Why does it even exist? Like a lot of things in Tokyo, I enjoy it and use it, but I can't say I understand it.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27395879.post-61550522569534239182008-04-18T00:54:00.003-04:002008-04-18T00:55:55.853-04:00i'm starting to understand why mothra seems plausibleIn addition to the <a href="http://kromakhy.blogspot.com/2004/04/23-japan-again-tokyos-feathered.html">giant crows that terrorize Tokyo</a>, this city has the biggest earthworms I've ever seen. For serious, they're a foot long! That ain't right.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27395879.post-90097593900150424362008-04-17T07:16:00.003-04:002008-04-17T08:36:25.455-04:00i swear the post office is toying with meOne of the perks of my job is having an APO address, which pretty much functions just like a stateside address, except for the odd Web site that can't handle military addresses (why do you hate America, Paypal?). The only downside is that the military postal system can be wildly unpredictable. Mail can take three days to arrive from the States, or it can take four months. You just never know.<br /><br />That makes subscribing to weekly magazines a bit dicey, but I can pretty much count on Entertainment Weekly showing up every Tuesday to feed my pop-culture cravings.<br /><br /><em>Which</em> issue of EW will show up is more of a crapshoot.<br /><br />I almost always get <em>a</em> magazine, but they arrive in no apparent order. This week I got the March 21 issue, on the heels of the April 11 issue. The week before that, Feb. 15. But March 28 showed up right on time.<br /><br />I'm convinced someone in the MPS is hoarding the magazines, and doling out one a week, at random. There's no other logical explanation. Not that that's a logical explanation, but knowing DOD, I wouldn't be a bit surprised.<br /><br />Getting the magazines late hammers home the lightning-swift pace of American pop culture. The copy I got this week is only three weeks old, but it's already as out-of-date as a 1996 copy of <em>Time</em> in a dentist's waiting room.<br /><br />It's also a reminder that with every passing week, I slip a little bit further behind the cultural curve. This weekend I watched "There Will Be Blood" and "Enchanted" -- movies I would have seen on their opening weekends back home. I <em>finally</em> understand the finer points of using "I drink your milkshake!" as a catchphrase, but I also know it's long since passe. (Thanks to Ken-Jen for cluing me in to that.)<br /><br />Pop culture -- especially TV -- is one of the things I truly feel deprived of here. On the flip side, not having to keep up with 20 shows has freed up a lot of spare time that I now spend doing things like "studying Japanese" (I'm finally learning some verbs! Hooray for complete sentences!) and "interacting with other humans."Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27395879.post-64926159064916619002008-04-01T21:26:00.002-04:002008-04-02T04:47:39.305-04:00i hear that all the timeLast night, I was standing in the "vinegar" section of the super-expensive Meidi-ya supermarket, wondering why they had blueberry and raspberry vinegar but not the balsamic vinegar I wanted, and whether it was in fact right in front of me and I couldn't read it, when a Japanese woman approached me and said, in careful English:<br /><br />"Excuse me, do you speak Laotian?"<br /><br />I do not, so a typical Japanese Apology Standoff ensued, in which I apologized profusely for not speaking an obscure Asian language and she apologized profusely for having bothered me, for asking me a question, and for asking a question to which the answer was 'no.' This part took place in Japanese, and then she moved into a conversation in Japanese, so I had to backtrack and explain that I speak only a little Japanese. So she moved her apology back into her careful English, and explained:<br /><br />"All gaijin kind of look the same to me."Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06044121629380225436noreply@blogger.com4