Planes, Trains, and Damn Good Food

For the first several hours of the flight I wondered if I was indeed headed to Japan, as I saw not water but land and mountains. Apparently the most efficient flight plan is to fly almost all the way to Alaska and then arch over the Pacific, tracing the top loop of the ring of fire, as it were. Once my genius kicked in and I understood this I could shift my attention to more important things like US Weekly and Time magazines.

During the flight I realized several important things: 1) over the course of eleven hours a window seat becomes less comfortable than prison-like; 2) there is a slight risk that fellow passengers will think you are having a mild seizure when listening to David Bowie unconsciously incites some degree of head-banging.

***Real time: I sit here at the tail end of the journey slightly concerned that I have no idea where in Shibuya I need to go or any necessary phone calls to facilitate the securing of directions. So far, that is my biggest “uh-oh.” *** (Obviously I figured it out in the end, but I had to make up a fake phone number to pass customs.)

Freshened up in a deluxe bathroom (think bidets and other assorted bells and whistles) and purchased a train ticket to one of the most crowded train stations there is. Wandered around, drank green tea, and paid little attention to the time on the train ticket…missed the first one. Luckily I only had to wait 20 minutes or so. Decided Phish would be an excellent soundtrack to my life for the next few hours, and hopped aboard a dead train. Fittingly, Train Song sang in my ears as we took off, emerging into the Tokyo darkness (the sun apparently sets before 7pm right now).

The train glided through station after station, each one a little less empty than the previous. Once we entered Tokyo proper, the platforms became crowded with jacketless suits of people who fanned themselves rhythmically in the sticky evening air and all seemed to emit a similar look of sadness (in the picture, the white blur is actually a whole lot of people - they just all look the same).

Shibuya at last! I drag my luggage 280m through the station and down two long flights of stairs (to the only exit without escalators, of course) and meet my extremely tall friend Brian. Thank god he is easy to spot! It’s a quick 7 minute walk through the busiest 8-way crosswalk intersection and down winding side streets to his lovely house, where his wife Jean offers me a much needed cold glass of barley tea. I feel so fortunate to have great friends all over the world!

After chatting about the effects of America’s “recession” on Japan (“you know, in this economy…”) and the recent earthquakes (I though two, but there were four!), Brian and I head to a small but apparently well-known izakaya (pub) for some food and beers (mind you it is about 5 in the morning in LA and I did not sleep on the plane for the first time in my life). We pass hundreds of restaurants, bars, clothing stores (one in the smallest 3-story building I’ve ever seen that stays open till 4am), and barber shops until we arrive at Kaikaya. ("In some country, there is a port town. In this town, there is a restaurant owned by a mysterious Japanese man who cooks marvelous seafood dishes." Here you are!)

This quaint place is somewhat of a catch for gaijin (foreigners), and the last time Brian was here he sat next to Leonardo DiCaprio, but he promised the food is really spectacular. He did not lie. The ambience was nice too, a bit rustic feeling with polaroids and unique pictures covering the walls.

The nama beers flowed, and we munched on sashimi (toro, maguro, sanma, bonito), short-rib style tuna collar (Zach, I thought of you) that had the exact texture of pulled pork, smoked salmon omelette, raw tako (octopus) with fresh basil and parsley topped with olive oil, deep fried whole small fish, and a fresh tomato salad.

As I was savoring every bite and thanking my lucky stars for bringing me back to Tokyo, we noticed the chef preparing what appeared to be raw beef sushi [my vegetarian/vegan friends might be disturbed by the next few sentences]. He popped it in a hot oven for about 10 seconds and served it up. The marbling was too sexy to resist, so we ordered it as well. Now, I have never eaten raw beef sushi before…I’ve never even seen it in fact (although I’ve seen raw chicken sashimi). Sliced oh-so thin and warmed so the fat slightly liquefies, it was really pleasing to the mouth. Interestingly, you can just barely detect the flavor of beef. I found it quite similar to toro except much more rich.

I didn’t realize how much I missed the atmosphere of Japanese pubs: the entire staff roars a hearty welcome when you step through the doorway, you can actually be in charge of your dining experience (“SUMIMASEN!!!” [Excuse me!] can be yelled in a surprisingly loud pitch without being considered rude), there is no such thing as tipping (this goes for most things in Japan), and everyone seems genuinely sad when you leave, belly full. Life is good...