A table for four

In the last roundup, I posted a piece about Jamie Oliver's Huntington, WV campaign for healthier schools, where he also talks about parents' role in nutrition--a fascinating and personally relevant topic to me, and one that came up during our trip. Jay was saying that he was raised on all sorts of health food--carob root as a substitute for chocolate, etc. My parents, in contrast, never restricted junk food: they sent me to school (to the horror of my teachers) with sugar cubes for snacks and to summer camp with potato chips and juice boxes for lunch. Ramen was a household staple (who knew my parents were so avant-garde? Tokyoites stand in line for hours for ramen). While my parents were, and are to this day, confused about nutrition, it's not a macro-level confusion (i.e., they think mushrooms are a good source of protein, but they know potato chips aren't a health food). Meals at home were homemade and incorporated a wide variety of fresh ingredients. When I stopped eating meat at 13--and didn't start eating cheese or seafood until I lived in Europe, years later--I had to branch out and learn more about other foods. When I lived in Geneva, I got to really explore the rich world of vegetables, grains and pulses. The more vegetables in my life, the better.

As for carob-raised Jay, he has bagels for breakfast and pizza and cookies for lunch. And grabs impulsively at every piece of crap that comes into view, which, in the world of Japanese convenience stores, is a lot of crap.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you about the four of us and our eating habits, which, if depicted in a (quite complicated) Venn diagram, would show hardly any overlap (least of all between Susan's circle and mine). I could introduce Susan as my polar opposite in almost every way, with utmost respect in every regard--except for that of food: there's a world out there, girlfriend; put down the chicken nuggets and live a little.

Richard would eat just about anything, except things Jay would offer him upon discovering that they were gross. As Richard pointed out, this is hardly a Jasonism; it's not uncommon to hear people say, "this is disgusting--do you want to try it?" Which Jay did quite often during the course of the trip, largely because he was always trying things. And half the time, I'd go ahead and try them (Jay and I like the same foods but not the same desserts, so you never know). The one time I wouldn't even think about it was when he'd bought banana KitKats. Nor would I partake in most of the sake he'd get (especially as, more often then not, the offer was preceded by an assessment of its ickiness).

Susan's range of acceptable foods was considerably more restricted. For one thing, she wouldn't touch seafood; she was squeamish just sitting next to it in some forms. Nor would she eat anything like seaweed, or most green tea dessert products (which Jay and I sought out with utmost enthusiasm). In a nutshell, she wouldn't eat anything "weird," (nor, for example, chocolate).

There's something else about Susan that tended to prolong our hunt for food: she favored indirect communication past the point that is productive for traveling in a group. I can't hold this against her--to her, it was probably polite, and she likely found my directness rude. But this is my blog, so you're getting my perspective: her way didn't work for me. I'm often wandering around a place, looking for a restaurant that would work for people with varying tastes. My work team and I do it all the time when we travel. You have to be able to say "no." Susan would just stand there and pout. It took me a few days to understand that this was southern for "no." But I digress.

Jay's habits and mine overlapped the most. Jay doesn't eat mammals; I don't eat mammals, poultry or, ideally, crap. And even though I can eat crap as a snack or dessert (which I certainly did), I don't want to have to eat crap for a meal. When I do, there are, in Jay's words, (in his case, in reference to what there would be if he didn't get a beer to take on the train back from Nara) gangsta consequences. I do my best to stick to sustainable seafood, and my consumption of seafood in Japan was not without qualms (see Tokyo post). And for the first few days of the trip, I would do my best to observe the dietary restrictions associated with Passover.

As you can imagine, deciding amongst the four of us on where to have dinner or lunch was no small feat. Once you factor in the frequent lack of English-translation menus and the long lines outside many places, you see how finding a place to eat might entail a hunt.

Even on our first night, when it was just Jay and I, we had to hunt; we had limited options because of our location. I was starving, which is not a good state for me. I'm not a whiner: I can tolerate a substantial level of discomfort--cold, tiredness, hunger, boredom... even pain. By the time I say something, I'm not f*ing around, whereas Jay, in his own words, is a whiny bitch. It may sound unflattering, but it's merely a statement of fact--he wouldn't disagree. You'll hear from him the second he leaves his comfort zone in any way (for example, within ten minutes of starting on a hike). Early in the trip, his legs were sore.

Jay: Can you get that thing you get from sitting on a plane for too long, several days later?
A.: Deep Vein Thrombosis? You don't have that.

We had that same conversation again, a day or two later.

Also, his back hurt.

Jay: I may have back cancer.
A.: I don't think you do.

And he was cranky.

Jay: I think I'm clinically depressed.
A.: [Sigh] You don't have depression; you have an attitude problem.
Jay: Just one?

You get the point: Jay didn't hesitate to assert as fact a worst-case scenario. In that context, my proclamations of hunger fell on deaf ears. Before long, I would resort to quantifying my hunger and pain: for example, "I'm okay now, but I anticipate that in thirty minutes, I will be so hungry that I will want to kill someone," or "I can walk for ten more minutes before my feet may fall off."

Our first night in Tokyo, we had decided to stay close to the hotel, where a lot of places were closed. It was still Passover. We went up to one place that looked promising, but ran because a horde of drunk Japanese businessmen scared us away. So when we ended up with convenience store bento, I thought that was a one-time, last-resort kind of meal; when was I ever so wrong? Actually, it may have been technically true, but over time, we came to resort to convenience stores much faster.

There was also the mindcuss of what Jay would dub elaborate plastic food (EPF): many restaurants had a display of, well, elaborate plastic food just outside their door. We would see it and think, "that looks good! we can just point to that!" But when it came down to it, the offerings didn't always match the EPF displays.

Perhaps I was thrown by the anomalous success of lunch on our second day, when we found an amazing soba place, recommended by my LP Tokyo Encounters guidebook, in Asakusa: great, affordable food, listed in an English menu. But that night, back in Shiodome, we would set out on a hunt for food that all of us would eat. I knew we were in trouble when Susan said, "there's always Subway." After walking around for an hour or so, ended up at Ducky Duck (the Japanese Applebee's perhaps; the next day at lunch, we'd end up at the Japanese Chili's). I was okay with it for one night, but troubled by the more enthusiastic appraisal of one of my travel companions: Susan loved it, suggested that we keep it in mind for future dinners. Jay rationalized it as Japanified Italian (true enough), and really, it wasn't bad. And the Chili's-like entity really was Japanese. For me, it was the double-edged sword of eating mediocre food: there was so much amazing food in Tokyo, and we were going to Applebee's instead.

That night (after Chili's for lunch), Susan stayed in, and the three of us went out for sushi. It was very exciting. On his way back to the hotel, Richard got Susan some takeout from McDonald's.

But the next day--I was already on the verge of losing my mind from the sensory overload of Akihabara--"we" opted for crappy mall curry over Japanese food. I was in a mood, I'll spare you the details (at least for now). That evening, after Kabuki, we would wander around Ginza in search of English menus. We were flat-out turned away from one place, and ignored in another (there was just no one there). We were saved by a department store, which, like a convenience store, allowed us to go our separate ways, but still eat together. We each got things that would work for us, and took them back to the hotel lobby. Jay stumbled upon some fried lotus that would prove inimitable.

From then on, department and convenience stores were the rule rather than the exception. Even when we did have proper lunches and dinners, we'd stop at convenience stores for snacks (and in my case, breakfast for the following morning, and in Jay's case, beer and sake). Part of the fun was experimenting--trying different foods and finding out what they were. I learned that, when in doubt, when something is enveloped in something else, that first something is usually rice. And that when something is made of something else, that second something is usually rice. Also, things you don't expect to be sweetened (seaweed), often are. Most green things we tried were green tea, but some were melon. Lots of adzuki paste, which I love--but I didn't find adzuki ice cream, which I also love. Sakura (cherry blossom) was even better.

Some of the chopsticks that accompanied convenience store bento would come with a toothpick, and a warning that the toothpick could hurt your finger, accompanied by a graphic of a toothpick stabbing one in the palm. We thought that was the funniest thing EVER. We were rolling. The only thing funnier was when Jason, in Susan's words, became a statistic, and inadvertently stabbed his thumb with a toothpick, drawing blood. Our fourth day in Tokyo, we hit the convenience store goldmine: a Mini-Stop with a hot bar, not far from Shinjuku Gyoen, where we got all the makings of our proper hanami, (not to be confused with our drive-by hanami in Ueno two days prior):
including the makeshift tarp (i.e., trash bags). Our proper hanami lunch was perfect, and Mini-Stop would be the best we'd find (although there would be other good ones). It wouldn't take long for us to get sick of convenience stores and their barely-varying bentos, but would fall back on them because they were there. We'd tire of walking around, and/or we wouldn't want to devote any more time to the hunt. Sometimes we'd split off into "couples." Richard and Susan have been married for 16 years, but which pair of us do you think acted more like an old married couple? Bickered more, shared more food (Jay and I would often split an ice cream cone, a muffin, just about anything), fought over who was hogging the covers? That last one actually turned out to be the fault of the DMZ--the duvet was caught underneath the pillows we'd set up as borders--but not before we fought about it the morning after. Jay said, "you had the covers, you greedy wh*re!"

I called him on it the next day, whereupon he thought about it and said, "Wow. I haven't called anyone a greedy wh*re in... a week."

He also did take to paying attention to, and accommodating my preferences. Upon coming back to our hotel room, I heard him say, "I've turned off the toilet seat for you." It occurred to me that some astute people who saw us out and about may have thought, "I wonder whether she knows that her boyfriend/husband is gay."

The food highlight was in Gero, in the Ryokan we stayed in. Both dinner and breakfast was amazing.

The keitan-sushi place where Jay and I had lunch just before taking off for the airport--he'd threatened to slit someone else's wrists if he didn't get conveyor-belt sushi--was great as well. Okanamiyaki in Hiroshima was an interesting experience,
but none of us were up for a repeat. There was also the crazy meal our first night in Kyoto, about which Jay may still be bitter (and he may still be getting Facebook communications from the chef), but it was a worthwhile experience.

***
The (exorbitant) price of fruit and vegetables surprised me, especially because most other foodstuffs were so affordable--especially seafood. It made sense upon thinking about it--and even more so upon reading this excellent piece from Grist on community-supported agriculture in Japan. On a semi-related note, I found heaven when I stumbled upon a macrobiotic grocery store in Tokyo (in Shinjuku). There was something so amazing about walking in and knowing that everything in there fit my dietary restrictions. If there's any "diet" that corresponds to my eating preferences, it's macrobiotic. Not having to worry about hidden animal products was a wonderful thing. I got a very good lentil curry with brown rice (for breakfast the following day), and the guy at the counter gave me sample macrobiotic cookies and miso soup cubes. It was heaven.

You won't be surprised food as a recurring theme throughout my travel notes. Stay tuned.