I enjoy good food, but I can’t stand pretense. I’d rather cook with friends, at home.
Japan was wonderful for me, but not in the way many people want see it, I think. Everyone told me
to go early to the Tsukiji Fish Market, one of three famous ones in Tokyo, where I could sample
the freshest, most mouth-watering sashimi. Of course, I don’t care for sashimi. In a sushi bar, I’ll eat
rice and vegetables and miso and drink lots of sake. So, right away, I’m not a food tourist in Japan.
Dining out with new Japanese friends...I think everyone wanted me to be comfortable. Maybe they
were cultivating Western tastes. Mexican restaurante. French patisserie. Swiss bakery. Nonetheless,
my best food experience in Tokyo was Rieko’s idea to cook monja. That was wonderful. Ask for
the ingredients, cook it on a griddle at the table, and eat it with little spatulas. So tasty!
I certainly enjoyed finding yatai everywhere I went. The street vendors with a grill and a pot,
who cook yakisoba (fried noodles with tonkatsu sauce and vegetables), takoyaki (golf ball-shaped,
batter-covered, boiled octopus), and more. My kind of fast food.
Breakfast was often curry rice. At Pot&Pot along the Dongenzawa (a big place, seats ten) or at
a little walk-in shop in an alley just off it. Ramen for breakfast was usually at a corner place beside
the Tokyu department store, in the maze with the pachinko arcades, porno DVD stores, and just lots
of gangsters. Unfortunately, I arrived one morning to find a car stuck in the front of the shop.
I never found nor sought out ikani (simmered squid).
One night, lost in the rain somewhere uphill in Shibuya, I found a noodle shop. Just a tiny room.
Quiet, and completely empty, save for the obaasan listening to jazz on the radio and the rainshower
drumming outside. I managed “udon” and she suggested “tempura.”  I was home. Hot. Filling.
There were no prices posted anywhere, so when I was ready to leave, I held out
all my pocket change. She took a 500 yen coin and gave me change, laughing.
In a train station one morning, maybe in Shinjiku, I had to have something.
I spotted a little udon place that seemed “commuter-approved.” I stepped
up to the counter and the lady in charge asked what I wanted. “Udon.”
Simple enough. Then came an impossible question. I said, “Uh, sure!”
So, with my steamy noodles came a nicely wrapped, triangle-shaped onigiri
(rice wrapped in seaweed). Perfect for my journey to Yokohama that day.
Back to monja with Rieko and Satoshi: the question was “Do you like
umiboshi?” ”Well, sure.” So, when I show that I really DO enjoy them,
the lady who ran this place (I thought it might be her own house),
sent me off with more than a pound of cooked rice, a dozen sheets
of seaweed, and a pound of umiboshi. Onigiri takeout. Best possible
snack food. I was set for days.