Port Call: Thailand

Two weeks after Korea, the ladies and I headed for Narita airport, bound for Thailand.

We flew into Bangkok, but didn't get a chance to see any of the city. We instead, got into a big ole' van and headed south, for Pattaya.

Pattaya is a... colorful city. With all... types of people. Are you getting the meaning from all of my.... ellipses?

We went on a couple of tours, including an elephant ride, and an ox cart ride (both too bumpy for my liking). The other was to Ancient Siam, which was fascinating. It's a park built by a Thai millionaire, with recreations and scale models of various famous buildings in Thailand that were or are still around. It's more than 200 acres, and even though we had a golf cart to take our 6-person group around, we didn't see as much as we would've liked.

We went with the Det 2 boss, another pilot and his wife, and our enthusiastic tour guide. That thing behind us in this picture is the first part of a 3-level temple on the edge of Thailand. This one's not even big enough to walk inside of, so it looks much farther away than it is.  Anyway, the real Preah Vihear temple is on Thai land, but was built by Cambodia waaaay back in the 11th century. It's been in dispute for more than a hundred years. It has turned violent on several occasions, so almost no one's allowed to set foot on the actual temple. It's probably pretty easy to keep people away since our guide says that it's built on a mountain so high that you can't see the actual temple from the ground.

This is a scale replica of Sanphet Prasat Palace. It's a really big replica, with beautiful glass work and inlaid mother of pearl.

Queen Elizabeth II visited this actual replica in the 70s during a state visit to Thailand.

History and culture aside, the best part of a trip to Thailand is the food. It's so spicy, but so delicious. The Papaya Salad was my favorite, made with thinly sliced green papaya, tomatoes, nuts, dried shrimp, herbs, and of course, red peppers. It's dressed with a kind of sweet, citrusy dressing. Amazing.

Also, the crab fried rice and crab curry we had at a place on the water called Moom Aroi. They had a Thai band that sang a lot of English songs (Michael Buble, Colbie Caillat, and the like). The diction and pronunciation of the words were basically perfect, and yet it still sounded as if they were only making the sounds and had no idea what the words meant. It was the strangest thing.

Even stranger, though, everyone in our group tried the Pad Thai at different times, at different places, and we all agreed that the best Pad Thai we'd had wasn't in Thailand. Go figure.

The fresh coconut water out of green coconuts, though, was awesome.

Also, we spent a couple days lounging by the pool and getting massages by a super friendly Thai lady at the hotel. She wanted to know why I didn't have children yet (none of your business), would I bring my children back ( you mean to Pattaya? not likely.), and I looked like I wasn't married (because apparently she thinks all married ladies are fat). She then told Blake we would have a girl child. I guess she's never seen the Godfather.

The restaurants were great. The beach was gross. The nightlife was colorful.

Another successful port call....

and another future scavenger hunt. I know I've seen green papaya around these parts.

Homemade Miso

One of my students, Yoko, is an amazing cook and baker. I don't want to say I've made a pest of myself... but I may have mentioned once or twice (or every time I see her) that I'd love to get together and suck all the knowledge from her brain talk about food.

So, when she invited me to her house for a miso-making lesson, my only question was, "when?".

Yoko ordered a half-order of DIY miso from this company, which roughly translates to School of Miso. Yes, the site is in Japanese, but that's what Google translate is for!

They sell rice miso, wheat miso, barley miso, and combos. Yoko's husband is from Kyushu and wheat (koji) is more popular down there, so being a good wife, she keeps both misos on hand.

This is so easy, it's mind-boggling why more Japanese people don't do it.

Here is what the kit looks like:

 

The top bag is dried rice and the live cultures that make it tasty and healthy. The bottom bag is crushed up soybeans. Yoko once ordered dried beans, and boiled and mashed them herself. She never did that again.

 

 These are miso samples. The green one is from January 10th and the red ones were made on January 20th. They're now dark-red and delicious.

Heat up water, put beans and rice in a gigantic bowl and mix for three minutes. Yoko went first since she'd done it before. Her daughter, Yuki, was also there and had never made it before either.

We used some seriously strong sochu alcohol to sanitize the containers and packed the miso in, being careful to press out any air bubbles.

We sprinkled it with salt and a little more sochu and that was it. We covered it with plastic wrap, labeled the top and called it a day.

So easy. Here's the bad news. It won't be ready for its first tasting until October. In spring and summer it takes 1-2 months to properly ferment. In fall and winter it takes 3-4. The good news is that once it's done, it doesn't really go bad. It will just keep fermenting and growing and getting funkier and funkier.

They do include these little cloths that will prohibit mold and things from growing, but Yoko didn't use them and therefore, neither did I. Apparently it's not a dangerous mold, just a natural byproduct of miso being, well, alive. You scoop it out and don't worry about it.

I also brought home a sample packet of miso, which I plan on eating in a new way that Yoko taught me- smeared on veggie sticks. Since this miso is homemade and ridiculously good, you can just eat it plain on veggies. Delicious! Yuki's husband likes to make it into a dip by adding some mayonnaise. It cuts down on the saltiness and gives it a creamy texture.

So that's homemade miso. Easy and definitely the best tasting miso you'll ever put in your mouth.

Just food

Dana, this one's for you... sorry it's just about food, but that's the only thing I had of interest and you know me, so food makes sense.

Just food things from around my house.

Top left- Curry Senbei- One of Blake's favorites because he loves anything curry. Senbei are rice crackers and these little rounds are just the right amount of spicy. I'd open them to show you one, but they're for Blake when he comes home.

Green Curry kit- I can't find fresh ingredients for Thai. I've asked My Japanese, students who were more puzzled by the fact that I wanted to make it in my house than they were about where I could find thai chilis and fresh lemongrass. A few grocery stores carry this little box, which has all the spices, condensed coconut milk, dry lemongrass and chilis, and fish sauce. You add it all in at different increments with vegetables and there it is, Thai green curry.

Channa Masala in a box. These curry pouches are really popular here. You put them in boiling water or in the microwave, pour them over rice and call it a meal. Some of them are good, and some of them are the spinach paneer that I had the other night meaning that, it tasted like it came out of the back end of a farm animal. And I love farm animals, but I am never eating that paneer again. I'm hesitant to eat this because it's made by the same company as the Crap Paneer. More data to follow.

When you think your husband is coming home on a day (today) and he doesn't (he didn't), there's only one thing you can do. Head for the drink. Just kidding (but not really). Cassis liqueur is very popular here as a mixer with juice. Cassis with orange is my favorite, but I don't want to buy a whole bottle of the alcohol and I like actual oranges more than I like a container of juice. Enter pre-mixed in a can. It's only 3% alcohol, which is for sissies.

I didn't actually eat any of these things tonight. My meal consisted of garlic bread and a donut. I may have soba later, but seeing as how it's already 10pm, that's unlikely. Deployment food.

I have been thoroughly neglecting this blog and I'm glad I got a reminder from my mother-in-law. It's easy to set into routines and forget just how special it is to live in a foreign country.

P.S.
I also had peanut M&Ms for dinner. I cannot tell a lie.

Hakuba Highlights

On our second trip up to Hakuba this year, we stopped on our way back to Matsumoto Castle. For me, a non-skier, non-snowboarder, sightseeing and relaxing were the highlights of the three trips we took this winter. Every trip, though, Blake said it was the best snowboarding of his life.

One of my favorites was the alcohol cooler Claire, Megan and I made with our own six hands.

The bottom is cut off in the picture, but we made that sucker from the bottom up. I packed so much snow with my hands that I had bruises on my palms. Not a joke.

Another favorite: Mon Pigeon. It's a fabulous, amazing, freakin' delicious French bakery. It's filled with a hodgepodge of candles and figurines, comfortable furniture, and two of the cutest golden retrievers ever, and two cats who are more of the lurking type than the rub against your feet type. Their pizza is the stuff dreams are made of, and it's hard to resist their cake case, full of fussy, fruity, glaze-y, cakes.

On one of our trips, it warmed up a bit and ended up raining instead of snowing. On that day, the dogs wore wetsuits. WETSUITS. FOR DOGS.

Once again, this is a dog in a wet suit. I mean, come on people.

We probably won't make it back up to Nagano this winter. Blake just left on another deployment a couple of days ago. This summer, though, we may go up and see what all those beautiful mountains look like in the summer.

We'd have to bring our own cooler, though.

He's home!

He's home!

Last night, Blake finally came back to Japan from his three month, some odd days, TAD in San Diego. He came back to cold weather, Christmas decorations, and a basket of Japan goodies I put together for him.

Here are a couple of recent favorites:

Kinako Senbei

Senbei are rice crackers. They come in an infinite number of flavors, but there are a lot of plain wrapped in seaweed, soy sauce, and different seafood flavors. They're crunchy and light. Kinako is toasted soybean flour. It's sweet, but not sugary-sweet. It's a Japanese level of sweetness, which is to say, a perfect amount, versus the too-much-sugar flavor of a lot of American snacks. When you put kinako and senbei together, it's difficult to stop eating them.

Seaweed Snack

In addition to being used for sushi, nori makes a great snack on its own. This brand is like a seaweed version of a potato chip. It's fried and salty, and addictive. I think plain nori is good too, and most definitely healthier than this version.

True to my personality, I'd loaded the house down with food. In addition to Japanese snacks, I bought a wedge of delicious blue cheese from an incredibly sample-generous shop in Vina Walk, salad, mochi covered ice cream (another fave), and I made vegetarian chili. To my dismay, the vegetarian stock is unhealthier than the chicken stock at the commissary. I don't really have room to store homemade, though. I may have to order something and have it shipped here (Boooooo. I want my stuff immediately!).

In other news, despite getting home at bed time last night, Blake still got up for PT this morning at quarter after five. The man is a machine, people.

We're glad to be reunited, and it really feels like the holiday season. I'm also glad I can finally stop my bedtime paranoia of believing every sound in the house is an intruder.

Work on your dish names please

Tomato salad: a whole, peeled tomato with salad dressing and an onion sliver.

Hey restaurant, here's a tip. The next time you advertise a tomato salad with your lunch set, you might want to cut up the tomato and mix it in with some lettuce, a bit more onion, and dressing on the side... you know... LIKE A SALAD.

Lock-up Restaurant- aka: a meal in jail

When Blake asked if I'd like to go to a jail-themed restaurant, I did not picture something like this:

We went with a friend from the squadron and his Japanese girlfriend. Shinjuku is a crazy busy part of Tokyo and I am positive that unless you speak Japanese, your chances of locating this place are zero. It's on the 6th and 7th floor, above a drugstore.

We stepped off the elevator and it was dark. Like, someone forgot to pay the jail's electricity bill or something. Izumi and I looked at each other. The looks of two people who do not like to be scared, and have learned to be paranoid. This place was majorly creepy.

The hostess won't let you in until you put your hand in a little guillotine. Don't worry, they don't take off your hand! I know, you were worried there for a second, huh?

The hostess was dressed as a policewoman. And by policewoman, I mean "who is the groom and where should I set my boombox?" kind of policewoman.

The above vampire gave us our first sign that the jail-themed restaurant was more of a jail-ish theme. Blake got handcuffed to the stripper hostess and she led us down a poorly lit set of stairs to our table. Blake told me later that all he could think about was what would happen to the girl if he gave the chain one good, solid yank. Such a gentleman.

Now, I'm going to be honest here, it's pretty hokey. For example, the walls were basic black that someone had taken a sponge treatment to with a color that was very reminiscent of a number two. Blake and I sat under a velvet painting of the guy straight out of the Goosebumps TV show (remember that one? I don't, because I was waaay to chicken to watch it). The jail bars that keep you in your booth, however, are rusty, metal and very heavy. The waitress doesn't actually lock the doors, but the sliding sound of the metal bars is very distinctly "jail," or at least, that's what it sounds like in the movies.

They serve tasty drinks in beakers, with syringes, sometimes with eyedroppers, pop rocks and dry ice. Like I said, it was dark in there so these pictures are less than HQ.

Oreo and Kahlua

Pop Rock laced cotton candy with passion fruit and mango

So dinner is going along well. We ordered a "Russian Roulette" plate. Five potato croquettes, one of which has a habanero pepper inside of it. Sheer dumb luck that Izumi got it, who is the only one of us who doesn't care for spicy things. The food was good. The spicy chicken was really excellent.

And then, there was a jailbreak. Finally, we all saw why people go out of their way to come here. The lights went out and strobe lights started going crazy. We started hearing the cell doors opening and shutting in other parts of the restaurant. There were announcements in Japanese, but Izumi was too busy keeping guard to translate them for us.

I was sitting on the outside of the booth. A choice I immediately regretted. The wait staff donned scary masks and went around rattling doors, sticking their heads inside booths and generally trying to scare the bejesus out of people. It wouldn't normally be scary, but the strobe lights and bass-heavy music made it a little more high-energy. Then they played ABBA's "Dancing Queen," which was actually very much like a horror movie and made the whole thing much, much eerier.

The mayhem went on for what felt like forever. I sat at the door they opened the most, which was a blessing and a curse. Obviously, I had to keep watch like a hawk because they would come around the corner with no prior warning. It was a blessing because they stuck their heads in and basically past me so I didn't have to really look at any of them. One guy dressed in black did manage to catch me off guard though and yes, I screamed like a girl.

The scariest part? There was a lull in the escaped madmen and someone squeezed my shoulder. I screamed, jumped, and it turned out to be Blake. That man really knows how to take advantage of a weakness. You all may remember how he has scared me several times with a Mr. Bean mask his sister sent him for Christmas. Listen, when I don't have my glasses on, everyone looks like a stranger.

When it was over, I had headache that was as much from tension as it was from the metal bars clanging. I was tense the entire rest of the meal. Logically, they weren't going to do another "floor show" so soon after the last one, and they can't go around scaring people who might choke on their food. Still, my body would not abandon its vigil and I was glad to get out of there.

It's the kind of thing that adults can appreciate, but it will scare the crap out of a six-year-old. I'm more of a six-year-old than an adult when it comes to this kind of thing, but I am very glad we went. Octopus sashimi, test tubes of alcohol, characters in masks, and jail bars with Dracula are, surprisingly, a very Japanese experience.

Adventures of You

I loved Choose Your Own Adventure books. They were awesome. A whole lifetime of choices, and you didn't have to go anywhere (I suppose that goes for books in general).

I cheated. I mean, who wants to die on their second choice, right? So I (or, in the style of the book, you), kept your finger stuck in the page of your last choice, just in case you wanted a mulligan, which you always did because unlike life, in a CYOA, you can go back and climb up every single branch of the tree to see what could have been what.

As an aside, don't Google 'Choose Your Own Adventure' on a work computer because you will come up with some decidedly adult "adventures." I have found this site, however: My Adventure Game, which Norton says is safe and contains lots and lots of family-friendly adventures. Harder to cheat than the old fashioned way, though.

Blake and I had a real-life Choose Your Own Adventure today. It was Mother's Day, and since neither of our mothers are within hugging-distance, we consoled ourselves with a bike ride in the sunshine. A bicycle ride, not a motorcycle ride. Blake had already went for a ride yesterday through beautiful, windy, mountainous, biker's-heaven, Japanese roads near Hakone.

So we went for a bike ride. Instead of going our usual way, we went to Yamato, which is about a mile from the house. We were rewarded with Awaodori. We missed the dancing, but ate the food. O. M. G. The chicken and leek yakitori was the best. Holy hell that was good stuff. Also, they had delicious dim sum dumplings, battered and then deep fried, three on a stick. Yes. A delicious inside a delicious. A foodception.

Then, instead of going straight home, we took a new route. And discovered a park. A huge park with baseball fields, tennis courts and lots of room for picnic-ers. Beautiful.

Then, one more detour led us to a beautiful shrine-type building right next to our house. We were elated that such a beautiful building was so close to us, but were ashamed that we had failed to realize it.

It was a local Choose Your Own Adventure day, and very productive since it only took us a couple hours. We'd spent most of the afternoon kicking around Sagami-Ono while the Thruxton was at the garage. The tires were changed out since one of them had a nail in it and both of them had a weird wear pattern from riding all the straight roads in Florida.

It was a beautiful day for being out of the house. So we did. And our adventurous spirit was well rewarded...

with delicious food on sticks.

California Rant/Recap

Japan did not greet me warmly. Instead, its "welcome back" was slushy, snowy rain, thick fog and cold. It was not California weather. The trains were packed with people going home from work. My Pasmo had 500yen on it. I had been too efficient in eating everything that could spoil before I left and so for dinner ended up having a salad. Or rather, a "salad." It was old romaine hearts and sesame salad dressing.

Now that I've unpacked and started settling back in from my almost three-week trip to California, here are the things I miss: shopping, eating, driving, communicating.

Here are the things I missed about Japan: trains (so no one has to rock, paper, scissors for DD), green tea (I tried many times to order a plain green tea and every single one had some kind of gross addition), and the ability to easily tune out other people's conversations because, well, they're in Japanese.

I have nothing to show you from my trip to California because I didn't take any pictures. I was in serious vacation-mode. Not just a location vacation, but a vacation where I forgot about filing taxes, paying bills, taking pictures for the blog and scrapbook, blogging and scrapbooking itself, and pretty much everything else that didn't involve Blake, eating or serious, serious shopping. Oh, the shopping. The clothes! The kitchen gadgets! The malls!

We did see many beautiful places though, including the Museum of Man, the Zoo, the Balboa Park nature trail, Phil's BBQ, Fashion Valley Mall, and Extraordinary Desserts. Hey, I didn't say they were all beautiful in the traditional sense.

It was so nice to be back in America for a bit, and so awesome being able to be with Blake without the threat of him being shipped off tomorrow, that I stayed an extra few days. We got to be together on Valentine's Day. I've never been too big on the holiday and Blake, being a man, has known from birth what a tremendous rip-off it is. This year, however, was really special.

It was very romantic.That morning, Blake had gotten up early to do a little work thing and came back around 8. I had been having trouble getting to sleep at night, and Blake, knowing this, quietly crept back into the room and laid next to me. He wrapped his arm around me, laid his face close to mine, and proceeded with a chorus of very loud and very cheery, "Happy Valentine's Day! Happy Valentine's Day, Honey." When my anti-enthusiasm was clear, he decided to force the issue by shaking me awake in time to his holiday greetings. Happy Valentine's Day indeed.

We visited Old Town, which is a state park with rebuilt historic buildings and lots and lots and lots of shopping. We got root beer floats because they were bogo, then took them outside into the cold and shivered while eating them. Blake bought a Mexican blanket that goes with nothing in our house, and then we split up so I could shop and Blake cold talk on the phone.

We went back to the room. We both started packing for our trips (mine back to Japan, Blake for his two weeks out on San Clemente Island for further training). Then, things got really intimate. I discovered the wireless usb adapter we'd bought wasn't compatible with the device we'd bought it for so we had to drive all the way back out to Best Buy where Greenpeace volunteers were really getting in people's faces about donating. Be still my heart.

Then I was starving, but Blake wasn't hungry so we did the proper Valentine's Day thing and decided to wait until we got closer to the base to eat, but ended up getting stuck in traffic for an hour because of some dumbhead's fender bender. oooh la la.

My hands were shaking as we pulled into the parking lot of the BOQ. The day was so overwhelmingly love-filled... or probably it was low blood sugar.

We ate pizza and wings and watched Harry Potter movies. We were cranky because we had to get up the next day at 5 to get me to the airport and knowing you have to say goodbye really puts a sad blanket over everything. We consoled ourselves with more food and soda and went to sleep.

And as much as all of that may look like nothing but a sarcastic rant, I must say that I enjoyed the whole day. We were together. And any day together is better than any day spent apart.

I bought Blake a Belgian waffle maker for Valentine's Day. He's long desired crispy, fluffy, delicious gorgeousness at our fingertips on the weekends, but there isn't really room in our kitchen for something that just makes waffles and bacon (Alton Brown is a genius). But I was in vacation-mode. And it was on sale. And it was there. And they are delicious.

I look forward to Blake bringing it (and himself) home in a couple of weeks. He is loathe to leave California weather behind, but not me. I am well aware people think I am crazy for not wanting to live in sunshine every day of the year, but trust me, there are many better reasons to think I'm crazy.

Although I did tweet that it was freeze-your-ass-off cold here when I got back, it wasn't a complaint. I liked yesterday's gray and snowy day just as much as I liked today's sunny one. So the cold and the fog weren't all that bad to come home to. I enjoyed the crowded train. The three little girls across the street waved big, huge waves when I left the house this morning. Although now that I think about it, I don't know if they were being really friendly, or shooing me away, hoping I'd left for good. I couldn't tell by their faces because they had all gotten colds and were wearing white surgical masks that covered half their faces. It is good to be home.

Stuck in Christmasville

Was the Migayase Tree Lighting trip truly a beautiful, cheery, Christmas wonderland... or were we all victims of Stockholm Syndrome?


Five hours is an excessive amount of time for looking at Christmas lights. And when I think a Christmas light show is running long, then you know it must be ridiculous. I mean, when we lived in New York, I used to drag Blake to Wonderland of Lights in Utica every year, an event usually only awe-inspiring to the under ten crowd. You got to stay in your car, tune in your radio to their Christmas station and crawl your car down the pathway, marveling at all the pretty, shiny things.

Every year, the same conversation:
Me: Isn't this beautiful?
Blake: It's wonderful.

I know that everyone reading this can hear his sarcasm as clear as the bells of St. Mary's (extra points if you know the Christmas connection to that reference, and also, that movie is so SAD, geez it's sad).

This year, I dragged Blake to the tiny Japanese town of Miyagase, where they do Christmas the right way. The little park, with its food stalls and restaurants, was lit up with displays. No, actually, that's not correct. When we got there, everything was switched off.

We arrived at three o'clock. Those of you familiar with reality may realize that even in the winter, it's still light out at three. So, we scoped out the food. There were a lot of good smells and we snacked along the way. You can only walk past a crepe stand so many times before you need to get one... even if you technically didn't even walk by it, you just saw it and made a beeline for the order window.

We passed the time until dark by listening to the musicians they had playing. Really, really good stuff. You've heard of hand bell choirs? Well, we saw a cow bell choir. I won't even say that it needed more cowbell. These ladies were awesome.

There was also a steel drum band. Because, as Blake said, nothing says Christmas like Japanese people playing Caribbean music with a fog machine. They were amazing though.

Finally, it was dark. All the lights went on, and it was beautiful. The biggest Christmas tree lighting in Japan, a tree almost 100ft tall.

That winding path to the right is a narrow suspension bridge, the whole thing lit up from start to finish.

We paid our 300yen (each) and started the long, colorful walk to the other side. As soon as we got on, the whole thing rocked back and forth, which I knew was the very thing that makes suspension bridges safe... but that was my head. My guts were telling me that this bridge was the pedestrian-only version of the Titanic and we power-walked the first half of the way (or 150yen worth (each)).

Once I calmed down, the walk was lovely, if a bit cold up there. Blake didn't have gloves, so he was a little cold. I had a hand warmer, sort of, but only for my left hand. It was a turkey leg. Oh, I didn't tell you about that? Let me start by saying this: I've always thought peppermint was a more appropriate flavor for Christmas than tripe, a statement I still stand by.

A long line of people were at this little soup stand. Naturally, we queued up. I pointed to one huge tub of soup and Blake pointed to the other. Blake got a wonderful mix of vegetables and broth, everything cooked just right, and perfect for warming him up. At this point we were all freezing our various body parts off. I got.. well... I didn't know what it was at first. It smelled a little gamey, but I can never read the menus, so I was used to taking what I could get. I deserve it for not learning to read the language.

I ate it. Tasted weird. Very weird. I inspected it, only to discover it was tube-shaped. Huh. And wrinkly. Huh. And.. OH MY GOD I was eating poop chute. Tripe always looks so exotic and exciting when someone on the Travel Channel is wolfing it down. Well, these intestines were gross. A complete snack fail.

So, I went and got a smoked turkey leg, which was delicious. It was also huge. I could not finish that thing. I sheathed the remainder in a paper bag and stuck it in my pocket to snack on later. I stuck my hand in my pocket when it got cold and voila! hand warmer. I think I could make a killing on these. I mean, they taste amazing and hold heat incredibly well.

When we got done with the bridge and had walked back to the little village there were still two hours left. We were at a loss. We'd seen everything about five times. We were trapped. So, we did the logical thing and got more crepes.

That left us with about four hours and forty-five minutes. Panic started to set in. Suddenly, the Christmas music sounded like it was mocking us. The crowds were thicker. The smells weren't so tempting any more.

So we went back to the bus. Thankfully, the doors were open and a few other people had also seen enough of the festivities. It was a little warmer in there and would have been a nice place to hibernate had it not been for the Chatty Cathy in the back.

Eventually, we did make it home. In true Jeeana fashion, my Christmas spirit (and old-person level of nostalgia) is already erasing the hours of toe-tapping boredom, replaced by the twinkling LEDs and happy Japanese children, holding bags of cotton candy whose size rivaled their own. And crepes. Those delicious crepes.

Blake, however, has sworn off MWR trips. I mean, this is his second trip, and each trip, MWR's timing has been awful (remember the Tokyo Motor Show Traffic?). Still, he's said we can go back next year... as long as we drive ourselves.

In conclusion: Merry Christmas from Japan. We have our fake tree all lit up, with real presents underneath, Christmas cookies in the kitchen, and my Scentsy Christmas smell is like Christmas Crack.

It's certainly not like Christmas back at home, but beautiful nonetheless. Miyagase was festive and cheery and everything you'd expect from a Japanese Christmas celebration. No, there was no gigantic red, white and blue American flag display to remind us of our American Christmases, but there was a Japanese equivalent.

Hello Christmas

Noodle-rific

Cup Noodles are a big deal in Japan. See that silvery statue in the back? That's the guy who invented the instant noodle as we know them today, Momofuku Ando. This statue had a steady stream of people wanting a photo-op. I can't even begin to imagine the number of peace signs this statue has overseen.

Ando developed instant noodles as an easily accessible, familiar, and cheap, food for post-war Japan. Their purpose is pretty much the same these days. I used to eat a lot of ramen back in the day... until I bothered to look on the back of the package. Hooooly crap, there is a lot of sodium in those things.

But that didn't stop Blake and me from visiting the Cup Noodles Museum in Yokohama last weekend.

They have a whole room of ramen packages dating back to when they were first marketed. Here, I'm standing in front of the more recent noodle packages. I do have a picture of Blake, but perspective-wise, the wall looks a lot more impressive with my shortness in front of it.

All the history was interesting. They even have a replica of the cabin-like workshop Ando developed the noodles in, a unique boiling, then frying procedure.

We were really there to design our own Cup of Noodles, though.

We bought empty, styrofoam noodle cups and sat down to decorate them with about a million other people.

Blake's was, of course, precision perfect. He carefully colored in the Cup Noodles logo with black. He used the back to name his cup, "Mystery Flavor." Since you all know me, you get one guess as to what my cup was all about. Christmas. Duh. I hoarded the red and green markers and went to town on that cup. Two Christmas trees, stars, and a cheerful Merry Christmas. Well, it was more like "Meery Christmas." I was so focused on making the letters that I forgot how to spell basic words. No matter. One Japanese woman's cup proclaimed , "I Love Needles."  Either she mistook the e's for o's, or she has an unhealthy and very public obsession with pointy things.

We stood in a long line to fill our cups with goodness. The noodles are pre-shaped into cup shapes and the cup is placed upside down over them, then turned upright, to avoid noodles dropping into the cup all wonky and slowing the whole system. Then, they're turned upright.

The best part is picking out the flavors and various dehydrated meats and vegetables.

We got to pick one flavor base and four other ingredients. I got chicken and Blake got seafood. The labels were all in Japanese, but they had pictures by them so you could distinguish that the green bits were green onions, brown was garlic, yellow was corn, pink bits were shrimp, that other pink was pork and that other, other pink was crab.

The cups were sealed, then, the ingenious Japanese had devised a way to safely transport your noodles home. You stuck your cup in the middle of a big plastic sleeve, then inflated it into a big air cushion, like putting the noodles in the middle of one of those cozy fur muffs you see old timey ladies wear when they're caroling with guys in tuxes with mutton chops. Geez that was confusing, but I can't think of a better way to explain it. Loop a string through it for carrying and that puppy wasn't going anywhere.

We happily carried our cups around like noodle-filled purses. I ate mine yesterday and it was very tasty indeed. Blake has yet to eat his. Even though he made it himself, maybe the title of "mystery flavor" is subconsciously off-putting.

Whatever the reason, I don't think the pre-packaged flavors will ever taste the same. Then again, there are entire grocery aisles filled with instant noodles in almost any combination of flavors one could want. Maybe it's time to give instant noodles another try.

Hong Kong: Part 2

In the first Hong Kong post, I briefly touched on the food. Well, let me share with you the dish that will haunt my every dream: crispy duck.

So crispy and so ducky

That duck came to the table and immediately, we were best friends. I pictured bringing it home, taking longs walks through Tokyo, showing it the view from Landmark Tower, cuddling on the couch at night and watching TV. But alas, its appeal was its downfall, and I ate it. I mean, I wasn't alone. There were four other people there, all just as eager to dig into that bird.

Words cannot describe its perfect, crispy, deliciousness. It was cooked perfectly and cut table-side.  Here's the interesting thing- it came with a platter of friends. Thin slices of onion and cucumber. Delicious sauce. And Chinese tortillas. Yeah. Chinese tortillas. Roll it all up like a duck taco and stuff your face. Repeat as necessary, then repeat even when unnecessary.

The other exciting dish? Bird's nest soup. It's not a euphemism, the soup really is made of birds' nests. It's a famous Chinese dish, very good for you. I'm more inclined to believe the delicious chicken broth is what's really doing good things, and not the re-hydrated, gelatinous strands of bird spit. It tastes like broth and noodles so it's not as exotic as you might think. Definitely a good strange food to try if you're a picky eater.

Me, I'll eat almost anything that's put in front of me, and that night, a lot of things were on the table. More accurately, they were on the gigantic lazy susan. Battered shrimp with oranges and strawberries, baby rack of lamb, pumpkin soup, and pigeon. Yes, we ate pigeon. Don't judge us. It was delicious, kind of like a pigeon hash. It looked nothing like the chubby, bobble-necked, flying pests that plague every single city in America.

What else did we eat? Dim sim, which is lots of small dishes meant to be shared with a crowd. You get to much food, then stuff yourself comatose.


Oh, and this happened:

It's meant for five-year-olds, but Blake and I had to take a turn. We each had a camera, so I've got all the pictures of him and he's got all the pictures of me. Kind of inconvenient when one set of pictures if out in the ocean somewhere with its owner.


Anyway, that little gem of a picture was taken at Jumbo, a giant, floating, over-decorated monstrosity.

Take a second to process this picture. I'll wait... ... ... ...


It's a three-story restaurant and banquet hall built in the 70s, only accessible by a short ferry ride. It's a huge tourist trap attraction. We ate some tasty dim sum, and also passed up a golden opportunity to put on costumes and get our picture taken as a Chinese emperor and empress. It's like a far east version of getting those cheesy cowboy dress-up pictures at a county fair. Still kicking ourselves about that one... not.



Maybe we'll get one the next time we go to Hong Kong. I say "next time" because both Blake and I feel like we have to go back. The food alone is worth a second (and third, and fourth, etc) trip; add on the amazing shopping and the beautiful sights, Hong Kong is definitely a must-see.

Tune in for yet another post and another round of pictures. It's going to take a long post to show/tell you why I was completely exhausted by the end of every day.

Fuyu

Fuyu: not shorthand for telling someone off. A Japanese persimmon.

Here's a hint: it's not the apple or the orange

So last week I was at a lesson, walking to the restaurant where we were going to have lunch. By the road there was a large tree, losing its leaves, with lots and lots of orange fruits hanging from it. I'd seen them before, but had no idea what they were. One of the benefits of doing English lessons is having a sound board for random Japan questions.

One such question, "What is that?"  Osami said it was orange, like an orange, but hard on the inside like an apple. Not a citrus, a regular fruit. It was a perfect description, but at the same time, told me almost nothing about what it would be like to eat one.

So, yesterday when I was at the Maruetsu picking up a few things, I spotted a big ole' display of them, with lots of people picking through them. My curiosity piqued. One of the best things about Japan is their legendary appreciation of seasons. Snow, leaves, and summer green aside, they also appreciate the seasonality of food. When peaches were in season, grocery stores went all out displaying them. Only now are apples and fuyu getting the most space in the store because they are in season. It's kind of a novelty because in most American grocery stores, you get the same fruit, year-round, in the same designated quantities, with maybe more apples in fall, and more watermelon in summer. The prices are mostly what change.

This fruit, which looks like a orange-y tomato someone has squashed a bit flat, was obviously a fall hit.

I bought one. I didn't know what it was. I didn't know what it tasted like. It didn't look as freaky as a durian so no worries there. Something most people had in their grocery carts couldn't be all bad.

It's so pretty inside.

So, I cut it up into slices, put them on a plate and took them to the computer. I munched on them while I tried to find out what they were (sans peel).

I don't remember ever seeing one in the states, but they are available in good grocery stores and Asian markets. If I had ever seen one, I walked right by, probably too engrossed with the fruits I actually knew. What a shame.

These things are great! Sweet, firm, and oh so tasty. A lot like an apple, only slightly different in texture and taste. Mine were a little underripe, so next time I'll definitely let them get a little softer before I dig in. I'd never had any type of persimmon before, but a smaller version of the fuyu is a little more popular in America (according to the all-knowing Internet).

And because everything I see reminds me of something I read in a book, I'll tell you why I was so excited to find out this was a persimmon. Some of my favorite books when I was little were the Little House series. Well, after the original series, another was written about Laura's daughter Rose. The first book is Little House on Rocky Ridge. When Rose Wilder moves to Missouri, she's playing in the woods and comes across another girl, Alva, her first friend in their new home. They bond over persimmons. Rose had never had them before.

I really need a 12-step plan to stop connecting everything to books I read when I was a kid. I still think of myself as Anne Shirley, Laura Ingalls, Jo March and Elizabeth Bennet.

So now that I've bored you to tears with my mental ramblings, here is a great article on a site I love, about another blogger's experience with fuyu-- Simply Recipes- Fuyu Persimmons. She has a great story about the little dark-colored flecks that can be found throughout the Fuyu.

Sugar High

Half the kids are smiling for the picture. Half are so concerned with drinking their hot chocolate, they could not care less. Mrs. Tagami is in the back (I know. She looks a little random just standing there.).

Remember my last post about the whole marshmallows in hot chocolate thing? Well, last night, I feel like I made six dreams come true.

On a normal night, these kids have a patience-testing amount of energy. Especially the little rapscallion on the far right. Last night, I fed them Swiss Miss and massive amounts of marshmallows... then I fled the scene.

First of all, concerning the packets of hot chocolate. Apparently, they do have instant in Japan, but it comes in a jar, like instant coffee or powdered iced tea. The packets of Swiss Miss were very strange to them. I tried to set the example by grabbing the top and shaking it, to ensure minimum powder-spillage upon opening. I told Mrs. Tagami to explain to them why I was shaking the packet. Unfortunately, I do not think she understood. The children ended up shaking the packets like limp-sided maracas. A whole room of kids shaking powder packets for no reason other than their own confusion. I thought very hard about how I could explain the shaking, but in the end, just shrugged and moved on. Sometimes, there is no overcoming the language barrier and frankly, the last class (who'd also had hot chocolate) had already made a mess of the table so a little more was not going to hurt anyone.

I opened my packet and encouraged them to do the same. They kept looking at me, afraid to rip it open. I don't know how they expected to get the hot chocolate out if they weren't willing to open the packet... maybe their arms were just tired from all that unnecessary shaking. After the tentative ripping, all bets were off. The powder and water part were very familiar.

I went around the room doling out marshmallows ("Would you like marshmallows?" "Yes, please."). I explained, through Mrs. Tagami, that if you stirred the marshmallows, they just melted into the hot chocolate and made it even sweeter, but if you just let the marshmallows soak up the hot chocolate for a second, then ate them with a spoon, deliciousness would ensue.

When those kids ate the chocolate-soaked marshmallows... their faces were so happy. It was like someone had shown them a magical unicorn that grew Christmas presents under a rainbow. When I asked them if they liked it, no one said yes because they were to busy eating/drinking. There was a lot of nodding, though.

Then, someone asked for seconds. Well, they asked in Japanese, to which I replied, "in English, please." Yeah, I'm a teacher.

I hesitated on the second helpings. I had not been stingy on the first go around. This was their first experience, so I'd piled it on. More of the same would be a lot of sugar. More sugar than even I would want to eat in hot chocolate.

Then again, I'm not their mother and I wouldn't have to deal with the excess energy.

Second helpings all around!

Just after the second marshmallow dump, it was time for me to leave. The kids stayed to finish their hot chocolate, but Mrs. Tagami is very nice about saying goodbye to me at exactly the top of the hour.

I cannot imagine what happened when I left that room. Although, if anyone can handle six kids in sugar-mutiny, it is Mrs. Tagami, with the shrillest, sternest tone of voice I have ever heard. I have no idea what she's saying that make the kids sit still in fear, but I imagine her words are as fearsome as her tone.

I don't have three hours of kids' lessons next week, but the week after that I have a lesson and trick or treating. Yet another sugar high I will be glad to be a part of.

Back from laziness

So I leave for a month and Blogger goes all clean-line-minimalist-trendy-sans-serif? The blog management is completely different looking. I thought I was on the wrong website when I went to write this post. My computer was so shocked by the change Explorer promptly froze for a full thirty seconds. Not a joke.

I suppose the confusion is only a fitting punishment.

I took a vacation from blogging. Between my last post and this one is a wide, empty, tumbleweed-filled expanse of great nothingness... at least that's what it looks like online. In the real world, Blake came home from deployment for about four weeks so, no offense, but I had better things to do.

Now he's gone. So, Blogger is my back-up date.

Second order of business: a huge, public apology to my mother. During the time Blake was home, I was a terrible daughter. I only emailed her a few times in a whole month and I am very sorry.  It won't happen again, even when Blake comes home in a handful of months. If I do not keep this promise, may I be run over by a runaway dump truck full of rocks and dirt and things.

And with that pleasant image, let me transition awkwardly to the weather.

Today, I can almost believe that fall is coming. I can almost believe that Japan has more to offer than amazing food and suicide-inducing humidity. It kind of feels like a trick, though. I'm keeping my washcloth in my purse anyway.

For now, though, I am enjoying the normal weather. I hung wash out to dry. All the AC units are off. All the windows in the house are open, bringing in fresh air, the voices of children speaking in a foreign language, and the ever pleasant, very soothing sounds of trains going by every 10 minutes.

So what happened during this blogging-hiatus?

Let's start at the very beginning.

I am gritting my teeth now because I wrote that sentence, then immediately began singing "Do-Re-Mi," (and picturing Julie Andrews and kids in curtains). I have a barely restrained urge to type out the rest of those lyrics. I won't. I won't do it. I really want to. But I won't.

Shout out to the French girls, who would join me in a rousing rendition of the entire Sound of Music show, were we all together in the same room.

I have a lot of pent up tangents from not blogging for so long. Forgive me.

The beginning is when Blake came home. For those of you who have not seen the Facebook pictures, let me share with you a little souvenir Blake brought home from cruise.

The Mustache. It made him look like his own twin. A creepier, eviler, less-hygienic version of himself. Yes, I hated it, but so did he. He shaved it off immediately after these pictures, and these pictures were taken about five minutes after we'd gotten home.

So, this blog space, currently being filled with more text, was where I was going to share pictures from Blake's port call in Thailand. I copied them off his external hard drive and onto a different external hard drive. He then took both of those hard drives with him back out to sea (along with my key ring that has both my house and car keys). Sometimes, two brains are not better than one.

So, Thailand pictures will have to wait. I'm doing an awful lot of apologizing.

Here is something I do have: pictures of a parade we went to.

One Sunday, Blake and I decided go to Harajuku and see what kind of costumed, wigged, cosplay people we could find. Answer: none. What did find was the annual Super Yosakoi, which is one of three festivals going on in Tokyo on the same weekend.

Remember my post about Omotesando? Beautiful, tree-lined, ritzy? Well that street was shut down to make way for group after group of dancers, each led by a truck with a singing, screaming man on top. Yes, I do mean singing and screaming. Note: the person who took this video catches them just at the end so the dance starts over at 0:40.

Behold:



There were dancing groups as far as the eye could see and at the end of the street, more hordes of dancers waited their turn. All the dances got to be similar after awhile. Waving arms, twirling costumes, big smiles and lots of sweat. It was a really hot day and most of these people were in full-on costume. There was probably no saving those costumes when they were through with them. I may be wrong, but I looked up the festival on my iPhone while we were there, and a schedule said this parade lasted from 12:00 to 4:00. Four hours. Let me put it in perspective.

If you go see the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, it will be around three hours depending where you stand, and that's mostly just people in ridiculous costumes walking around waving, a gigantic herd of kids with white gloves doing over choreographed numbers, and the occasional lip-synced song. The dancers in this parade danced their asses off, up and down that street. Their enthusiasm was unrelenting and their sweat stains enormous.

Plus every group was led by a truck with billboards on the side, whoever sponsored that particular dance group. Perched atop every truck was a man with a microphone. He sang along to whatever song they were blasting out. Needless to say, Blake and I had no idea what they were saying, except for the word "Yosakoi."

We didn't stay long. It was so hot. Blake and I just stood there asking ourselves, "which one is going to have a heat stroke first?" People in this country really know how to put on a "show face."

So, we did a little shopping (two types of incense which, when lit, made my face feel as if someone punched me in both eyes, then dunked my head in a mixture of flower pollen and dog fur), and we ate modanyaki, which is noodles, with whatever you want, fried on a griddle. I had kimchee in mine. Blake had a bunch of different seafood. It was so delicious. A google image search of "modanyaki" does not do them justice. They kind of just lay there like gooey, slightly off-looking omelets. They are much more appetizing in person when you are sitting in front of the griddle watching all the ingredients being mixed and cooked.

The day was hot, delicious, and filled with new sights and sounds. A typical summer day in Japan.

We had many more adventures while Blake was home. I promise my posts will get more coherent (they can only get better from here). Stick with me. More to come.

A Tasty, Tasty Tour

I had a senior moment. I totally thought I'd blogged about this trip and just realized today that I had not. Whoops.

So, a week or so ago, I went on an MWR trip (Morale, Welfare and Recreation). One of the most awesome things offered to us over here are these trips. There are trips every weekend. Fuji was an MWR trip. This one was a lot less physically painful: peach picking, washi making and a winery. Three separate places, which meant a lot of on and off of the bus. I went with my friend, Christine, and her daughter, Leeann, and let's just get this out of the way: the peaches and washi were just marking time for the winery.

The drive was about two hours through absolutely beautiful countryside. We went one prefecture over, from where we live (Kanagawa) to Yamanashi. Yamanashi is known for its good water, which makes good fruit. The peach orchard wasn't very big, but the peaches themselves were absolutely huge.

The growers put wax papers over every single peach to protect it from water, which could sit on the peaches' surface and make them imperfect. God forbid.

We had an hour of all you can pick and eat. Generally, buffets are delicious, but as soon as the guide (the same awesome guide as I had on Fuji, by the way) said "all you can eat peaches," I felt only confusion. Who ever heard of a peach buffet? You know how many peaches I ate in that hour? Two. Granted, they were bigger than softballs, but I still ate one peach more than most people, and that second one only out of a sense of duty. I mean, I couldn't very well just eat one of something when the offer was "all you can eat." It would have been unAmerican.

The next activity between me and the winery was washi making. Washi is Japanese paper made from the bark of the gampi tree.

Those bowls of purple liquid are the pulp for making washi and the thing in front of me is fine mesh screen with a wood frame. First you pour the pulp into the screen and gently move the screen back and forth so the water falls through the screen and the pulp is left behind. You let it rest for a bit, then repeat the process three times to make three layers. The pulp is a very weird texture. Kind of glue-like and fibrous with the viscosity of a big gob of cow snot. Yes, cow snot. I grew up on a farm. I have different reference points than normal people.

After all three layers were poured, we got to draw a design in the paper. Then we went off to the gift shop. I had just begun to peruse the paper when I was informed that someone had dropped my washi on the floor and I had to go re-make it. So, I got to feel the snot twice.

Then, the main event: the Shirayuri Winery. It was a small building with large stainless steel tanks in front so not very attractive, but frankly I didn't go to a winery to judge the architecture.

First we got to taste the grapes they use for the wine. This variety actually hails from the Adirondacks. Amazing, right? I came all the way to Japan only to run smack-dab into upstate New York. Yes, you do see paper hats on the grapes, just like with the peaches. Actually, the grapes in the picture above are only half dressed. They also grow grapes to sell in the grocery store and each bunch of grapes sports a white body suit so the wind won't damage them. The wind. Which, the last time I checked was just air.

After we left the yummy, but mosquito-filled vineyard, we went inside for the tasting.

Japanese wine isn't like European wine or American wine. It's fruity and sweeter, and doesn't age well. As in, do not let it sit around for 20 years, because it will be disgusting.

I couldn't take advantage of the wine tasting as much as I would have liked. I had to drive from the base back home and everyone has a take-no-chances attitude with how crazy low the Japanese DUI limit is. What I lacked in the wine tasting, I completely obliterated with the amount of wine I brought home. I'm talking a huge amount of wine. Big bottles, little bottles, sample bottles. Expect alcohol for Christmas.

I have yet to uncork a big bottle, but the smaller bottles have been this lonely girl's best friends. Don't judge me.

Beauty and the Off-Beat

Omotesando means "Holy crap, what a beautiful street! Wow, this place is expensive. Chanel, Dior and Galliano. Are those security guards at the door? With ear pieces and everything? Wow. Is that a Body Shop? What are Body Shop and one of the largest Louis Vuitton stores in the world doing occupying the same block?"

It's only a rough (and completely made up) translation.

This beautiful place is Omotesando:

Every mental image I've ever had of Tokyo was one of energy. Lights, crowds, noise, weird but enticing food smells. This street, I never expected.

It's peaceful. Look at those trees.

Tokyo has amazing and huge parks. In fact, Omotesando ends at one, but the parks contain nature inside their boundaries. The rest of the city is all business (the business of being a city, that is. There are more than enough ways to get yourself into trouble in this place).

It's easy to relax and window shop here. It's shady and surprisingly quiet. It's known as the Champs-Elysees of Tokyo, even the garbage cans say so. Seriously. They do.


I, of course, was there to spend thousands of dollars on shoes.

...
...
...

That's not true, but I just thought I'd give you a minute to indulge in fantasy with me.

I was there to hunt bargains at one of the most well-known shops in Tokyo (at least for tourists), Oriental Bazaar. It is so reasonable I just walked around double-checking prices for awhile. All the rumors about Japan being expensive are true, and then some. This store however, is three floors of happy low prices. I would love to tell you what I bought. I would love to post pictures. Unfortunately, all information is classified. Gifts for my in-laws. Don't tell them.

Speaking of classified, I had this exchange with Blake tonight on Facebook chat:

Me: So what did you do today?
He: I flew to the carrier to drop some people off. That's about as much as I should probably say.
Me: You're like Jason Bourne.

There is no good transition from that back to my post so I'm just going to limp awkwardly toward how I spent the rest of my day.

Harajuku. I was both impressed and disappointed. Impressed by all the really interesting things I saw. Disappointed that I didn't see Gwen Stefani.

I didn't really see any people dressed in crazy strange fashions. I guess the weird stuff comes out on Sunday. Because on the seventh day, God rested, and then changed out of robes and into a gothic French maid outfit with kitty ears, fishnet stockings and a blue wig.

Harajuku Station

It's filled with little shops selling so many things their tables and racks spill out into the street and block your path to get your attention. Lots of clothes, some of them fairly normal, some of them really out there. I came across a t-shirt stand that had all these weird t-shirts with English and Japanese translations. Like, "I'm a pervert," and "I don't speak Japanese," and "one day I will become a samurai."  Also t-shirts of a bunch of cows sitting at a dinner table looking very, very sadly down at a piece of steak. Then one of pigs looking very, very sadly down at a ham. And a tuna looking very, very sadly down at sushi. I know it sounds funny and ironic, but the artist was actually too good at their job and the pictures made me feel kind of bad.

So I cheered myself up with food. Every post eventually ends up at food.

I had a crepe. There's a joke somewhere about a crepe load of crepe, but I'm not going to force it on you.

Harajuku has a lot of crepe stands. In fact, two of them face each other, on either side of a very narrow street. They just stand there like two old guys giving each other the stink-eye. I bypassed that feud and went for a different option. A picture cannot do my crepe justice because all the goodness was wrapped up inside and I wasn't going to unwrap my perfect crepe just so you all could see its guts.

Instead, here is this:

It's shaved ice. Very big in Japan. Not a surprise since walking anywhere in summer is like wearing a down coat in a sauna. The one on the left is strawberry. The one on the right is harder to pin down. It's green. That white orb thing is ice cream. That thing on top is probably a mystery to you. It's beans. For once, I am not joking. It seriously is a blob of beans.

Bean filling is very, very common here. I cannot tell you the number of times I've bitten into something (savory or sweet) and surprise! I have a mouth full of red bean paste. This is the first time I've ever seen it as a topping on ice. But there it is.

I'm sure my crepe tasted better.

Just Food

Many of the meals Blake and I have eaten in Japan have included this little interaction:

-Look at that guy.
-Holy crap, that is a huge bowl of noodles.
-How does he expect to eat that?
-There is no way he can eat that.
-Why would anyone order such a thing?

I don't know about those people, but this lady ordered one on accident.

One of the unexpected things about Blake being deployed is how my eating habits have changed. I knew they would change at home, but they've changed when I eat out too. When Blake and I are together, it is acceptable for one of us to order a safe, relatively "normal" looking dish, and one of us to order something off the wall. Because I am eating solo, it is up to me to choose the safe path or the adventurous path. You never know which option will be rewarded with tasty greatness.

In Oak City Mall, the McDonald's called to me. The picture of the fries gets me every time. I knew, though, that if Blake ever found out I'd eaten at a McDonald's while there were so many Japanese options, he would divorce me. So, I went with a non-threatening bowl of noodles and soup. They weren't udon (big, white noodles), they weren't ramen (skinny and yellow) and they weren't soba (buckwheat noodles). I don't know what kind of noodles they were. I do know, however, that there were a crap-load of them.

When the lady handed me the bowl, I know I overreacted. I was visibly shocked, eyes huge, mouth agape, frozen for a few seconds before finally taking the tray from her. I couldn't very well run screaming from the food court.

Unfortunately, I could not take a picture that really did this bowl justice. No matter what angle I took a picture, no matter what I put next to the bowl to try and put it in perspective, it just didn't look right. Take my word for it. The top side of this bowl was bigger than my face.

And then I had to eat it. It's kind of like when you know you have a really big job to do. The process seems so daunting, you don't even want to start.

I started with the tiny shrimp and bits of seafood. I ate the noodles, some onion. And I've got to say, it is the most bland thing I've eaten in this country yet, and that includes a slice of white bread. I can only assume they did this on purpose because nothing could so lack in salt and flavor on accident, not with so many tasty things in it. The gyoza were delicious, of course. I've yet to meet one I haven't wanted to eat over and over again.

Yesterday, I ate this:

There's a little ramen place not far from where we live. No, this isn't a bowl of ramen (and yes, the bowls of ramen here are ginormous), but it was amazingly delicious. There are ramen noodles (or ryu-men as the menu says) buried under the sprouts and beef. It's so good-looking, you'd think it was fake. Which is funny, considering there is so much fake food in this country. Many, many, many restaurants display fake versions of their dishes in a window at the front of their shop. They look something like this:

Except this is a real plate of food. It's a little disconcerting when your food shows up looking exactly like the plastic replica, right down to the reflective finish. This was supposedly chicken, but it was a strange color and a frightening texture.

I couldn't let the last picture be of a dish that was completely awful, so here's a picture of yakitori:

This adorable woman sets up her little yakitori grill in front of a grocery store near Seya Station. I asked if I could take her picture. She was very nice and even gave her me best jazz hands. Better yet, I had a delicious skewer of chicken dipped in amazing sauce. She was also selling skewers of liver, which I am not a huge fan of. Japan is a country that loves their bits. Random bits of animals are routinely sold pretty much everywhere. Anything tastes good grilled and dipped in sauce.

Blake is eating a lot of barbecue too. Wait, did I say barbecue? I meant barbecue sauce. While my food has been hit or miss by my own decision making process, Blake's food has been miss or less-of-a-miss on the ship. I can't help but ask him what he's been eating lately. My questions have often been answered with "We had________. It wasn't that good, so I just put BBQ sauce on it." 

The other day I let slip that I'd had an avocado. I immediately tagged it as an over-share when Blake's email response included a very, very sad and pathetic "I'd really like to get my hands on that avocado." Unless they do an underway replenishment, fresh fruit is scarce. It's a good thing Blake is so busy. It keeps his mind not only off home, but off his taste buds, which may never be the same again.