To be honest, I came to Tokyo for only three reasons. Each had been percolating in my mind, independently, for years. Each seemed to be something I needed to do. Each of these demanded a pilgrimage. And each of these would be difficult.
I first read about The Ghibli Museum in a New Yorker profile on Hayao Miyazaki, one of my favorite filmmakers. A legend in Japan, he's created a number of gorgeous, meditative animated masterpieces -- Spirited Away, Howl's Moving Castle, and Ponyo are my three favorites. They're slow, weird, dark, and scary. Most of all, they're films about awe. Awe for the protagonists, and for the audience as well. The Ghibli Museum is his own tribute to his work and his inspirations.
Like any good pilgrimage, it wasn't an easy journey. Tickets could only be bought, in advance, from Japanese-language ATMs in Lawson's Convenience Stores. It took an hour to find a Lawson's. And then thirty minutes to work out how to buy a ticket. Then another hour to get to the suburb.
I needed a break. I needed sustenance. I needed some kobe beef.
Some girl had told me about a little shop, so small only a dozen customers, maybe less, could fit inside, with some of the best kobe beef you could find. One stop before Ghibli, I hopped off the train, and guided my way through alleyways, by intuition, straight to Satou. And what a find! Meat so tender, oozing with sop-worthy juices, every bite a dream.
The Satou waitress had forced a large paper apron on me, which -- alongside the instrumental version of "Chim Chim Cher-ee" playing softly, I felt a little like a character in One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest. But the two chefs slicing and frying meat inches away from me were nothing like mean ol' Nurse Ratchett... maybe more like sweet Mary Poppins. Satou was glorious.
The Satou waitress had forced a large paper apron on me, which -- alongside the instrumental version of "Chim Chim Cher-ee" playing softly, I felt a little like a character in One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest. But the two chefs slicing and frying meat inches away from me were nothing like mean ol' Nurse Ratchett... maybe more like sweet Mary Poppins. Satou was glorious.
Thus far, the best meal in Tokyo.
Another "best meal" contender was Toraji Param, a Korean hormone restaurant on the 500-something-th floor of some fancy Tokyo building. As the elevator flew up the 5000 flights, my ears popped. At our table, floor-to-ceiling windows showed off all of Tokyo. It was jaw-dropping, to put it mildly.
Another "best meal" contender was Toraji Param, a Korean hormone restaurant on the 500-something-th floor of some fancy Tokyo building. As the elevator flew up the 5000 flights, my ears popped. At our table, floor-to-ceiling windows showed off all of Tokyo. It was jaw-dropping, to put it mildly.
And then the food came. And my jaw dropped again.
Before this meal, I'd never heard of "hormone restaurants," but it's a new Tokyo fad where every part of the animal is offered on the menu. You want to try delicate, thinly-sliced, cow's diaphram? We got it! And it was TDF. So amazingly tasty.
Before this meal, I'd never heard of "hormone restaurants," but it's a new Tokyo fad where every part of the animal is offered on the menu. You want to try delicate, thinly-sliced, cow's diaphram? We got it! And it was TDF. So amazingly tasty.
We had a series of other oddball parts of the animal, but nothing made me cry like the diaphram -- so delicious!!! Except, maybe, the bowl of raw beef with an egg yolk on top. OMG YES!!! Even their $8-a-slice premium-grade kalbi didn't meet this perfection.
You might think it a bad idea to eat all these weird and raw meats. I did, too. So I found the world's only Parasite Museum here. Sadly, everything was written in Japanese, and I couldn't find a single employee to translate. Just an unlocked door, and room after room of parasites, and no people. Even the gift-shop was empty... parasite key-chains (real parasites!) stood waiting to be sold, but I left them there.
But back to Ghibli! I really can't describe it well. It was incredibly magical. It was weird, and odd, and, like his movies, filled with awe. There were physical animations (using times strobe lights) that made me giggle with joy. Everywhere, drawers to be opened, keyholes to be peeked through, doorways too small for adults to climb through, exhibits hidden away. Nothing was explained -- they only said "Let's lose our way, together." I lost my way. It was like Willy Wonka and Dave Eggers opened a place of curious glee together.
In a small movie theater, we watched a gorgeous scene from Totoro, a wonderful old Miyazaki film distributed by Troma. Along with a room full of Japanese adults and teens and kids and ust a handful of European geeks, I ate it up with such a wild wide smile.
Me and Totoro.
So the first pilgrimage was tackled, leading me to Mission #2: Miracle Fruit!
I'd heard about Miracle Fruit at a hipster science conference in New York a few years ago, and had dreams of them ever since. History: in the 1700s, an explorer moved into a West African village. Everything was great, except the food -- it was horrible! Sour, disgusting, absolutely inedible! After a few days in the village, though, he realized the locals were all sucking on berries before eating. He joined in, and suddenly, this vile meal became glorious! So sweet, so tasty -- absolutely divine! Turns out this berry makes everything sour taste sweet!
In America, though, it's banned. Sugar and confection lobbyists have kept the berry outlawed, leaving Japan to trailblaze with a handful of Berry shops. And, after a few hours of looking, I finally found one.
I'd heard about Miracle Fruit at a hipster science conference in New York a few years ago, and had dreams of them ever since. History: in the 1700s, an explorer moved into a West African village. Everything was great, except the food -- it was horrible! Sour, disgusting, absolutely inedible! After a few days in the village, though, he realized the locals were all sucking on berries before eating. He joined in, and suddenly, this vile meal became glorious! So sweet, so tasty -- absolutely divine! Turns out this berry makes everything sour taste sweet!
In America, though, it's banned. Sugar and confection lobbyists have kept the berry outlawed, leaving Japan to trailblaze with a handful of Berry shops. And, after a few hours of looking, I finally found one.
Hidden on the top floor of Ikebukoro's Sun City Mall, in the back of the terrible Namjatown Theme Park, there's a restaurant: The Miracle Fruit Cafe. For $2.50, they'll sell you one berry.
And to see the effects, you can buy a number of sour-as-hell taste-bud testers. I ordered them all. Lemons, limes, sour candies, undrinkably sour juices in test tubes, weird orange-colored sliced things, and one horrible umeboshi plum.
The umeboshi plum was about the worst thing I've ever put in my mouth. Here, this is how bad it tastes.
Seriously, I'll rather eat durian.
So, nervously, I sucked on the berry for two minutes, picked up a slice of lemon, and cautiously took a lick. "Not bad," I thought. I moved forward to a small nibble. "Wow, this is good." The next thing you know, I'd shoved the whole thing in my mouth, and was chewing away. Delicious!!!
So, nervously, I sucked on the berry for two minutes, picked up a slice of lemon, and cautiously took a lick. "Not bad," I thought. I moved forward to a small nibble. "Wow, this is good." The next thing you know, I'd shoved the whole thing in my mouth, and was chewing away. Delicious!!!
If I look kinda scared, I was. This was the best thing I'd ever eaten!!! So sweet!!! All the taste of a lemon, but the sweetness of an orange. A really, really tasty orange. YES! I chewed away at both lemon slices, the lime, the sour candies, the orange things. The liquids that I'd earlier gagged on were suddenly sweet and delicious!
And, after I'd moved through everything else, I came back to that horrid umeboshi plum. But now, it was heaven. I could suddenly taste all the depth of the flavor, with none of the horror. It was smooth, and complex, and layered. I bit, and chewed, and ate and ate and, and it was gone. I was sad. I'd loved it.
And, after I'd moved through everything else, I came back to that horrid umeboshi plum. But now, it was heaven. I could suddenly taste all the depth of the flavor, with none of the horror. It was smooth, and complex, and layered. I bit, and chewed, and ate and ate and, and it was gone. I was sad. I'd loved it.
The miracle fruit, just like the Ghibli Museum, was an incredible hit. I didn't care that I'd had to pay admission fee to a theme park to get this berry, or that I'd had to fly to Japan. It was all worth the hype.
Beyond these first two pilgrimages, I've been having a blast exploring the quirk of Tokyo.
Fashion: Pink is everywhere, lace is everywhere, it's the Lolita look.
Fashion: Pink is everywhere, lace is everywhere, it's the Lolita look.
But the real style de saison is dressing like a 19th Century French Maid. It's weird, but it's everywhere! Even white girls are buying in!
And so, of course, a world of maid-staffed businesses have appeared. They have maid bars, maid cafes, even maid foot massages... I didn't visit any of these.
Well, maybe I kinda did...
Okay, to be perfectly honest, I kinda went to them all.
The opener was at Nakano's Broadway Mall, a haven for geeky hipsters, with scores of shops selling maid costumes, princess costumes, and comic books. On the 2nd floor I found the Maid Foot Massage, probably the worst foot massage I've ever had, but also the most unique. The manager and his girlfriend perched beside Miko, excitedly quizzing me for the whole massage. "Where you come from?" "How did you find this place?" "You like maid?" "You must visit Akihabara," Do-ichi the manager insisted, to eager nods from the two others. "Yes, they have many maids there!"
Akihabara's a seedy world of pachinko parlours, comic book stores, and electronics shops, pretty much a geek heaven. And what's a geek heaven without maid bars? It was there that I found MaiDreamin' and my new pal, Rika.
Completely crowded, MaiDreamin' was full of drunk salarymen, toasting, but also filled with geeky couples on dates, two women and their young daughters, and a half-dozen bubbly Japanese French maids. I was again the only gaijin, and was again treated like a novelty by the maids. (I was the novelty? You're the one dressed from the 19th century, lady!) Pink and frills were everywhere, as were cutesy notes on the walls ("no photos" with a huge smiley-face cartoon), and photos of teen pop stars. When my beer came, Rika insisted I join her in a girly chant before I drink. "Oishii ku na ne," we both shouted, "Mui, mui, mui!" I had no idea what it meant, but with each "mui" we had to make heart shapes with our hands. (David later explained to me it means something like "This tastes terrible! I don't want, I don't want, I don't want!") When my nuggets arrived, we repeated the chant, Rika giggling the whole time. This was like a Japanese Hooters without the strippers. And with French maids. It was awesome.
And I'm not sure who decided to put a big ol' Statue of Liberty here on the Tokyo beach, but someone did. It's disorienting. It's brilliant. The beach only measures ~40 feet. It makes no sense. Crowds of school kids queued up around it. But I didn't come to Tokyo for Americana. I came for pure Japanese awesomeness, so left it quickly.
Kids on the subway this afternoon. Late nights, huh?
Actually, maybe those kids should have stopped at one of the Love Hotels for a little nap! I loved the euphemistic use of "rest" in the prices.
More to come!!!
1 comment:
sounds awesome! i don't know how you find your way to all these amazing places in such a short amount of time! do you know someone in every country? keep us updated!
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