10-26-2008
Sunday Night Family Restaurant Fun
A sequel to “Japanese Faces.”
Tonight, exactly a week after my frightful Gusto experience (please scroll down and read my last story before you read this one), I once again decided to drop my foreign face into one of Rural Japan's many family restaurants. I wanted to give the Zentsuji Gusto some time to hire and train some new staff after my last visit, so I bypassed it tonight and went out of the way to stop at the local Tadotsu branch of Joyfull (yes, there are two l's in the Joyfull restaurant). It's a restaurant of comparable menu and quality, only Joyfull is a little cheaper for most things, the drink bar is a mere shadow of Gusto's, and I'm not on their blacklist. I was in the mood for hamburg (Here's a Japanese word for you: hanbaaga), and Joyfull is a good place for it. Japanese Hamburg is bunless, like a small meat-loaf about the size of a thick hamburger pattie. Often, it is served with a sweet, onion sauce, and it serves as a cheap filler for western food when you're feeling beef-deprived.
Now, Japanese hamburg is different from an American hamburger, which is more like Japanese burger (another Japanese word for you: baagaa). But I wasn't in the for boogers or burgers, rather for hamberg. Upon ordering, I found that my Japanese had much improved, because ordering in a restaurant no longer holds me in terror. The only part I'm still not sure about is the question “yoroshii desuka?” It either means “Can I get you anything else” or “Is everything OK?” The problem with this is that I never know if I'm supposed to answer yes, no, “I'm sorry,” or “domo arigato gozaimasu.” Usually I mutter “hai,” (yes) in a low enough voice that the server goes away after giving me my food, which is what I want in the first place.
It was an interesting evening, because it took them about three times as long as usual to bring out my food. In the high-class world of Japanese customer service, this is a cardinal sin. However, they delivered my hot-iron plate (set in a wooden holder) in picture-perfect formation: two hamburgs (one with cheese and tomatoes, one with a pepper-onion sauce), two potato chunks, four green beans, and a handful-size pile of corn. Oh, and a separate plate with rice on it. Happily, I finally began to feast.
BUT NO. There was a problem. As I began to eat my pepper-oniony hamburg, I found that in the middle, it was still very pink. As I munched on my cheesy-tomato hamburg and my four green beans, I pondered if it would be worth it to tell the server and finally rung the pager to call him over. A lady come, and when I muttered something about a little raw, she instantly began apologizing and took my hamburg plate back to the kitchen, ignoring my protests that "well, the other one is OK..."
When she got back to the kitchen, I heard her say "kotchi mo" or "this one, too." As I sat there, I pondered Japanese customer service and realized that they would probably make me a whole plate, which would take time. I really wanted to eat the rest of my food, but they'd taken everything except my plate of rice, which I continued to munch on (but rice by itself doesn't have much flavor, and I wanted to save it for the return of dinner).
When the server returned, apologizing, with my meal, sure enough, there was a brand new meal: two hamburgs, two potato chunks, a handful-sized pile of corn, and four green beans, all served on a hot iron plate set in a wooden holder. To top it off, they gave me a new plate of rice, even when I tried to say that I already had one (they snatched the old plate like some kind of radioactive waste).
So, there I was, already half-full from eating half a meal, with a whole new meal in front of me. Did you know that it takes at least 15 minutes for your body to realize it's full, no matter how much you eat? Well, it had been 15 minutes since I'd started eating. There was just no way I could finish it all. I still can feel the texture of soft, warm beef in my mouth.
However, here's where I really tripped them up. When I was down to my last hamburg, I called the server over and said, “I'm really full, and I'd like to take this home.” He stared blankly. “Do you have a box?” Embarrassed, as Japanese employees always are when they can't give you exactly what you want, he shank back to the ubiquitous “employee only” safe haven (in this case the kitchen) after telling me to wait. There, I'm certain that all the server held a small-scale meeting to discuss the situation. He returned with some aluminum foil from the kitchen and wrapped my meat up quite nicely, completing it with a small floral arrangement. Apparently, you just don't use to-go boxes much in Japan. However, I got breakfast out of the whole ordeal.
To end the evening, the chef came out, said something I didn't quite catch about “dishonoring Japan and the Joyfull corporation,” and committed seppuku.
And so, the legend of the wide-eyed foreigner who asks for boxes at restaurants continues to spread across Kagawa prefecture. At this rate, I may run out of restaurants within a few months.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Japanese faces
October 19, 2008
Japanese faces
“There is a desire in me to do what is good, but I'm so stupid that I can't.”
Guidance counselor: So you like international travel and interpersonal conflict. Anything else?
Student: Oh, I also love awkward and embarrassing situations.
Guidance counselor: Oh really...
Student: What do you think I should do with my life?
Guidance counselor: Have you considered becoming a missionary?
People say that all Japanese faces look alive. That's just because most Americans don't know enough Japanese to see the subtle but obvious differences (everything is subtle, here, even things that are obvious). However, living in Japan, I must say that the “all Asians look alike” thing is a myth.
That being said, I can't remember Japanese faces. But I also couldn't remember American faces in college, so it's to be expected. However, it's worse here. You see, when I walk into a room with 15 people and they start introducing them selves (Yamanaka, Matsuyama, Matsunaka, Nakayama, Yamayama...), each of them has one foreign face to remember. And since they've only met two or three foreigners in their lives, each of them will clearly remember my face to their grave. However, I have 15 faces to remember, so I will remember none of them. I can't tell you how many awkward situations this makes for.
Almost a month ago, Dawn and I went to eat at Gusto in Zentsuji, and when we sat down, our waitress said a word I hate: “oboemasuka?” This roughly translates to: “Hey, I know who you are, but do you remember me? Because if not, then you're a jerk who needs to pay attention to people other than himself!!” I was confused, and Dawn couldn't hear what she was saying, but she said her name was “Miki” (a name held by 10% of the women in Japan), then she muttered something about “Ai” (which means “love”), then she looked really flustered and ran away. Slowly, we realized that she was that girl who had come to an event in Ayauta with her friend Ai. We did not get the chance to talk to her again before leaving the restaurant, but we did notice that a different girl waited on us for the rest of the night, and Miki was nowhere to be found. She probably became a hikikomori out of embarrassment.
Well, we felt pretty bad about all this, especially because we wanted to invite her to future events. I'd wanted to go in at the same time on a different week to try to apologize, and tonight I got the chance to. I was really nervous, and just wanted to go home and eat, but I couldn't shake the feeling that God was telling me to go in and try to re-establish contact with this girl.
As I waited to order my food, I was scoping out all the servers: three girls and a guy. I was sure that one girl wasn't Miki, but not sure about the other two. I was also sure the guy wasn't Miki. The hard part is that at Gusto, all the girls dress exactly the same, wear their hair exactly the same, and put on makeup so that their faces look exactly the same. Subtle differences... subtle differences...
I was uneasy the entire time I waited for my food and ate. Which one of these girls was Miki? Was Miki even working? They all seemed really uneasy, but maybe they were just tired after the long shift. Or maybe folk legends have already sprouted up around me. I don't know, but I didn't recognize any of the girls as Miki (which didn't surprise me, because I'm terrible at recognizing faces, remember), though I bet they thought I was really creepy for staring them the whole time. However, I noticed that one seemed to be avoiding me more than all the others, and she seemed to have a few more centi-Mikis (if I were to form a metric unit out of a girl whose appearance I'm clueless of). So, with a prayer for divine strength and wisdom, when I saw that girl go to the register to accept payment from another couple, I knew she was trapped and pounced upon my opportunity.
Did I mention that I ate Gusto Doria? It was one of the cheapest things on the menu (409 yen), and it was quite good: a mixture of white sauce and marinara sauce served over a kind of rice pilaf.
Anyways, I stared Miki down and swallowed my nervousness as she accepted my 1010 yen and opened the register. Her name tag showed her family name, “Shirogawa,” but of course it didn't have her personal name on it, so I had no way of knowing. Oh, if only I remembered! Just earlier in the day, I was addressing an envelope to this very same Miki with an invitation to next week's event inside! If only I would have had the soundness of mind to take note of her family name when I had the chance! But alas, for all such opportunities were passed from the world of reality, and only an icy, throbbing sense of regret remained at such a momentous oversight.
As Miki handed me 601 yen, a receipt, and a drink bar coupon, I muttered unintelligibly, “Sumimasen” (sorry). After her blank stare, I said, “Sono mae no toki, domo sumimasen,” which may or may not mean “I'm sorry for last time.” Her blank stare turned to utter bewilderment and terror, and I said one more time, “Sumimasen,” which means, “Hand me my change already so I can go home and cry.” I think I may have produced another hikikomori.
So, the legend of the short-haired, four-eyed foreigner continues to spread upon the winds of embarrassment, and that Gusto has a new name to me: the Gusto of Awkwardness. Men quake, women scream, and children weep at the sight of my blue, button-down shirts and the gleam upon my glasses, whilst I curse Gusto for their strict dress-code under the full moon that rises so quietly over the still waters.
Do you love awkward situations? Then for crying out loud, come to the mission field! We need you!
Japanese faces
“There is a desire in me to do what is good, but I'm so stupid that I can't.”
Guidance counselor: So you like international travel and interpersonal conflict. Anything else?
Student: Oh, I also love awkward and embarrassing situations.
Guidance counselor: Oh really...
Student: What do you think I should do with my life?
Guidance counselor: Have you considered becoming a missionary?
People say that all Japanese faces look alive. That's just because most Americans don't know enough Japanese to see the subtle but obvious differences (everything is subtle, here, even things that are obvious). However, living in Japan, I must say that the “all Asians look alike” thing is a myth.
That being said, I can't remember Japanese faces. But I also couldn't remember American faces in college, so it's to be expected. However, it's worse here. You see, when I walk into a room with 15 people and they start introducing them selves (Yamanaka, Matsuyama, Matsunaka, Nakayama, Yamayama...), each of them has one foreign face to remember. And since they've only met two or three foreigners in their lives, each of them will clearly remember my face to their grave. However, I have 15 faces to remember, so I will remember none of them. I can't tell you how many awkward situations this makes for.
Almost a month ago, Dawn and I went to eat at Gusto in Zentsuji, and when we sat down, our waitress said a word I hate: “oboemasuka?” This roughly translates to: “Hey, I know who you are, but do you remember me? Because if not, then you're a jerk who needs to pay attention to people other than himself!!” I was confused, and Dawn couldn't hear what she was saying, but she said her name was “Miki” (a name held by 10% of the women in Japan), then she muttered something about “Ai” (which means “love”), then she looked really flustered and ran away. Slowly, we realized that she was that girl who had come to an event in Ayauta with her friend Ai. We did not get the chance to talk to her again before leaving the restaurant, but we did notice that a different girl waited on us for the rest of the night, and Miki was nowhere to be found. She probably became a hikikomori out of embarrassment.
Well, we felt pretty bad about all this, especially because we wanted to invite her to future events. I'd wanted to go in at the same time on a different week to try to apologize, and tonight I got the chance to. I was really nervous, and just wanted to go home and eat, but I couldn't shake the feeling that God was telling me to go in and try to re-establish contact with this girl.
As I waited to order my food, I was scoping out all the servers: three girls and a guy. I was sure that one girl wasn't Miki, but not sure about the other two. I was also sure the guy wasn't Miki. The hard part is that at Gusto, all the girls dress exactly the same, wear their hair exactly the same, and put on makeup so that their faces look exactly the same. Subtle differences... subtle differences...
I was uneasy the entire time I waited for my food and ate. Which one of these girls was Miki? Was Miki even working? They all seemed really uneasy, but maybe they were just tired after the long shift. Or maybe folk legends have already sprouted up around me. I don't know, but I didn't recognize any of the girls as Miki (which didn't surprise me, because I'm terrible at recognizing faces, remember), though I bet they thought I was really creepy for staring them the whole time. However, I noticed that one seemed to be avoiding me more than all the others, and she seemed to have a few more centi-Mikis (if I were to form a metric unit out of a girl whose appearance I'm clueless of). So, with a prayer for divine strength and wisdom, when I saw that girl go to the register to accept payment from another couple, I knew she was trapped and pounced upon my opportunity.
Did I mention that I ate Gusto Doria? It was one of the cheapest things on the menu (409 yen), and it was quite good: a mixture of white sauce and marinara sauce served over a kind of rice pilaf.
Anyways, I stared Miki down and swallowed my nervousness as she accepted my 1010 yen and opened the register. Her name tag showed her family name, “Shirogawa,” but of course it didn't have her personal name on it, so I had no way of knowing. Oh, if only I remembered! Just earlier in the day, I was addressing an envelope to this very same Miki with an invitation to next week's event inside! If only I would have had the soundness of mind to take note of her family name when I had the chance! But alas, for all such opportunities were passed from the world of reality, and only an icy, throbbing sense of regret remained at such a momentous oversight.
As Miki handed me 601 yen, a receipt, and a drink bar coupon, I muttered unintelligibly, “Sumimasen” (sorry). After her blank stare, I said, “Sono mae no toki, domo sumimasen,” which may or may not mean “I'm sorry for last time.” Her blank stare turned to utter bewilderment and terror, and I said one more time, “Sumimasen,” which means, “Hand me my change already so I can go home and cry.” I think I may have produced another hikikomori.
So, the legend of the short-haired, four-eyed foreigner continues to spread upon the winds of embarrassment, and that Gusto has a new name to me: the Gusto of Awkwardness. Men quake, women scream, and children weep at the sight of my blue, button-down shirts and the gleam upon my glasses, whilst I curse Gusto for their strict dress-code under the full moon that rises so quietly over the still waters.
Do you love awkward situations? Then for crying out loud, come to the mission field! We need you!
Saturday, October 4, 2008
A mithril coat
Oct. 4, 2008
Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate;
And though I oft have passed them by,
A day will come at last when I
Shall take the hidden paths that run
West of the Moon, East of the Sun.
A! Elbereth Gilthoniel!
Silivaren penna miriel
O menel anglar elenath,
Gilthoniel, A! Elbereth!
We still remember, we who dwell
In this far land beneath the trees
The starlight on the Western Seas.
Dear friends,
I've been doing a lot of tract distribution in Aji lately, and let me tell you: there are some scary dogs in that town. And sooner or later, one of them is going to get me, no matter how careful I am. So, I've looked around a bit and decided that my best bet is with a long-sleeved mithril coat. I did a little shopping on ebay and found the worth to be greater than that of the entire Shire, which comes out to about US$8 billion, or 8 X 10^23 yen. I can't do this without you! Please prayerfully consider giving a one-time or monthly gift towards my purchase.
In addition, I've decided that being invisible would help quite a bit (especially when I get those long, “What's a foreigner doing here?” stares). So, I'm going to need a ring of power. Since the One was destroyed at the end of the third age and the Three (Narya, Vilya, and Nenya) departed into the Far West shortly thereafter, I'm stuck with one of the remaining Dwarven rings or with one of the Nine. I couldn't find any trace of them online, so I'd greatly appreciate it if you'd email me any leads you may find.
White gulls call,
Joey
Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate;
And though I oft have passed them by,
A day will come at last when I
Shall take the hidden paths that run
West of the Moon, East of the Sun.
A! Elbereth Gilthoniel!
Silivaren penna miriel
O menel anglar elenath,
Gilthoniel, A! Elbereth!
We still remember, we who dwell
In this far land beneath the trees
The starlight on the Western Seas.
Dear friends,
I've been doing a lot of tract distribution in Aji lately, and let me tell you: there are some scary dogs in that town. And sooner or later, one of them is going to get me, no matter how careful I am. So, I've looked around a bit and decided that my best bet is with a long-sleeved mithril coat. I did a little shopping on ebay and found the worth to be greater than that of the entire Shire, which comes out to about US$8 billion, or 8 X 10^23 yen. I can't do this without you! Please prayerfully consider giving a one-time or monthly gift towards my purchase.
In addition, I've decided that being invisible would help quite a bit (especially when I get those long, “What's a foreigner doing here?” stares). So, I'm going to need a ring of power. Since the One was destroyed at the end of the third age and the Three (Narya, Vilya, and Nenya) departed into the Far West shortly thereafter, I'm stuck with one of the remaining Dwarven rings or with one of the Nine. I couldn't find any trace of them online, so I'd greatly appreciate it if you'd email me any leads you may find.
White gulls call,
Joey
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