Funny Vignettes From Japan

OK, so I've been lazy these last few days, but I blame the sickness. During the whole two weeks of my time in Indonesia, I'd had a SWELL time digesting just about everything. Then I spent 15 rush-filled hours in Tokyo, expended my body beyond its capacities, lapsing into a degraded state. I lay pitifully in bed with a bad cold, body aches, and a horribly runny nose, not to mention the lasting effects of that last meal of mysterious fish sausage which caught up with my digestive system. Let's just say the results haven't been good.

In the meantime, I have been observing a pretty simple life here in the outskirts of Japan. Don't worry, I plan to use my profuse amount of free time in order to fill you in with the rest of my days in Indonesia, but until then, how about a short vignette about life in Japan:

Getting my Burger Fix

I'm situated in a smallish apartment on the outskirts of Nagoya, about an hour away from the city, at the end of the subway line. I'd been craving something incredibly American, since I'd been away from my home country about a month now. I put together which I'd been orchestrating last night since my late evening visit to APITA (pronounced, Ah-PI-Tah, not A Pita ). It's the local emporium of goods for sale, things like donuts, Eddie Bauer sweaters, and all the groceries fit for a quirky nation like Japan.

My burger was supremely not only one of the best I've ever had, but also one of the simplest. I was lucky to find a tiny little cast iron skillet in the apartment I'm residing in (which has passed through many generations of missionaries, thereby leaving tons of bric-a-brac like this little skillet). I fired up the tiny cast-iron skillet on the stove, which, by the way, happens to be more fitting at a campsite than an established living quarter. The middle section of the "stove" if you want to call it that, holds a little oven, which I used for toasting my little hamburger buns. These petite little buns were on sale for a mere 70 yen a pair (70 yen! with today's exchange rate that's like..85 cents...boo). I procured my meat on sale as well, only 210 yen for the package, which should afford 2 burger patties and the leftovers for a patty melt. I seasoned it with salt/pepper and a bit of garlic salt, for kicks.

Before the raw patty hit the skillet, I warmed up some oil and fried an egg. Eggs aren't meant to be fried in this manner, on STICKY cast-iron skillets (regrettably, this one was not seasoned with fat). I just crisped up the bottom of the egg and scrapped it off, to be used later. Then I grilled up the patty, browning it on both sides with a nice sear. The tiny apartment soon filled with that mysterious fog that permeates a room with the browning of meat. I love that weird haze. The smell can linger for days, YUM. After you flip the burger, top it was a slice of cheese, to let me melt.

Top the patty with the fried egg, then squirt on some ketchup. Oh my, it's a feast for both the eyes and belly. I was thoroughly satiated.





Soaking up that runny egg yolk from the plate is just...wrong in so many ways...but soooo right.

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The Ice Block

Now a libation MUST accompany such a fine meal of gustatory pleasure, especially when such a meal is as rare and out of place in a country that triumphs things like sashimi and natto (gross!)

There's nothing that goes better with a good burger than ICE COLD Coca-Cola Classic. The problem is, ice is not to be found. A-HA!, I thought this one through and decided to use a flimsy but well-sized piece of tupperware as a makeshift ice machine. Sure the block of ice would be harder than a rock, but heck, good bartenders at places like the Varnish chop these things up into tasty, baseball-sized morsels every day, so why would I be able to do it?

Problem is, I'm incredibly thirsty and now I have the problem of cutting this lousy block of ice up without the requisite tools. I try to keep an ice pick as far away from me as possible after learning of its nefarious uses in the past as a lobotomy tool. SO, I resorted to using a butter knife.

Trying to saw a block of ice with a thin butter knife is as monkey-like and idiotic as one might imagine in their minds. I even tried turning on the stove and HEATING UP the knife, hoping it would come upon the block of ice as angrily as it would hot butter. Nay.

I tried hammering down on the ice with my inadequate butter knife, to no avail. There were numerous interior cracks in the ice, so it just had to break! The loud banging in the apartment didn't do me any good. I felt like I was bothering the neighbors, an unkind gesture at 12 Midnight.

My roommate told me that if you bother the neighbors, you have to bring them a gift the next day as penance. Something like a small cake or a bowl of fruit. I wish my college roommates were as kind as Japanese apartment dwellers.

I didn't want to resort to that sort to situation, so I looked around, thinking of a solution. Then it hit me! Use one of those thick-plastic bags from APITA, place the block inside, and let out ALL the rage that had been pent up inside of me (incidentally not very much anger), and bust that block on the cement.

My first attempt would've put me into the gift-giving scenario quicker than ever. I slammed the block on the floor of the stairwell, which was lined with concrete, but whose noise clammered up and down the vicinity with disgusting amplitude. I hushed and grew red in the face. No one came out of their apartment, thankfully.

On second attempt, I ran down the stairs to the first floor and then let that block have it on the ground, away from the stairwell. It shatter into a million pieces, some large, some small enough for the tiny cups in my kitchen, and all of them perfect for my refreshing glass of Coke.





Twist open Coke bottle, pour into glass full of luscious, cold, SOLID ice, and let the choral sizzle foam down before you drink...Ahhhhhh.

Now back to more 30 Rock episodes so I can further neglect my entries on Indonesia.

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Great...my roommate Joey just told me you can get buckets of FREE Ice from APITA....There's a dispenser next to the florist. OH well.