Hole in the Wall 

Things to soothe a soul on a gray, rainy, depressing day: an oolong highball, a friendly face, and a new dining venue.

Last weekend, while walking the dogs, Matthew and I noticed the telltale red lantern of a restaurant on the side of a building just slightly out of our normal everyday paths. Reading the menu, it appeared to be reasonable; hearing the laughter emanating from inside, it sounded like a good place to know. It also appeared to be teeny-tiny. We finally made it there tonight, and were greeted by the standard hearty shout of "Irasshaimase!" ("Welcome!") (Sidebar: this tradition can be unnerving the first few times you go into a restaurant in Japan because the first thing that crosses your mind is "Why is everyone in the joint yelling at me?"). Apparently consistent with our previous assessment, it was tiny -- only three tables, and about five seats at the bar, only one of which was unoccupied.

Seeing our disappointment, the proprietress directed us through a curtain to a traditional room in the back, meaning a room with low tables and zabutons (floor cushions for sitting). We took the table next to the kitchen serving window and set about making our dinner decisions -- katsu kare (breaded pork cutlet with curry) for Matthew, yakiniku teishoku (grilled meat set with rice, pickles, and miso soup) for me. A note on the menu directed patrons to ask "Father Hige" something after dinner. We regret to inform our readers that we did not comply with this directive.

Father Hige was the cook, who came out to chat with us personally. He and Matthew bonded over their moustaches before he took our order and disappeared. Matthew and I unwound over shochu (a distilled spirit) and the aforementioned oolong highball -- iced oolong tea mixed with shochu. Dinner itself was fast, hearty, and comforting.

As we were leaving, Matthew and Father Hige had a longish conversation in Japanese. Father Hige gave us a laminated delivery menu (yay!), complimented Matthew on his Japanese skills, and exhorted us to return. We assured him that we would, and wandered off into the night, full of good eats, good drinks, and the cheer resulting from being welcomed into someone's world.
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Another Sunset 



Why? Because I like sunsets, okay?
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The Pied Mokers 

Moki and Aki are both tired and ready for a nap after their walk this morning. Why? Because it's hard out here for a 'keeter.

Near our house, there's a park along the Waga River where we frequently walk them. This morning, two groups of schoolchildren were visiting the park. Children always attract Moki's attention, and, because of his size, he always attracts theirs. One group of kids spotted Moki and Aki, and began clumping near the path to see them. The dogs headed toward them, anticipating attention.

It was a mutual lovefest. The kids chattered and giggled, exclaiming over the dogs: "Kawaii! Ookii!" (translation: Cute! Big!) They were very excited to meet Americans and American Akita dogs. The dogs happily accepted the petting, stretching out their heads and sniffing at the kids. After a time, we all said our goodbyes, and made to leave. Matthew, the dogs, and I approached the second group of schoolkids, who did not seem as eager to meet the dogs. No matter -- the first group of kids had followed us, continuing to pet the dogs and chatter. I think they would have come home with us, much to Moki's delight, if the teachers hadn't made them stay at the park.

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Just Happy 



Sometimes, it's just good to be alive.

Typhoon Number 4 headed out to sea last night, so instead of the heavy rain predicted all day, we got partly cloudy skies, moderate temperatures, and a cool breeze. A major earthquake rattled Niigata, but we didn't feel it here.

We took an evening walk with the dogs to watch the sunset.

Sometimes, it's just good to be alive.
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Cupcake Withdrawal 

I want a cupcake.

Not a crappy Hostess cupcake. A nice, dense, buttercream-frosted American cupcake. You can't find those in Kitakami.

Good sweets aren't hard to find here. There are no fewer than six European-style bakeries in town, turning out delicious cheesecakes, eclairs, and whipped-cream-filled sponge rolls. This is true of many places in Japan, which is one of my favorite things about the country. Among packaged snacks, there's a lot to like -- the omnipresent and overwhelming variety of Pocky biscuit sticks, McVitie's digestive biscuits (Banana Blacks, where are you? Last year, you stole my heart as a result of the twelve-minute dash from the JR Sakamachi Station to the convenience store for snacks and back to catch our train. Now, you are nowhere to be found.), and many other little cookies whose third or fourth ingredient must be crack. The tofu cheese and the gift doughnuts at the local Okinawan joint. Black sesame sweet potato pies from Mister Donut. The black sesame gelato at the Namahaga Coffee Company in Akita City. Mochi. Youkan, if you're into bean jelly.

But cupcakes . . . I got nothing. When I worked in Southwest DC, I could run over to the closest Starbucks (which is to say the one two blocks away, rather than the one three blocks away) to pick up a drink and a cupcake to enjoy in my office. The closest Starbucks now is in Morioka, which is an hour north by train and may or may not have cupcakes (and, being a Japanese Starbucks, carries the inherent risk that its cupcakes will be, say, melon. Not a bad thing per se, just a thing.). They weren't the best cupcakes in the world, and the chocolate ones were infinitely better than the vanilla, but man, do I miss those cupcakes right now.

Matthew's craving, incidentally, is equally insatiable: scrapple.

Oh, elusive cupcake. Can't make you, can't buy you, can't get you out of my mind.
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Iron Chef Kitakami 

Many people in Japan have vegetable gardens in their yards. One of our neighbors sometimes shares produce from hers with us -- young snap peas, a summer spinach-like thing. Yesterday, she gave us a bunch of Japanese cucumbers, which have a smaller diameter and fewer seeds than American cucumbers. I can't bake anything because I don't have an oven, so I'm not sure how to reciprocate. Maybe I should show up with cocktails in the afternoon.

I've now got my special ingredient for the foreseeable future, since we can't let any of that natural, neighborly, cucumbery goodness go to waste. I don't claim to adhere to the "use secret ingredient in every dish" principle of the show, but we will eat things that involve cucumbers until they're gone. Yesterday, I made quick pickles using vinegar, sugar, and ginger. Tonight, I made this dish dressed with dashi, vinegar, soy sauce, and salt:



The cucumber is accompanied by young Japanese ginger and reconstituted wakame, a kind of seaweed. It's really pretty, and was really good.

We also had this simmered dish of lettuce (who knew?) and young sardines:



Doesn't it kind of look like something that, if served in a restaurant in America, would get a kitchen closed down for health code violations? Which would be too bad, because it was awesome. Good gravy, it was awesome, all savory and crisp -- perfect for a cold mountain evening. I'm now ready to put the baby sardines in just about anything. (Note to CFA Division: your future is sardines. Just saying.)
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Dog Days of Summer Already? 



It's supposed to be rainy season, and although we've gotten some rain, we've also had some hot days. With high humidity and no air conditioner, it can be quite stifling. A second-hand fan helps - except when the dog is hogging it, of course.

In other news, today Aki demonstrated just how poor her manners are. She was eating when I came home from work, so she barked with her mouth full. We need to send her to charm school, I guess.
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The Things We Do for Love 

1) Begin life together. Adopt and raise very cute Akita puppy.
2) Cheer for law-school-in-Washington-applying wife, even though acceptance would mean leaving family, new home, great job, and awesome friends.
3) Move to Washington, bringing Akita dog along. Mourn loss of very cute, but congenitally ill Akita dog. Also, mourn existence of law school. Adopt wise, hard-luck Akita dog because husband loves his photo. Adopt very cute female Akita puppy because wife thinks she belongs in the house and makes other dog happy.
4) Good gravy, is there still more law school? Endure long-distance relationship while wife works in Philadelphia. Once home, frequently take snacks and cocktails down to the basement and layout-building husband.
5) Celebrate end of law school, but make dinner and do all chores during wife's bar study. Perfect repertoire of brunch dishes during series of parties to commemorate end of husband's Japanese class sessions.
6) Apparently enjoy blissful year of marriage during which nothing of note occurred. Seriously. I got nothing.
7) Buy second house together. Discover that prior owners' home improvements are completely random and nothing about house makes sense. Survive monthlong Plague House episode, trading congestion, respiratory distress, pinkeye, and insomnia.
8) Spend thirty nearly consecutive hours in car together during impulsive cross-country road trip from Washington to Cerrillos on Christmas Eve/Day. Then make return trip while both spouses are sick -- one drives, one dispenses drugs on a regular schedule.
9) Go through life-changing events together, then vacation in Japan. Discuss whether vacation was in fact recon trip.
10) Go though life-changing event together. Cheer for teaching-job-in-Japan-applying husband, even though acceptance would mean leaving family, home, great job, and awesome friends. Move to Japan and bring Akita dogs along.

Ten years behind us, a lifetime to go.
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Densha Otaku 



Okay, this isn't a densha (electric train), it's a diesel. But that's okay, I'm not an otaku (rabid fanboy), either. But I did finally get some track and a controller, so now I can run the handful of (Japanese) trains I brought with me to Japan.
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Ad Space Here! 

Having lived in Japan for a little over a month now, I've been exposed to plenty of advertising. But not on TV. We don't watch TV. Ever. Especially not NHK. So NHK, you can stop sending your guy around to collect for monthly usage now, daijoubu?

Anyhoo, advertising. We don't so much get junk mail, although we do get newsletters and fliers for Strawberry Cones (yeah, I don't know either), the pizza delivery joint that charges 3,000 yen (approximately USD $30!) for a large stuck in our mail slot. Every couple of weeks, we get a big laminated binder of neighborhood information that we attempt to read, then pass on to the neighbors (clockwise around the block, as is proper). What are taking a bit of getting used to are the loudspeaker trucks.

Loudspeaker trucks, or vans in some instances, drive around town announcing various things. Some are selling laundry poles; others describing their used electronics pickup services. I can't understand most of what they're saying because, well, it's Japanese spoken over loudspeakers from a moving truck. One particular type, however, strikes fear in me as an American: loudspeaker trucks advertising candidates in upcoming elections.

Regardless of which party you prefer, you have to admit that this is one trend that you do NOT want exported. Seriously: imagine setting down the sheaf of political advertisements that your mailman delivered so that you can answer the phone, which turns out to be a call from Candidate X's campaign staff asking for your vote, then hanging up to hear a blaring ad for Candidate Y, followed by a blaring ad for Candidate Z in some other race. And, because our elections have been really contentious the last few years, you'd hear these much of the day . . . every day . . . for MONTHS.

I think we'd all vote for a big old pass on that, ne?
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