Danger Zone

Everyone knows Puffer fish as the weirdly defensive fish that can blow itself like a hedgehog when scared, some people know Puffer fish as the insanely poisonous fish – 1200 times more so than cyanide and without an antidote – that crazy Japanese people eat, Japanese people see Puffer fish as Fugu, a rubbery delicacy.

Food in the UK is safe, there’s never any danger of becoming paralysed and slowly suffocating to death. There’s no risk of keeling over in the restaurant because your chef forgot to take out the poison sacks hidden around your food. It’s a strange sensation, eating a food that you know can kill you, something you can never really get used to. But on you go, trudging your way past the fishtank where your future food swims around, oblivious to it’s gruesome, yet delicious barbequey end.

Having absolutely no idea what any of it means, you do the typical British thing, BBQ. None of that slimy raw stuff; nice, charcoalled, BBQ fish was the safest option. Yet you still get served a plate of raw sliced fish – sashimi- and you stare at it while the freshly cut out heart still beats on your plate. Like it hasn’t realised it’s dead, it beat rapidly, trying to pump the invisible blood around its no longer present body.

They served us a huge platter with every edible part of the fish displayed the piece de resistance, the prior mentioned beating heart.

Dipped in sauce and sizzled on the centrepiece mini BBQ, it’s surprisingly nice and definitely worth a return visit. It’s no Blackpool cod by any means but I guess it’s better than nothing.

 

 

 

 

Karaoke Queen

It’s a weekday evening, you go out for casual drinks with colleagues. You’re a professional now and after-work drinks are a sophisicated affair; teachers discussing techniques and hobnobbing as the educated adults they are. Wrong. An escalating spiral of happy hours, 280 yen beers, 9% lager and karaoke ensued.

Much like UK karaoke, Japanese karaoke requires an open heart, a drunken mind and a dodgy repertoire. However unlike UK karaoke, which consists mainly of hammered housewives reliving 80s pop gold and chubby dads doing their best Meatloaf  impression, all huddled around a plug in karaoke machine,  Japanese karaoke is a much more dignified affair. Decorated like a Vegas casino, a gold trim reception desk and crystal lined lift doors greet you as you trot your way over the marble finished floor. Into the decadent lift and you’re escorted to your leather lined, sound proofed karaoke room. Nine floors of glass walled karaoke rooms looking out onto the LED lit skyline.

 

With no actual bar, you telephone down to reception and they bring them straight to you.  Like royalty you sit in your fancy booth, singing not so fancy songs drinking watered down, hand delivered cocktails.

So you missed the last train because Izakayas are the places where self restraint dies and bad ideas take over. You suddenly remember that you have a great voice, you’re an A* rapper and you have a deep passion for power ballads.  Karaoke is your calling and you just follow the tune.

 

The Introverted Extrovert

The Western stereotype of the shy, self conscious, consciencious Japanese person does ring, as least a little bit, true. Legs aren’t crossed on the train in case they take up too much room and  greetings and goodbyes can be incredibly awkward, for an outsider at least, due to the annoyingly confusing bowing system. In a desperate bid not to mistakenly offend anyone you enter a silent war of who can bow the most in the shortest amount of time, up and down like a pecking bird.

Yet hidden amongst the bowing, the present giving and the standardised behaviour you’ll come across someone who contradicts your assumptions. And it always happens when you least expect it.

Ueno park is like its own town with a magnitude of people weaving in and out of the trees, ice cream vans and picture snapping, bumbag wearing Chinese tourists. And it’s in here that we came across the most enthusiastic xylophone player ever, sorry marimba player. Stood outside a temple, she had what is basically an adult sized xylophone with legs. And she was going for it, two sticks in each hand she had an unbelieveable amount of control. Playing it like a piano with drumsticks instead of hands she hit every beat, throwing in an arrogant mid tune spin for show. With an unnervingly accurate American accent she coerced us into sitting on the front bench; 2 awkward gaijins and a gobby Japanese woman, we attracted quite an audience.

She was good. Good to the point of requests, Let It Go, Little Mermaid and a bit or Frank Sinatra for the more cultured xylophone lovers.