Showing posts with label Sake. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sake. Show all posts

Sake - Canada Versus Japan

Submitted for your approval, is an article that first appeared in Canada's Globe and Mail newspaper on June 21, 2011 and written by Wency Leung - it was originally entitled:

Sake showdown: Canada v Japan 

Sake, a Japanese tradition for at least 2,000 years, is making headway in the land of beer and rye.

Ontario Spring Water Sake Company, which opened in Toronto’s Distillery District this spring, is just the latest brewery to produce domestic sake, joining the likes of Vancouver’s Artisan Sakemaker at Granville Island and Richmond, B.C.’s Nipro Brewery. (Masa Shiroki opened the Granville Island brewery, the country’s first premium sake brewery, in 2007.)

Domestic production is good news for Canadian sake aficionados, as it allows them to sample namazake, or fresh, unpasteurized sake, which is difficult to import from Japan. It also gives the uninitiated more reason to give the time-honoured drink a try.

"More than many other alcoholic beverages, sake is incredibly versatile," says Yuuji Nagaoka, who designed the ample sake menu at Toronto’s acclaimed Kaiseki Sakura restaurant. "Made primarily from rice, water and the all-important koji, or rice malt, sake can be consumed cold, room temperature, even hot."

As Mr. Nagaoka explains, chilled sake tends to be dry and refreshing, and becomes more aromatic and sweeter as it’s heated. The beverage also pairs well with practically any dish. “Because sake is made from rice, it’s really easy to match with food,” he says.

Sake is best sampled in a specific order. Mr. Nagaoka advises tasting the finest sake first to enjoy the delicate and refined flavours, before moving to lower-grade sake, which tend to be bolder and heavier."

Think you know your honjozo? We asked Mr. Nagaoka and Daisuke Izutsu, chef of Kaiseki Sakura, how Canadian sake compares with commonly available Japanese imports.

1. Hakutsuru Superior Junmai Ginjo
Vital Stats: $8.45/300mL at LCBO (Liquor Control Board of Ontario). Brewed by Hakutsuru Sake Brewing, Kobe, Japan and made with natural spring water from Nada, Japan. Recommended chilled or served at room temperature.

Mr. Izutsu: “This one, it’s a really typical style of sake. You get a little stronger koji flavour, a little roasted koji flavour.”

Mr. Nagaoka: “I do get a little fruitiness at the finish, a little bit of lychee or mango. You taste the koji very much. It kind of depends on the producer, what they’re trying to achieve. Like wine, sometimes it’s good to have fruitiness. Sometimes their intention is to make it earthier. So maybe their intention here was to make it a little bit yeasty.”

2. Masumi Karakuchi Ki-Ippon Junmai Ginjo
Vital Stats: $9.95/180mL at LCBO. Brewed by Miyasaka Brewing, Nagano, Japan, which dates back to 1662. Recommended chilled to 10 C or served warm around 45 C.

Mr. Nagaoka: “You get much more koji flavour on the nose, and when you drink it, you get more of a concentrated flavour. This [bottle] doesn’t say where the rice comes from but this seems like it may be from a smaller region. You’d have to be a sake master to taste where the rice in various sake is grown, but generally when you get some rice or sake made from the northern side of Japan, it’s a little more delicate because it’s a colder region. But when you get it from the southern side, you get more fruit and a little stronger, more concentrated, bigger flavour.”

Mr. Izutsu: “This one is more integrated. The flavours are blended well.”

3. Izumi Nama Nama
Vital Stats: $12.95/300mL, $64.95/1.8L at brewery, Ontario Spring Water Sake Company in Toronto. Made with rice from California and water from Northern Ontario. The water closely matches the water from Fushimi, Japan, says company president Ken Valvur. Recommended serving temperature is 10 to 12 C.

Mr. Nagaoka: “You get a lot of sweetness that lingers in your mouth, which is really different if you are familiar with pasteurized sakes. I find it tastes less handcrafted, like when you have a steak, prepared with simple salt and pepper, you get the pureness of the meat flavour. It’s more stripped down. That’s why you get more of the sweetness out of it, the pureness of the rice. … It’s fresh mineral, citrusy.”

Mr. Izutsu: “It’s really exciting for us, for people who live in Toronto, to be able to taste fresh sake. It’s a totally new experience. Because it’s fairly new, the koji is probably about six months old or so. So you do get that freshness, and the really young flavour, whereas [with the Japanese sake, made from established breweries that have older koji], you get more depth and a heavier body.”

4. Osake Junmai Nama
Vital Stats: $26.90/750mL at brewery, Artisan Sakemaker at Granville Island, Vancouver. It’s made with rice imported from Japan and B.C. water from Canadian Springs water company. Sake maker Masa Shiroki has been planting his own sake rice in Ashcroft, B.C., with the aim of using it to brew by the end of this year. Recommended serving temperature is 7 to 15 C.

Mr. Izutsu: “With this one, you do get a little bit of sweetness, but there’s a stronger flavour of the koji itself because the koji is growing and getting older, but not to levels of the sake from Japan. It’s somewhere in between. This is heavier. Lighter sake is easier to drink, but if it’s heavier, your palate can get a little tired so you can’t drink as much. But it’s still enjoyable.”

Mr. Nagaoka: “The fruitiness is more gentle. You do get a slightly pear, apple taste. It’s not like a young pear, it’s like a browner pear, a ripe or baked, cooked fruit flavour.”

5. Keyope Fine Junmai
Vital Stats: $15.99/375mL, $25.52/750mL at B.C. Liquor Stores. Produced by Nipro Brewery Co. Ltd. in Richmond, B.C., Keyope has been on the market since last May. Made with rice from California and filtered tap water. Recommended serving temperatures of 10 to 20 C or warmed to 35 to 45 C.

Mr. Nagaoka: “This one is the most unbalanced. You do get a strong koji flavour on the nose, but when you drink it, you just taste the alcohol.”

Mr. Izutsu: “It tastes like sake from the old days. The classifications for sake are quite new and people are still trying to figure out the right classifications. Before we had them, sake was more rustic, rough. Like in the ’60s and ’70s, what people wanted was alcohol. They didn’t really look for delicate flavours. So it tastes kind of like those good old days.”

Know your sake terms
  • Junmai: Sake made only with rice, koji and water;
  • Ginjo: Sake made with rice milled until no more than 60 per cent of the grain remains. The outer layers of the grain are removed to produce a more refined, delicate product. The more the rice is milled down, the finer the sake is considered to be;
  • Honjozo: Sake made with rice milled until no more than 70 per cent of the grain remains. Additional alcohol is added to create a crisper, cleaner flavour;
  • Nama or namazake: Sake that is not pasteurized;
  • Karakuchi: Dry or sharp;
  • Koji: Rice malt, which is made with steamed rice and the mould aspergillus oryzae.

That's The way (I Like It)

I'm at Wakakusa Chu Gakko (Wakakusa Junior High School) again - today September 27, 1991, Friday.

I have three classes today, and one of them is a team-teaching demonstration in front of all of the English teachers in Ohtawara-shi (Ohtawara City), Tochigi-ken (Tochigi Prefecture), Japan plus the whole Ohtawara Board of Education (OBOE) office is there.

I'm unsure if they are there to watch the English teacher or me. Probably me. The whole point, I am sure, is to determine whether or not gaijin (foreigners) are a plus or minus for the students here in this city.

Whatever. I'm not nervous because all I can do is do what I do.

The class went very well, despite the students being nervous. Miss Iso, the first-year class' English teacher was also very nervous--she confided in me afterward. I suppose she was, but it wasn't evident to me.

Who could blame the kids and teachers for being nervous... there were an additional 25 adults in the class! I am curious as to why they chose Wakakusa as the school. Tomura-sensei is the school's head of English, and a finer gentleman and speaker of English may not be found in the city. Well... Shibata-sensei of Ohtawara Chu Gakko (Ohtawara Junior High School) is also excellent, as are Nagashima-sensei... hell... come to think of it, each school has at least one fantastic English teacher! While some of the English teachers in Ohtawara-shi may not be the greatest of English speakers as far as pronunciation goes (that's a big reason for me being here!), their teaching skills are sublime.

The demonstration lesson was nothing fancy - we just did what we usually did. Repeat after Andrew, Andrew helps students with pronunciation, helps students with written work, makes a few jokes and tries to relax everybody, and always ensures they know that us gaijin are every bit as human as they are. It's called internationalization, and to be honest, along with interacting with the everyday populace of this city and beyond, I'm also trying to help lay the groundwork (along with the rest of the JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme that hired me as an assistant English teacher) so that this generation of kids doesn't feel like gaijin are special or different... but are instead just people like them who love, laugh, cry, get angry, and who want to do the best job in life possible.

Hey... I know what my real job is here in Japan, and I do it quite well. No one hates me. No one mistrusts me. People like me and enjoy my company. I fit in without becoming Japanese.

Ken Sasanuma (Sasanuma-sensei), a young, very cool guy from Chikasono Chu Gakko (Chikasono Junior High School) presents me with some photos he took of my last visit to his school. We had a blast with his students at this very old fashioned-looking school with it's wooden floorboards and walls!

Here's a blog on my activities of the the old-man hobby if bonsai! HERE

And where are the photos of pinching trees? Somewhere in this old house... I've seen it recently, but that doesn't mean I can find it!

In the photos, I have a beard. It also shows us going out to a bonsai (Japanese tree bondage... that's what I call the miniaturizing of trees) master's farm, with me forcing a tree to bow to my will.

The OBOE bows and smiles to me, but doesn't say anything to anyone... except thanks... and then leaves.

Back home... it's raining a bit... Matthew calls and comes over to make me get off my butt and go to Matsuri restaurant for dinner. There we meet a couple of his junior high school teachers. Matthew is an assistant English teacher on the JET Programme who lives five minutes away from me in the city, and who teaches at I think five junior high schools just outside the city. Matthew also fits in quite well, despite being a thin 6'-3" strawberry blond American! He knew some Japanese language before arriving, and quickly found himself a gorgeous girlfriend in Takako Kurita.... who Matthew said yesterday that she was moving to the capital city of Utsunomiya today.

He doesn't mention anything about it... but perhaps that's because two of his teachers are there at the place plying us with lots of sake (Japanese rice wine) to drink.

By the way... now in 2011, I'm having a nice chilled glass of sake while I write this. I love the stuff! I had never had it before arriving in Japan back in late July 1990.

Matthew and I are both pissed by 10PM, at which time I bet Matthew that my ex-girlfriend and current friend-with-benefits, Ashley will be asleep when I call.

He's afraid to take that bet.

I'm unsure if he's afraid I'll blab that he and I were betting on her, or that he believed she might actually be asleep at 10PM on a Friday night. That, sweetheart, is why you are single.

Anyhow, despite being drunk, I'm not stupid or completely mean. I know she's asleep. She always was when she wasn't with me. I suppose that's fine... some people just need more sleep... but dammit... she's 23!.. look at Matthew and I! We're out having a drink with some locals... being one of the guys! We're not hitting on women... though anyone of us four could if we wanted too! We're just soaking up local and gaijin culture!

We're not sleeping away our life here in Japan. There will be plenty of time to sleep when we're dead!

(In 2011... I'm now 20 years closer to that sleep... I am so very, very tired... damn sake!)

I still enjoy her company and the sex... but dammit I wish she was more energetic!

At midnight, we say our good nights and stagger home. Matthew left his bike at my place and hopefully doesn't ride into any rice fields on the way back home. I know there aren't any rice fields between my place and his, but he is as hammered as I am... and besides... Ohtawara, like all the small towns in this country... has its sewers covered by removable cement blocks that act as sidewalks.... and they aren't always set in place... or, in a few instances, even there.

I stay up until 2AM and do my crossword puzzle while drinking Coke until I am sure I am no longer drunk.

It's been a great day of fitting in, and just being me.

Somewhere I like it,
Andrew Joseph
Today's blog is by KC & The Sunshine Band: UH-HUH.
Forget the sexual lyrics... it's just a peppy song and I feel good, for goodness sake.  

Sock It To Me, Baby

I've mentioned in here my penchant for diving face first into the whole Japanese culture thing - and why not. If you are going to Japan to vacation or live - or heck, visiting any other country than that which you are used too, you must immerse yourself into the culture.

Now obviously I didn't listen to my own advice completely, what with having gaijin (foreigner) girlfriends mostly for the first two years of my stay in Ohtawara-shi... it was a language thing, I tell myself.

Still... there are many interesting and fun ways to become more Japanese-like.

There's learning the language - hell, I can barely speak English - how am I going to learn Japanese?

There's getting involved in cultural hobbies: ikebana (flower arranging); bonsai (tree bondage); drinking; pachinko (arcade time-waster); trying to pick-up gaijin women (did that), and learning how to cook (nearly burned down the place the first time I made tempura)... wait! What was that one I said? Drinking?.... Hmmm.

The Japanese love to drink alcohol. Not at work - which is most of their day - but when work-time is over and they have a few moments to themselves with their co-workers, before they need excuse themselves to go back home to their wife and kids, or to their mistress. 

Yes, believe it or don't, it's a well known fact that most Japanese men have a mistress on the side. And, as long as the wife doesn't know who, things are okay as long as there is food on the table and the bills are all paid.

Now... personally, I never heard of any of my male Japanese cohorts heading out for a quickie. I did my best to associate with good people with good intelligence. And while that doesn't necessarily mean you aren't going to cheat, at least they should know better. Unless it's a cultural thing.

Whew! I need a drink.

While beer and whiskey were very big amongst the Japanese - especially as they wanted to be more Western, I wanted to appear more Japanese and got my swerve on with Japanese rice wine (sake). 

Now I wasn't such a knob that I'd order sake when out with Matthew or Ashley. Naw... I'd have vodka-based drinks or rum-based drinks. Sake was the alcohol of  choice when the Japanese were involved, as they enjoyed themselves a little bit more (in my humble opinion) when you drank a Japanese drink.

I've already recounted quite a few episodes of me and sake, but should you wish, please have a sip again, and another. And another. It tastes like water doesn't it?

Now wait a few minutes, while you keep drinking wondering if it's ever going to make you feel drunk - and that's when it hits you like an apartment building falling on your head destroying your brain, your equilibrium, and your ability to form compl sentenc.

By now, you are long past caring what your brain is trying to do (hide), and continue to pour sake into your gullet. You've usually only had enough when your brain shuts down for the night and you pass out.

Man, I love sake.

My convection oven/microwave oven had a setting on it to warm up: one cup of sake; two cups of sake, and; three cups of sake. Seriously. That's how you know the Japanese are serious about sake.

Should you ever find yourself in a situation where you have to drink sake, please don't be as stupid as I have been. Sake. Water. Repeat. Don't forget to urinate. Once you open up the gates to whizz, you'll be going all night. This will help you avoid a bad hangover - which, by the way, I never, ever had. That's right... I never had a hangover. I've done irrepairable damage to my liver and self-esteem... but never have I spent a cold morning in the drum.   

So what's this blog about? Well, actually, I just wanted to show off some of my lovely sake bottles and glasses via photographs.

Sake bottles, when taken from a glass bottle, and placed into a decorative decanter, those decanters are called tokuri.
Actually, the tokuri are used more in the consumption of hot sake. The tokuri, filled with sake, are set in a bowl of hot water - but it's only immersed a tad around the base. You don't want to get the neck hot or no one will be able to grab it to pour it.
Now here's something interesting - the Japanese using different counters when counting objects of various sizes or shapes. For example, a beer bottle and a sake bottle are similar in shape, and are much different from a cat, (neko), let's say. The cat (and other small animals) has its own counter, in this case, it's hiki. One cat is spoken as 'ichi hiki no neko')... So how would you say one bottle of sake? It's not 'ichi hiki no tokuri'. It becomes 'ippon no sake'.

Hmm... can you see why learning Japanese is a bugger? There are counters for flat things, round things - actually, there are pretty much counters for all nouns.  

To avoid confusion when you are ordering, hold up one finger and say sake! That'll get you on your way to a good drunk-on.

Anyhow... check out my lovely sake cups and bottles.

Somewhere not hungover,
Andrew Joseph
Today's blog is by Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels. I chose Sock It To Me, Baby because of the similarity between that phrase and sake it to me, baby. Pretty lame, I know, but I was drunk when I came up with the idea.
PS: Did you know that Winona Ryder took "Ryder" as a stage name, after seeing a Mitch Ryder album in her father's collection? I didn't which is surprising seeing as how I remembered to include that fact here.
PPS: I wasn't drunk. In Japanese, being drunk is called 'yopparai'.

Circle Of The Tyrants

So... after nearly two and a half years, I finally got a chance to talk to a Japanese person about their participation in WWII. Regulars - like you in South Korea, Slovenia, Denmark, Germany, China, Russia, the U.S. and Canada - will recall that doing this one little thing was a big reason for me wanting to be here. Sort of. You can read about that story HERE.
I live in Ohtawara-shi, Tochigi-ken in Japan. I live in the city's tallest building, a seventh floor white stucco exterior apartment building called Zuiko Haitsu or more affectionately, Zuiko Mansion - even by the Japanese. It's not New York or Toronto exclusive, but relative to other places in Ohtawara, I really did live in a mansion.
My apartment was on the third floor, on a wing that jutted out from the main building (Apartment 307). There was an apartment unit directly atop my floor (Apartment 407), and one directly below it (Apartment 207). Below apartment 207 was a convenience store that also doubled as a sake shop.
About once every two days, I'd stop by the place and grab a 2-liter bottle of Coca-Cola. Either a young man in his 30s would be there (he spoke a little English) or his father would be there with his mom. Neither of them spoke any English. Not even 'hello' or 'good-bye'.
The old man was quite the cheerful sort. He would engage me in lengthy conversations - and we'd laugh and have fun - and truly, it was a wonderful rife.
There was just one hitch. I never had any idea what the heck he was saying.
Truthfully, it didn't diminish a thing for me. He was trying to talk to me and find out more about me - and quite frankly it wasn't HIS fault I was too stupid to speak the language. But he always tried to speak to me.
I'd buy the odd bottle of beer and lots of snacks like Pocky or dried squid from him to eat with my Coke - but despite the plethora of sake (Japanese rice wine) he had in his shop, I never bought any. In fact, I never ever bought my own sake while in Japan, as I only drank it apparently, at enkai (parties), festivals and super drinking challenges. I mean, that stuff has a nasty habit of sneaking up on you and bashing you about the head.
Anyhow... on this particular occasion, the son was there in the store with his dad. The old man began talking to me in Japanese... and when I didn't give him the response he expected, he turned to his son and yelled at him. The son nervously spoke in very slow English telling me that his father wants to know if I would like to come for sake this Friday night.
What the hell? It's free, so I'm there. I don't want to give the impression I'm cheap - because I'm not. I spent damn near every YEN I earned while I was in Japan so far. And I had a great time doing so.
It was Wednesday, so I only had to wait a couple of days to get my groove on again with sake.
It's Friday now - 9PM. Writing is so much easier than real life - unless you have to live that real life before you write about it. Which I did. For you. Okay... mostly for me.
I walked down the back stairs to the ground level, and entered the shop that way. Bowing and yelling a booming greeting to my hosts for the evening.
The old man comes over and shakes my hand, and motions for me to sit near the back of the shop. He makes a motion that must be international asking if I want a drink. I smile and say "Hai (yes!)". He walks to the front of his now closed shop and grabs a very large fancy looking bottle of sake.
He shuffles over in his slippers and plops down on a chair opposite me. There's a small square table between us. We're quickly joined by his son carrying some glasses, and is immediately followed by the old man's wife who is carrying some food for us to nosh on while we are in the preparatory stages of getting drunk. She disappears, periodically returning to take away our plates and offer us more food. No women allowed at this shindig apparently.
We drank this massive bottle between the three of us as the son does his best to translate our drunken conversation.
The old man has mischievous, twinkling eyes as he asks me about my girlfriend Ashley - and all of the other women I seem to have over. I ask him how he knows. He says he and the family live in the apartment directly below me. Touche. I did not know that they lived there. I may be quiet, by not all of my guests are.
The three of us are now completely hammered... or at least the son was. The old man splays his legs, points to his crotch, mentions something about - and this was in English - "the wife" and gets up and leaves for a few minutes.
Since we're all best buddies and have already talked about sex, I ask him how old he is, and if he was in the war (WWII). Now there was some discrepancy about his actual age, but he was in the war for the Imperial Japanese Army... in fact... he was fighting on some god-forsaken island armed to the teeth when the Americans set an offensive to liberate the island from the Japanese. He says the battle raged on for weeks on this tiny, humid island. It went on so long that he and his comrades were out of ammunition, had clothes torn, and were starving - and actually couldn't wait for the Americans to win the battle.
He said since it would have been dishonourable to simply surrender without a fight, he (and he couldn't speak for the rest of his troops - he was a lowly Private) purposely kept shooting to miss his targets, hoping that they would run out of ammunition faster, so they could be over-run and could get out of this war alive.
Apparently that still took weeks. And by the time it was over, he and his comrades were so glad to see the Americans that they actually had smiles on their faces as they were captured.
I'd never heard a war story like that before. Seems more real than all that John Wayne crapola I was spoon fed as a youngster.
We polished off another bottle (at least the old man and I did) while he slowly told his tale... and at around Midnight, it was time for us to go to sleep. His son tried to help him up, but he pushed him away. As he swayed slightly I grabbed him around the wasit and he around my shoulders and we began to walk up the back stairs to his apartment.
Now halfway up, that must have been when the earthquake hit, because we were both thrown against the stairwell walls as we bravely fought our way up to his frontdoor.
He reached for the doorknob slightly bent over and stayed there a moment too long for my liking.
"Daijobu? (Are you okay?)" I asked.
He grunted, farted a long smelly one, stood up, opened his front door, turned to me, stuck out his right hand for me to shake.
I was having none of that and leaned in and gave him a hug and a slap on the back. And said "Domo arigato gozaimasu (Thank you very much - in a formal way)".
He smiled, eyes twinkling, bushy eyebrows going up and down, mentioned something in English about 'the wife' again, and said 'bai-bai'. And then locked the door.
I turned to walk up the stairs to my apartment and saw his son standing there pounding on the front door begging to be let in. I yelled a good night to him - and he to me.
I staggered up to my apartment and took the longest pee I've ever had. Crawled to my bedroom laid down, realized that was a bad idea. Got up grabbed a Coke and watched television for a few hours until I sobered up. At 3AM, I went to sleep and woke up at 10AM.
Sunday morning.

Somewhere missing a day,
Andrew Joseph
Today's title is by: Celtic Frost. It's not bad for real metal! AAOOOWWW
PS: No PS... I'm in a coma.
PPS: This one is in honour of all veterans who have gone to war.

Fergaclicious

A note about yesterday's blog - I forgot to post the photo of my tako (kite). Please have a look: TAKO

This blog wasn't originally called anything, but if I had thought about it, I would have called it: Of Rice and Yen. 

As a foreigner (gaijin) from a country that's not quite the United States of America, but often mistaken for the same, I am often asked about my feelings about the Japanese/Yankee rice trade.
My initial reaction, is of course, who gives a crap? But as an ambassador of Canada on the JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme, I should perhaps not speak so tersely. Perhaps irrationality is called for.
Let's see... Hmm. At every one of the seven junior high schools I visit here in Ohtawara-shi, I get to eat lunch with the students. That lunch invariably consists of cooked rice (gohan) and some other stuff. 
Every day, at every school or restaurant I visit, I am always asked if Japanese rice is oishii (delicious... it's pronounced oy-she). How the heck would I know? It's rice isn't it? It tastes like rice so how can't or can it taste anything but delicious (depending on your point of view). Doesn't rice taste like rice? Isn't it all the same flavour? 
Now... the zesty taste of chili con carne ala Andrew is oishii... but rice is like green tea (o-cha). To quote fellow AET (Assistant English Teacher) Tim Mould: "It's got no taste!" If picturing this, you should add an image of Tim jumping up and down in exasperation and then pouting.
It's a Nihonjin (Japanese people) tradition to inquire of the gaijin whether or not they like all types of Japanese food. It's like it's a test, to see if you are worthy of being "Japanese-like"... if you don't like something, it's because you are a gaijin, and may not have the tastebuds of a Nihonjin. Well, they may have something there.
All Japanese people swear that Japanese rice tastes much better than American rice. Really? How do they know? Have they ever sampled California rice? I swear, Japan's agrarian economy would collapse in a heartbeat if a Japanese person ate anything but Japanese rice--and woe be to them if they thought that gaijin rice was tasty.
For that matter, how many Americans know where their rice is from--and no, Rice-A-Roni, the San Francisco treat and Rice Krispies do not count.
Since I am almost from America (America Jr., actually) the Japanese are anxious to know of my opinion on the taste differences between rice varieties. 
Now, while I can tell the difference between New Coke, Diet Coke, Coke Classic (remember - this is 1993, not 2010!), Caffeine-free Coke, Diet Caffeine Coke, Cherry Coke, Diet Cherry Coke, Taste Free Coke (o-cha), RC Cola, Pepsi Cola, Pepsi Free, Diet Pepsi, Spam Pepsi and several species of bathtub mold (not my friend Tim), I just couldn't explain the nuances between western and eastern rices. I think it's because of my Indian heritage (dot, not the feather), and the fact my parents would usually buy Indian rice.
Then it dawned on me - hey, I never really ate rice until I got to Japan (Mom made two meals - one for her and my dad, and one for my brother Ben and I). As well, I also recalled that Indian rice is a long-grained rice that sticks together. It has to stick together or Japan would never buy rice from India - chopsticks, you know. And why does Japan buy rice from anywhere except Japan. For crying out loud, the name of my city: Ohtawara literally means 'big-rice field-field'! That's all there is in this country.
American rice, is a smaller grained ... fruit? vegetable?... whatever it is... and it doesn't stick together... though I'm told some varieties are sticky. 
Anyhow, as of now - 1993, the Japanese don't want to allow American rice into their country because apparently America sprays a preservative chemical onto the rice so that it can be safely transported.  
The Japanese say, between puffs of cigarettes and sake (rice wine... sorry... Japanese rice wine) that they are wary of what they put into their mouth, not wanting to ingest any chemicals that might be harmful.
A word to the wise, people: if Japanese rice is more tasty than American rice, it may be because of the plethora of drunken men who routinely relieve themselves in the rice paddies.
Yum. 

Somewhere eating bread, 
Andrew Joseph
 Today's title is by Fergie... mostly because she's hot. EATITUPYUM
It ain't rock and roll, but I like it. 
PS: This story was originally published in the July 1993 issue of Networking magazine in Tochihi-ken. I actually got paid to write it. I know, I know... what the hell were they thinking? 
PS: The photo above shows off a couple of bales of rice. Okay, they are really miniature bottles of sake designed to look like ancient bundles of rice. But, I don't have any Japanese rice around the house for a photo because the nuances of rice are unknown to me, so my wife buys whatever is on sale... usually from America Jr.'s cousin to the south.

Communication Breakdown

Here are 10 things everyone should know about Japan:

1. Everyone under 18 has black hair - see class trip to Nikko at right.

2. If there is any space available, they put a rice field or a 7-11 or a pachinko parlour on it.

3. Japan is not infested with evil giant talking robots. Some of them are quite small small and make good students.

4. Japanese condoms will not fit the average Canadian. Thank goodness.

5. They save money by not cooking their food.

6. They think rotting soy beans should be eaten - see Natto.

7. Everyone knows the theme song for the kid's television show Ultraman-7. Why are they singing part of it in English?!

8. They like to smoke and drink and sing and party to the wee hours of the evening.

9. Almost everyone has a radar detector, but can't speed because of the constant gridlock in the big cities or the goat paths cum roads in the small towns.

10. They all speak better English after half a bottle of sake.

Somewhere singing about robotic superheroes,
Andrew Joseph
Today's title is by Led Zeppelin: ROCK ON!

Sock It To Me, Baby!

 One of the dangers for anybody the first time they leave home is the demon known as excess. For me, leaving Toronto for the do-inaka ('the sticks') that is Ohtawara, was my first time without my parents. Granted I was 25, and had done University and College (5 + 2 years, respectively), but my excesses then were tempered.
Here in Japan--though rife with supervisors (Hanzakai-san and Kanemaru-san - two awesome gents with the Ohtawara Board of Education aka OBOE), I still had a lot of free time with like minded individuals who were bored.
Because Japan treated me very well with social engagement after social engagement, I went to a lot of parties, and being a some-what popular guy, I always had people around me who wanted to share the good times... in a small town like Ohtawara, those parties (enkai) had a lot of drinking.
I think for me, it wasn't that I liked drinking, but rather it just happened to be something I was good at. I could power them back - beer, hard liquor, sake (rice wine) - whatever - and never ever had a hangover in my life. As a result, I never felt like crap the next day, and as such never had to pray to the gods to get me through the night, or that I would never drink again.
I think it was a challenge.
In Japan, I felt like almost everything was a challenge... to eat their most bizarre foods and not complain, or to not only keep up with their drinking, but to surpass them as well. Does that sound stupid? Even now (20 years later) I believe that to be a truism. By being one of the guys, I earned their respect.
Cue the highlight film. Allow me to take you to a team-teaching get together of all of the AETs... that took place on Wednesday, May 29, 1991 at a renewer's conference n Kobe. I'll spare you the feelings and other irrationalities going through my mind at this time, just know that the conference was for us AETs (Assistant English Teachers) who were staying for an additional year on the JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme.
I'll tell you a funny Kristine story in the next blog, but suffice to say, this one is about drinking.
At the reception, after picking at the meals being walked around to us, someone said we should have a drinking contest. There were four of us, and so help me, I only have memory of three of the participants: One was a big American guy; one was a smallish American dude of Japanese background; one was myself; and the last competitor was Mister Arakawa, who was, I believe, one of the bosses of all of the Tochigi-ken AETs who taught at the high schools (like Ashley did on Ohtawara).
Our drink du jour was sake - fermented rice wine - because when in Rome...
I am pretty sure there was no wagering involved amongst ourselves - but who knows what the observers were doing.
We had about 20 six inch tall slender glasses that were each about 2/3's full with sake.
At the count of three, we each yelled kanpai (Cheers)! and downed our drink, turning the glass over.
We looked at each other and laughed. The first drink or two is always easy, because sake tends to taste a lot like water - until it hits you, and you become drunk very quickly.
We upturned seven more drinks... and that's when I noticed the American dude of Japanese extraction being carried away... apparently he had passed out.
The remaining three of us pointed and laughed. More drinks were ordered, and we continued. At around the 25 mark, we lost the American. I never saw him leave, I never saw him fall -- and I'll be honest, I only think this guy was part of our competition because, by this time I was wasted.
I looked over at Arakawa-san, who held up his glass and saluted me, and then downed
 it. Bugger! He was red as a lobster, and probably looked as tiured as I was, but he didn't seem to be tiring.
At around the 35 drink mark, Arakawa-san and I were huffing for breath, but still standing unaided... by that I mean we stood straight ??!! and didn't lean, although I seem to recall that the walls were standing at a strange obtuse angle.
People... we got to our 45 drink apiece, sucked it down and grinned at each other. Arakawa-san - whose English was better than mine at this point of the evening -- checked his watch and said he had to stop because he had to go to a meeting... it was 9:55PM, so who was I to doubt him. he shook my hand, and stumbled off.
That man is my hero.
Me? I still had a girlfriend (Ashley), and I'm pretty sure that hot little Kristine was around somewhere... so I staggered off to the local disco in the hotel. Would you believe it? Apparently I was so inebriated that they wouldn't let me into the disco.
I'm pretty sure I swore at a lot of people, but I decided to go look around the hotel.
I awoke at around 3:30AM... I opened my eyes, and stared up into the face of a deer.
What the fa - ?!
Apparently, I had broken in to a locked taxidermy exhibit of a forest scene. I have no knowledge of that, which is too bad, because that seems like a skill that could come in handy if my life as a fine upstanding citizen should ever fall onto hard times thanks to me becoming an alcoholic.
I staggered out, found my room - pretty sure I left my contact lenses in my eyes and passed out.
According to my roomie, Matthew Hall, he got up twice during the night to smack me to make me stop snoring.
Matthew, buddy, I'm sorry. Twenty years later, I don't snore anymore.
The next morning, I was up bright and cheerful (no hangover). I saw Arakawa-san downstairs and shouted an ohio gozaimasu (good morning)! to him. He held his head, whispered "itai" (pain) and begged me to be quiet.
I laughed and marched off to listen to the conference's opening address.

Somewhere missing the good old days - I think.
Andrew Joseph
PS - I haven't given up drinking, but I've probably only had 20 drinks in the past 10 years.
PS2 - the photo is of myself and Arakawa-san at another conference a couple of years later sharing a small shot of sake for old time's sake.
PS3 - today's title is brought to you by Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels...
PS4 - Ohtawara isn't really 'the sticks'.

Fight For Your Right (To Party)

Monday, November 5, 1990

I’m up at 7:15AM. It’s an office day at the OBOE (Ohtawara Board of Education) offices. I’ve been here for three months and I’ve got a routine going. I don’t have to do any real work at the OBOE, so I prepare all of my writing for the Tatami Times—the monthly newsletter for the Tochigi-ken AETs (Assisitant English Teachers). Hey, where do you think I first got the idea for a It’s A Wonderful Rife column. It was reasonably popular and I know I had it published in three OTHER prefectures (provinces) besides Tochigi-ken—plus in another English-language magazine in Tochigi-ken’s capital city of Utsonomiya. But that’s later.
Back to the now that is then.
At 5PM, I leave work. Did you know that in Japan the average Japanese worker NEVER leaves his place of work until his boss does? To do so shows a lack of commitment and means a loss of face—two no-no’s in Japanese society.
Me, not being Japanese, I leave at 4PM (an hour early), though I usually wait until 5PM or when Hanazaki-san says it’s okay for me to leave. I am in their country… I don’t want to spit on social customs too much.
Leaving the OBOE, I post my Tatami Times stuff to current editor Gasoline (Catherine Komlodi), and then head over to the bank and its ATM machine. Walking past, I notice Mayor Sembo waving at me and I reciprocate. No hangover for us!
At home, there’s a letter for me from Ashley’s sister, Kerry. How special. She sounds like a nice girl. She’s asked me to write back. Do I? How did she get my address?
Am I supposed to go to an enkai (party) tonight. Is Ashley coming over top my place? In my mind, it's "No", to both. I’m going shopping.
I’m home at 5:15PM. Kanemaru-san phones. He wants me at the OBOE enkai. Where is it? Kanemaru-san isn’t able to articulate it in English, so he says good-bye. Five minutes later, Matthew phones to say hi. Five minutes after that, my Nozaki Chu Gakko (Nozaki Jujnior High School) pain calls, drops the phone and accidentally hangs-up. Five minutes later, Hanazaki-san calls and says he’ll be over shortly to take me to the enkai. Five minutes later he’s at my apartment – and we walk over to a small restaurant where we have a large room all to our office-selves.
I’m exhausted. I tell him on the walk over (For the sake of comedy, it’s a five minute walk) about the Nozaki boy’s phone calls and ask him to make it stop. I haven’t even been to Nozaki yet, and I’m dreading it. Hanazaki-san promises to look into it. Unlike a lot of Westerners, when the Japanese say they will do something, they do it. If they say maybe or suck air through their teeth, it means it probably won’t happen. They don’t say no to a request… just a maybe or a yes.
The party is for the 20th work anniversary of Mrs. Ookubo and Mr. Hashimoto – the car driver (Ookubo-san is to the far right, and Hashimoto-san is to my immediate left). Look at that! It took me three months plus, but I finally know the name of the poor bugger who’s been driving me (and Hanazaki-san and Kanemaru-san) all over the place on work-related business.
Hashimoto-san says he will give me a bonsai tree (bonsai involves tree bondage to shape a full-sized tree into a dwarf version that fits in a pot). He’s drunk, so I don’t hold much stock in his kind offer. Mr. Mori dances with me, which isn’t as gay as you might think. We’re all drunk and having fun!
I sing karaoke – the Beatles Yesterday, which reminds me that I’m homesick a bit. However, I’m very drunk and manage to blurt out that I am ‘thinking’ of staying a second year in Ohtawara. In case you all forgot, we are offered three one-year contracts… though we don’t have to be offered anything, nor do we have to accept it. I've only been here for three months and I'm thinking about a second year?! Am I nuts or drunk?
Anyhow… I get a standing ovation. Not my idea to upstage the two folks who’s party it is.
I’m really tired and drunk, but it doesn’t stop our party from joining the enkai in the restaurant room next door. Apparently the elementary school I visited one afternoon (can’t remember the school) is having a party for the upcoming retirement of its principal Mr. Fukishima (ko-cho sensei or principal). He speaks English and is a real nice guy, so I agree to come and visit him at his school again on December 14.
Party over, Hashimoto-san, Kanemaru-san and Hanzaki-san and I head over to a sushi place near the middle of town that’s about a five-minute walk from our restaurant.
On the way there, the three of them kept staggering out from the sidewalk onto the road, and I had to keep herding them away from the traffic.
The guys order a butt-load of sake, while I try to stick with beer—as I have vague memories of my last encounter with sake back in August. See BLAARRGH for that story.
Kanemaru-san in his infinite wisdom and drunken state confides with Hanazaki-san that Ashley isn’t as smart as me. He says that while he has an arm around me to prop himself up at the table where we are sitting. Apparently he’s noticed that when we’re at kyudo (Japanese archery) and he’s speaking Japanese, I translate what he is saying into English for her. Hunh. I wonder when I started to understand the lingo? Of course, I do spend an inordinate amount of time talking with anyone and everyone. I guess it was bound to rub off.
Still at the restauranr/bar, Hanzaki-san keeps wanting to fall asleep with sushi in his mouth.
Hashimmoto’s wife arrives, bows at us, slaps her husband on the back of the head and drags his staggering form out to their car.
Kanemaru-san’s wife comes to pick up her husband, bows and slaps the back of his head, hands him a cigarette and helps him to their car. She drove from some function about 40 minutes away to pick him up.
Hanazaki-san and I stagger home. I offer to walk with him to his house first, but he insists he escort me back to my place. I pull him out of the way of an oncoming car and reluctantly agree.
I’m home by 10:30PM and in bed spinning by 11:30PM. I am dead tired, but I enjoyed myself thoroughly tonight. The OBOE are pretty cool people – all of them.
Somewhere holding onto the sides of my futon,
Andrew Joseph

Break On Through: Obon II

(He’s ba-ack! Here in 2009, the family has moved out of our house into my dad’s empty home. Empty in the sense that no one has lived there since we moved out two years ago after our house fire. The Chicago comic con was fun and Steve Guzelis and I got a chance to see Tom Wachowski: friend, artist and a main cog of Strange Fun Comics who was hospitalized. When we saw him two weeks ago, he was alert, talkative and witty. Unfortunately he passed away a week later from pancreatic and diabetes-related illness. He was 42 and leaves a nine-year-old son behind. This episode is dedicated to Tom).

Back to 1990: I think I like sake (Japanese rice wine, and is pronounced sah-kay). Let’s just say that as far as liquids go, it’s my new best friend (except for Coke, of course). After quickly getting drunk and being too stupid to know I was drunk, I have a vague recollection of moving. Moving… must be some sort of kismet thing 19 years from now.
When next I opened my eyes, I was home and fully-dressed lying on my bed. The doorbell rang.
Slowly but surely, I got to the door, opened it and removed the finger of Hanazaki-san from the doorbell. Not a real hangover but an incredible simulation.
He asked if I was ready to go. I glanced at my watch (incidentally, as I write this blog 19 years later, I’m wearing the same watch. My own time machine), it was August 14, and the sun was starting to get low in the sky.
Not wanting to sound ignorant because I had no idea of what he meant, I tried to tell him that I wasn’t ready yet and needed a few moments to get re-dressed. Instead, I think I said: “Nrrrrrrr”, which roughly translates into: “I slept for 20 hours?”.
I was wearing clean everything and was out the door in one Canadian minute, or 20 minutes Japanese time. Remember, time is only relative to the observer,
Now, the following is, I swear, 100 per cent true.
Apparently I was invited by Hanazaki-san to have dinner with his family, but because I wasn’t hip to the intricacies of Obon, I had no idea that the family dinner entailed multiple, multiple generations of Hanazaki’s.
Sitting down cross-legged on some pillows on a tatami (grass) mat, Hanazaki-san’s wife started bringing out the food and drinks. There were six place settings at the table but only four of us sitting at the table. The missus began piling food (no idea what it was, but it was tasty!) onto the two empty settings to her left before passing it to myself, her husband and 20-something son.
She then lifted up a large carafe of warm sake and began pouring some into Hanazaki-san’s glass, then mine, her son’s and then her own. She then poured sake into glasses for the two empty place settings.
Then it got odd.
Mrs. Hanazaki then turned to the empty space top her right and began clapping her hands and chanting “Iki. Iki. Iki” (ic-key.ic-key.ic-key), which roughly translates into “go-go-go.”
Five seconds later, she began applauding and saying what I assume was the Japanese equivalent of “yay!” It sounded like “Yay!”.
Now maybe it was because I was watching her intently or maybe it was the new sake melding with yesterday’s sake, but when I glanced back at the glasses in front of the empty place settings, they were empty. I suppose her son could have drunk them, but I didn’t see it.
Mrs. Hanazaki filled up everyone’s glasses again—including Casper and Spooky—and began her drinking chant and clapping again.
I sucked my drink back like it was water… because I must have been dehydrated from last night’s festivities… but mostly because I was a tad weirded out by what I had just seen.
On the ride home—driven by the missus who, aside from myself was the only one not drunk—Hanazaki-san explained what Obon was about. Now I understood. The two empty plates were for the family ancestors.
Despite the bizarreness of the evening, I am humbled that I was invited to partake in the family dinner with the entire Hanazaki family. And I do mean entire family.
So far, this is two nights in a row with real food. Mooching meals… this could be a way I survive this place, for goodness sake. You can read that last word any way you wish.

Somewhere old friends are not forgot,
Andrew Joseph
PS - Title is by The Doors.

Have A Drink On Me: Obon I


It beats me how I can take one of the most solemn traditions in Japanese culture and turn it into a farce, but bear with me. I think I did it.
O-bon or Bon (the Japanese add an “o” to many words to make them more honorific) is a festival celebrated by Japanese Buddhists. Called the Feast of The Lanterns, Hanazaki-san simply explained it as the Festival of the Dead. Which one do you prefer? Me, too.
In Tochigi-ken, O-bon is celebrated by Buddhists (about 99% of the population) between August 13 – 16, with the 15th being the important date.
Here’s what occurs:
On the 13th, people clean their houses and visit the shrine (cemetery) where their family monument resides (Upon death, Japanese Buddhists are cremated and the ashes are spread on the family shrine). Families spend a few hours tidying up the shrine and then place food and drink offerings upon it.
Perhaps I am over-simplifying things, but this is how it was explained to me. The food and drink offerings are for the dead. Actually, it is meant to entice the souls of the dearly departed up into the land of the living. For three days every year, the gates to Hell—where the Japanese Buddhists believe the dead reside (probably not as humid as Ohtawara, though)—are opened so that they may visit the living.
Apparently the dead are blind, and the scent from the food and drink will lead them to the proper family shrine. From there, they follow the family home, where more partying ensues. I’m not sure if the spirits need to wear seat belts.
I swear the following incident is 100 per cent true.
On August 14, around 8PM, Hanzaki-san came calling with Kanemaru-san. It was another hot, sticky humid night, but the three of us walked a short distance from my apartment to a festival. While it was only a five minute walk, I really have no idea where it was actually held.
The festival was like an old-fashioned carnival with people selling all kinds of freshly made foods and drinks—all locally supplied. I had some blue cotton candy, a lot of yaki-tori (skewered, grilled chicken and something deep-fried—it was sortta rubbery, but it was still really tasty. Kanemaru-san brought out his dictionary and told me it was ika or squid. Pretty good actually considering the suckers were still attached and trying to grab my uvula on the way down. I had another.
We watched singers and folk dancers, jugglers and pukers… I did say there were drinks, right?
While Hanazaki-san went to clean up the mess someone left on his shoes, Kanemaru-san dragged me over to a tented kiosk that sold sake (Japanese rice wine and is pronounced sah-kay). He talked to the vendor – I heard the word gaijin uttered by the vendor and Kanemaru-san correcting him by stating my name. I didn't take offence, and seconds later the vendor turned and handed me a very large paper cup of clear liquid.
Kanemaru-san smiled at me and said: “You to-rye Japan-ezu sake?” Hai! (yes!) I answered.
I sniffed it—citrous-like. Putting the cup to my lips, I momentarily savoured the cool sweetness of the drink on my tongue before I looked at Kanemaru-san and drained that sucker in one large gulp.
Oohs and Ahhs lit up from all around me as apparently all eyes at the Festival were on the gaijin. Beats me why. It not only looked like water, but on such a humid night, it tasted enough like water to truly hit the spot.
The vendor knowing an opportunity when he saw one, raised his eyebrow (it was a unibrow) at Kanemaru-san who merely nodded back. He poured another glass, held it out to me and said dozo (please).
What the heck. It’s just tasty rice water. I sucked it back in seconds.
Shouts of hora! (look!) and “hebby du-rinkah” (heavy drinker - yes, it seems to be an English phrase they are familiar with) littered the air as the kiosk area began to get crowded. Other Japanese began to order sake, too.
The vendor’s eyes lit up with little yen signs as he quickly poured me another large drink.
Let me tell ya… this sake stuff is pretty weak. Glorified water, is what it is. It sure was getting warmer, though. Probably just all of the people pressing up against me trying to shake my hand. That's why my hand is shaking.
I downed the drink in one gulp. Either the cup was getting smaller or my throat was getting wider, but the sake was going down easier.
The crowd began to applaud.
Perhaps fearing for my life—the crowd of on-lookers was huge now—Kanemaru-san tried to drag me away. But before he could, the vendor plunked another drink down. And one for Kanemaru-san.
Clinking our glasses together and with the other 300 people around me, the crowd began to chant “iki-ik-iki” (go-go-go) (You'll notice the spelling is quite close to squid - ika. You don't want to get the two Japanese words mixed up or it could be quite non-sensical).
I love a good chant. What the Hell, eh? Since the gates are open and it's Obon and when in Japan, do what the Romans do, or something like that… I sucked down my second glass… or whatever number it was.
The vendor set’em up again and we all downed them again. And again. And again.
Looking expectantly at the vendor for more of his fine flavoured water, he looked at me with sad eyes and said “end-o”. I don’t know what that means, but man there was no more sake forthcoming. That sucks, I only had two drinks… Man was this place freakin’ hot and also the … … what was I saying? Oh yeah! This sake-stuff is like having sex in a canoe—it's fornicating close to water… what? And another thing… I’m hungry.
Man, I’m tired … I’ll have to finish this Oblong blog, I mean… Obon blog later… when it cools down or something or another. Man! When did it get so… uh, hazy?

Somewhere … uh… what was I saying?
Hebby Du-rinkah
Title by AC/DC

Stranger In A Strange Land


Despite the title, let me start by saying that Japan isn’t strange. It’s just strange to me.
After Hanazaki-san and Kanemaru-san left me alone, I walked over to the telephone and called home – giving them the spiel you have read in the past blog entries.
I then called Ashley – not in yet.
Hanging up, I opened up all of the doors and windows and strolled out onto my north balcony. As a stranger in a strange land with none of my family or long-time friends here, the newness of it all began to excite me. And then the doorbell rang.
Just to be safe, I glanced through the eyehole and saw the fisheyed visage of Kanemaru-san trying to peer in at me.
“Ah so desu,” he said. “Do-nu-stahs, pulizu.” (Uh, downstairs, please… but then you probably figured that out, too.)
Kanemaru-san, Hanazaki-san and the other guy (man, I really am going to have to start paying more attention) walked me down the stairs to a restaurant located on the main floor of the apartment complex. I am unsure of its name (really, really gotta start paying attention) – it might have been the Happy Sumo.
As we walked through the entranceway – the entrance had a thick cloth fabric hanging down over the doorway that we had to part and duck our heads to enter – everyone inside yelled at us: “Irasshaimase" meaning ‘please come in’ or ‘welcome’. Immediately we were led to a table by a plump, smiling, elderly woman who said something about “gaijin” (outsider/foreigner) to Hanazaki-san. He shook his head no, and we were taken to our table.
The word gaijin is one all foreigners/visitors learn very quickly. While not meant as an insult, it does show the need of the Japanese to separate themselves from others. Wherever you are located, gentle reader, can you imagine talking to a friend and seeing someone different from you and then pointing and talking out loud about the foreigner/outsider. “Hey, Jimmy! Is that a foreigner?” That’s kind of what most visitors to Japan go through on a daily basis.
My experience wasn’t bad, however. More often than not, I was called gaijin-san. They called me Mr. Foreigner. Now that’s respect.
The very low table sat on a tatami (grass) mat and had pillows strewn upon the floor for us to sit. First, however, we had to remove our shoes.
For Kanemaru-san and myself, going shoeless was the biggest mistake that restaurant ever made. If you will recall, I had been sitting in a bus and van and sweating for hours.
I sat cross-legged on the cushions and was handed a menu that contained pictures of the food (most restaurants here tend to offer a menu like that – very helpful).
Asked if I wanted beer or sake, I recalled my father’s warning and chose a beer. Stick with what you know, I always say. The irony of it all hit me 19 years later.
From out of the blue, a voice spoke out: “Hey, Andrew, you gaijin! How are you?”
I turned around and looked into the grinning visage of Matthew Hall – who in the decades I have known him has never lost that smile. The giant redhead (6’-4”, 180-lbs) Howdy-Doody/Richie Cunningham look-a-like (Oh! He’s gonna kill me for that one!) smiled and said he also lived here in Ohtawara but that he would teach junior high in all of the small hamlets outside of Ohtawara. Cool. An English-speaking friend and neighbour.
At least I was now able to figure out that the restaurant lady was asking if we wanted to sit with the other gaijin party.
And because you are interested, Ashley was to teach mainly at the Ohtawara Boy’s High School with occasional visits to the Girl’s High School. She lived in Nishinasuno a small town immediately to the north and west of Ohtawara. Cool. An English-speaking girlfriend.
After a lot of drinking and some eating, my supervisors bade me goodnight with the promise that they would be by at 7:30AM to take me to the office.
I walked into my apartment, closed the door and took the whiz to end all whizzes. Finally! No, I didn’t wear the bathroom slippers.
So there I was. Alone in my quiet, clean apartment standing with my eyes wide open in twinkling awe.
Now, if I could only figure out how to cook, clean, do laundry, iron, shop for food, teach English and speak the language, this culture shock might be easy to handle. Either that, or it’s my one-way ticket to a sanitarium.

Somewhere trying on a white suit with the arms tied around the back,
Gaijin-san
Today's title is by Iron Maiden.

The House Of The Rising Son

I didn't want to go to Japan. To be perfectly frank, I was just trying to get laid.
I was 25-years-old and still living at home in Etobicoke in the west-end of Toronto. Considering my living arrangements - plus I was a nerd, ugly and my mother dressed me funny, I hadn't had much luck with the ladies. Ever.
I had finished a Political Science B.A. at York University and had decided to go to Humber College to get a real education in a two-year Journalism program. At Humber, I met and became enthralled with a young woman - and while she liked me and considered me a friend, I wasn't getting anything - except a very strong right forearm.
This woman confided to me that she was interested in going to Japan and teaching English via the JET (Japan Exchange and Teaching) Programme - I'm unsure what the difference is between a programme and a program - plus she was going to apply for a summer internship position with the Toronto Star daily newspaper - one of the top North American newspapers.
Figuring it would be a blast (my opinion)  if we were both able to get into the Star or go to Japan (and finally have sex with something other than a Playboy Playmate or Penthouse Pet), I applied to both program/mes.
Destined to be a virgin a while longer, I got into both programs and she got into neither. Figures.
The Star's summer internship program began in April - before I graduated - while the JET Programme would begin at the end of July.
Humber graciously passed me even though I wasn't around for the final month of school - even now I miss my daily broken English/Polish conversations with the Hot Dog lady in the cafeteria... so does my tape worm - but to go to Japan? As the months became weeks and became days I became convinced that I did not want to go to Japan. I was working for the best newspaper in Canada and if I left, that opportunity might never arise again.
In truth, I was just scared spitless.
At 11PM - a mere 12 hours before my flight left Toronto for Tokyo, I was trying to convince my father that I should stay.
Dear old dad with visions of being able to save hundreds of dollars a month in Kleenex purchases would have none of my cowardice - and told me to go, experience the culture and use it to further my life. Besides he had already rented out my room.
He also said to watch out for the rice wine aka sake... but that's another blog.
My apologies for not being very wacky in this first blog - but that's because we aren't in Japan yet. I can guarantee that once you arrive in the Land Of The Rising Sun with me that you'll bust a gut laughing and hopefully learn a thing or two.

Somewhere sharing a bed,
Andrew Joseph
Title is the awesome song by The Animals. I did change the spelling of the word "sun", however.
Listen - I'VE WON.