brian + japan = ?

Move Over, Hiroyuki Sakai!

Food is an obsession. Let's face it, it's pretty good stuff. The Japanese seem particularly fixated on the stuff. At any given moment there's a food show on at least one of my whopping six channels of broadcast television. Note that I didn't say "cooking show". The cooking is eshewed almost completely in favor of the culinary money shot, the eating. In a way, this is unfortunate because I'll never know if there's a Japanese Alton Brown. On the other hand, them there eatin' shows are pretty funny. They usually star a few hungry gents who drop by a local restaurant. After some chat with the chef, the real star of the show enters, stage left. Steaming rice, charred fishheads, and bubbling egg concotion are all presented at a zoom ratio so absurd you'd think they brought an electron microscope along. This is accompanied by the obligatory narrator guy raving like a lunatic about how delicious it all looks. Eventually, the eating begins, a chorale of "mmm"s, slurps, and satisfied grunts. And as suddenly as it began, it ends.

The parallels to porn are pretty clear - the thin plot, the camera work, the grunting - so I hereby dub the sub-genre "food porn".

I'm ashamed to admit it, but food porn has had a profound effect on me. I used to love cooking five-star meals for myself, and I must say, I had the fucking knack. A few of my lesser-known creations:

Roasted Baguette with Legume Frappe and Fresh Fruit

Grease car's interior with shortening to ensure smooth entry. Bring internal combustion engine to the boil by kneading the accelerator firmly. Infuse cashier with the words "one cheese quesadilla, one grilled stuft burrito with steak, and one large mountain dew." After 30 seconds of baking, remove from drive-up window and make sure they didn't fuck your order up. Promptly cool engine in parking lot and eat.

But upon arrival in Japan, something strange happened. The more food porn I watched, the more skewed the delicate balance between cooking and eating became. Within a week, I'd given up cooking completely. Ultimately, food porn killed my love of the culinary journey and made it all about the grub. And you know what? I liked it.

For eight months, I ate out every single day. You name the place, chances are I ate there: Mos Burger, Miyoshino (a gyoza chain), any number of japanese convenience stores, anywhere I didn't have to cook.

Until now! About a month ago I had a strange itch to investigate the cooking applicances in my apartment. I soon noticed that my rice cooker was broken, so the lovely Sapporo Board of Education bought me a new one, which I received last Friday. Functional rice cookers must be food porn kryptonite, because I've cooked for two straight days! Shazam! Last night I made curry rice (which is more like curry-colored flavor sludge with some rice and vegetables - nothing like genuine Indian curry, but tasty in its own special way). Tonight I made picture-perfect onigiri, like the one pictured below (letterboxed for maximum dramatic impact)!

Who knows what I'll make tomorrow night? Oh yeah, I'm going out for Indian food. What? You can't expect a guy to go cold turkey.

[Note: I'm not making much of this up. I really didn't do any cooking in Japan prior to the day before yesterday. Crazy thing is, I've lost 10 pounds! I'm guessing the lack of Taco Bell has almost everything to do with that.]

Adieu, Sweet Nakajima

My last day at Nakajima Junior High School was a week and a half ago. It was quite the buffet of feelings for me. Happiness, because I'll be moving to a school with more attentive, less crotch-gropey students. Sadness, because the crotch-grabbing was actually pretty fun. Stress, because I had to give three speeches in Japanese, including one in front of the entire school. And (later that evening) drunkeness, because these people really know how to booze.

Transfers of staff members are quite common in Japanese schools. Almost everyone seems to change schools every 2-3 years. Not just teachers - janitors, counselors, nurses, even lunch ladies. As usual, I'm not sure what the rationale is; probably something to do with giving every school the same experience on average over time? Anyway, eleven of us left Nakajima this year, which made for a litany of goodbye speeches. Many of them were remarkably emotional. Typically stoic folks got pretty weepy. Not me, though. I'm all man.

After the closing ceremonies at school, the staff headed to the sobetsukai (farewell party), at which emotions and general insanity continued to be on display, aided and abetted by alcohol. Naturally, another round of goodbye speeches ensued. (Speeches are really big here.) After my horrible raving speech, I was awarded with a huge bouquet and a gift of what must be really dandy green tea, given its intensive wrapping. Then it was on to the second party, then the third party, which ended around 2AM. Somewhere along the line I took some pictures, most of which feature my ugly mug too heavily. Sorry.

Me and my mentor in The Fine Art of Attempting to Teach English to Kids Who Don't Really Care, Toshiyuki Abe.

Me and Kuragano-sensei. Mr. Kuragano is responsible for quelling the lunacy of the most notorious student at school. He is an incredibly mellow guy until that first beer hits his lips. Then he goes hog-wild. (He had a long red wig and lipstick on along with that classy hat earlier in the evening.)

Lotsa drunk teachers enjoying karaoke!

Mr. Okano, aka the "King of Susukino" (Susukino is Sapporo's party district, densely packed with bars, strip clubs and brothels), and his many female companions.

Me and kocho-sensei (principal). Frankly, this guy scared the hell out of me most of the year, but he really came out of his ultra-serious shell that night. Probably because he was retiring?

Me and kyoto-sensei (vice principal), both clearly schlitzed.