Happy Signs

Inspired by Megan's chronicle of really weird Japanese stuff, I was all prepared to scout Japan for awesome signage.  But then I got distracted by the food.

Still, I collected a handful of signs that just made me happy:

Cigarettes with attitude not welcome here.

Is teletubbie confused because of the canoodling or  because he's inexplicably in a subway car?

Truth in advertising.

My favorite, however, was simply the byproduct of translating from one exceedingly difficult language into another exceedingly difficult language.  The mountain town of Takayama is known for its sake brewing; the sake distilleries are marked by giant cedar balls outside their doors.  One shop had a refrigerated case with rows of sake bottles and little clear plastic cups: a self-help sampling set up.  

Sake distilleries in Takayama.

Score! I thought.  I was oblivious to the middle-aged Japanese men staring at me as I worked my way methodically across the rows.  Somewhere in the middle of the second row I noticed there was a typewritten sign taped to the back of the refrigerated case:  "Please do not sample the minors or the drivers."

Fair enough.

Cheap Eats Japan, Part II

Where was I? Ah, yes: noodles.  Plentiful, delicious, cheap -- but also just the tip of the Japanese convenience food iceberg. And so we move on to that second major Japanese food group, fried.

Fried food on sticks:  

Kushiage (which I think literally translates to "fried food on sticks") is exactly what it sounds like.  Any kind of vegetable and almost any kind of animal product is panko-crusted and deep fried to order, served with shredded cabbage and a sweet dipping sauce (in which you should never double dip).  As the Japanese know well, fried food goes best with beer, and it's the beer that will run up your tab in such places - each skewer on its own costs less than $2.  Greatest novelty: frying quail eggs turns them into squishy eye balls with the most amazing gooey yolk when you bite into them.

Lotus root has a most distinctive shape.

Okonomiyaki: 

Though kushiage could give it a run for its money, I would have to say Japan's premier drunk food is okonomiyaki.  Seriously, I don't understand why every college town doesn't have an okonomiyaki hole-in-the-wall diner, or why Portland appears still to be lacking an okonomiyaki food cart (Note to Portland: Get on it).

Okonomi-mura

One of the best cities for okononomiyaki is Hiroshima, where there is an entire building downtown (Okonomi-mura) made up of tiny okonomiyaki stalls. It's a little tricky to find the internal staircase that winds up through five or six floors of okonomiyaki paradise, and once you do, it's hard to differentiate one from another.  

We picked one on the fourth floor that seemed like it had been around for a while, was hosting three middle-aged Japanese business men, and was staffed by an older man with a yellow towel tied around his head who looked entirely displeased to see us sit down before his grill.

Cheap Eats Japan

Not gonna lie: Traveling in Japan is expensive. It's a wealthy country, goods and services are priced surprisingly consistently (so don't go holding your breath for bargain basement deals), and the exchange rate is most definitely NOT in your favor. Don't get me started on the exchange rate.

But eating in Japan: not expensive.  At least, not if you can content yourself with the Japanese equivalent of fast food.  

Now, I don't want to mislead you - we're still talking about spending $8-$15 a person here.  But there is a surprising diversity of options at that price point.  In fact, our love of street food and cheap eats while traveling reflects not so much our Yankee frugality (OK, maybe it does) as the thrill of cultural exploration.  

Breakfast noodles in a Tokyo back alley.

Noodles: Noodles are king. In Japan, one could eat noodles for breakfast, lunch and dinner and still respect oneself in the morning. Noodles are ubiquitous, and they are diverse: both in type (udon, soba, ramen, somen) and in context - from the somewhat upscale to the very back alley.  

At the higher end are the soba and udon shops that make their own noodles.  These places tend to lay claim to historical pedigree and have extensive menus with an overwhelming set of options for what to have on, in or with your noodles.  

Take, for example, Ebistu, a noodle shop that has been around for 150 years, give or take, in the alpine town of Takayama:  

Everybody Hearts Bullet Trains

You can tell a lot about a country from its trains. Consider, to stereotype wildly, the Germans (pride in efficiency and punctuality), the Dutch (cheerful utilitarianism), the Polish (working their way from the second world to the first), the Americans (they prefer cars). The same is true for the Japanese.

Most obviously, there's the impressive engineering of the shinkasen (bullet trains). Everybody loves the bullet trains. And the Japanese love to be cutting edge. The bullet trains have achieved engineering fame for Japan for the last fifty years. Cruising along at nearly 200 miles per hour, you may as well be standing still: there is no rocking, no swaying; no jostling or clicking or clacking. 

Which leads us to the most remarkable aspect of riding trains in Japan: QUIET. Not only is there no noticeable train noise on the shinkasen (except when entering or exiting tunnels), but there is absolutely no talking on cell phones. It is a rule that is consistently displayed on all trains - no using mobile phones in the passenger carriages - but so discreetly that I didn't even notice it until half way through our trip. Japan is a rule-following country; following rules demonstrates respect, avoids shame, makes the community look good.  If you're asked not to talk on your phone in the passenger compartments, then you don't talk on your phone in the passenger compartments.  Indeed, I think it might even rise to the level of a taboo, so uniformly was the rule followed.  This fundamentally alters the experience of riding on trains: it is a restful, nay even peaceful, experience.  This quiet is the major reason that I suspect Jeff ranks riding the trains as his very favorite Japanese experience. 

Information overload.

Adding to Jeff's enjoyment (being an engineer and a systems guy) was the train network's precision and maximum efficiency. Trains are never late. And I don't mean more or less on time, I mean to the second. In the busiest stations, trains are spaced as close as a few minutes apart - just long enough for passengers to step on board. To ensure all runs smoothly, stations are full of information (if you know where to look - and how to decipher it) about which train carriage will stop where for a given line, and even what car you want to be on (for local trains) if you are switching at another station. Particularly busy stations have painted lanes on the platform, colored-coded by line, so passengers can queue efficiently for the rapid series of arrivals.

An illustrative example: We found ourselves passing through Osaka's main station at the beginning of a three-day weekend (unbeknown to us at the time). Three-day weekends, you should understand, are a serious matter in Japan; as one Japanese explained to me, Japan has an excessive number of national holidays (15) because the workaholic Japanese would never take vacation otherwise.  Being the weekend of the second Monday in October, the entire country was celebrating Sports Day, which commemorates the 1964 Tokyo Olympics.  (No, really.)  

Culinary Curiosity and the Truth about Kobe Beef

It is a truth near-universally acknowledged that a yuppie on vacation must be in want of a cooking class. Cooking classes provide precisely the sort of cocktail party anecdotes beloved by the typical yuppie.  For example: "When we took our cooking class in Sicily, our instructor  insisted we try raw cow jaw at the local market. Raw cow jaw, carved right off the head!  Even the flies and the strays wouldn't eat our scraps!"

(True story.)

Inside Taro's home.

If you travel much around Japan, you will soon learn how rare an achievement it is to be invited inside a Japanese home. Our Kyoto cooking class snagged us just such an invitation, though I have not yet turned it into a full-fledged cocktail party anecdote.

Like most Japanese homes, Taro's uses space efficiently and elegantly.  The kitchen is not much larger than those found in American studio apartments, but with thoughtful planning and his wife's mis en place, Taro can accommodate up to three couples at a time.  Indeed, from the recipes to the lesson design, Taro's was the most organized tourist cooking class we've yet taken.

Elegant efficiency.

But recipes are generally of secondary importance for yuppie-appropriate cooking classes in foreign locales. The primary purpose is a sort of cultural immersion, with perhaps the side effect of picking up a new technique or two along the way.

To illustrate, a sampling of my take-aways from Taro's class: