Since leaving America August 2006, I have traveled to sixteen countries. A great deal has happened. This site is to share my thoughts, photos, music, writings, travel experiences, and developing political/social commentary with you. I hope you find it interesting and informative.
It’s always overwhelming to arrive in a new country, especially if the culture is completely different than what you’re familiar with. Certainly coming to Japan in July 2007 was that way for me, even though I’d already made some stops in Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, and China, and at least had been introduced to the “East”.
The first few days are pure overload. There’s so much to take in, you’re not sure what to look at or even what you’re seeing. You’re distracted by just trying to function, trying to communicate in an unfamiliar tongue, trying to pantomime and fake your way from one scene to the next, hope upon hope you’re not offending someone.
Slowly, one-by-one, things begin to come into focus.
I distinctly remember the first thing that caught me somewhat baffled eye here in Japan.
Vending machines!
They seemed to be everywhere, often in places I certainly didn’t expect to see them. Like out in the open on the side of a busy road!
Of course, everything is convenient here. If I’m not mistaken, Japan invented the コンビニ — the convenience store.
What could be more convenient than being able to pull your car over just about anywhere, pull out some coins and buy . . . buy what your heart desires! As you can see from the pic at the top, there are vending machines for snacks, cakes and sweets, tofu, ramen, noodles, even strawberries.
And as I pointed out back in March, my wife Masumi discovered a vending machine for . . . OYSTERS! I personally have never had a craving for oysters in the middle of the night, but if I ever do I’ll just go look for the nearest oyster vending machine and start slurping.
By the way, I’ve also seen vending machines for beer and other alcoholic drinks. Since Japan has such strict drug laws, I’m not expecting to see any for marijuana anytime soon. Maybe they have those in Amsterdam.
Granted, 'Udon, Soba & Ramen' sounds like a law firm based in Yokohama.
Actually, these are the three most common forms of noodles here in Japan, and are among the staples of the healthy diet of this country.
My history with 'noodles' is pretty sketchy. My mom used to serve me chicken noodle soup, typically Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup. I tried to smile and show my gratitude but I've never forgiven her for serving me this slop in a can.
I'm now recalling the name of the character Robert De Niro played in one of my favorite gangland movies, Once Upon a Time in America. Yes, It was 'Noodles'.
Hmm . . . let's see. I used to eat buttered egg noodles for lunch sometimes.
There you have it. A lifetime noodling around. Until I arrived here.
Like everything here in Japan, the science and art of noodle-making has been perfected to the highest possible level.
There is, for example, a whole prefecture -- a prefecture is the equivalent of a state in the U.S. or a province in Canada -- devoted to creating the finest udon in the Universe. It's called Kagawa Prefecture. I've been there! There are hundreds of udon restaurants, and you can watch them make noodles from scratch as you sit there waiting for your meal. They make dough, roll it, cut it, then toss it into boiling water. You can't get udon any fresher than that!
Udon (うどん) is a thick wheat-flour noodle, served in a very basic broth. The slippery texture makes it enormously fun to eat. The toppings are a real bonus. They include varieties of tempura, soft- or hard-boiled eggs, fish paste, fish cakes, shrimp, with the whole affair then sprinkled to taste with chopped scallions. We eat udon at least once a week. A real treat is to serve a basic udon generously blended with Japanese curry.
Soba (蕎麦) is made from buckwheat flour and despite the name, buckwheat bears no relation to wheat. It's made from grinding the seeds of Fagopyrum esculentum, a plant which is not a grass like wheat is. It took me a while to develop a taste for buckwheat. I had tried buckwheat pancakes in the U.S. and thought they were odd, certainly not at all an improvement on regular pancakes. Slowly here in Japan I've grown to enjoy the unique flavor of buckwheat and soba itself.
Most soba restaurants seem to be more traditional institutions, so the dining experience embraces atmospherics as well tongue tantalizing. My wife really loves soba, so at least once a month we go to her favorite restaurant tucked away on a country road in the middle of nowhere. If you happen to go to this place, I'm sure you'll be as amazed as I always am that anyone can find it. But there's always a line at the door of expectant soba-aficionados eager to get their fix.
Ramen (ラーメン) is the least healthy of the three. Lots and lots of grease. Which means it tastes great! It's based on Chinese wheat noodles, a meat or fish broth -- usually it's pork -- and like udon is garnished with all sorts of yummy ingredients. Slices of butaniku (pork) are very common. Some people dump in tons of garlic or green onions, or peppery spices. Many regions of Japan have their own distinctive version of ramen. For example, tonkotsu is the ramen unique to Kyushu and miso ramen that of Hokkaido.
Ramen and people's devotion to it sometimes have religious or cult overtones. This was beautifully captured in a very funny comedic film called The Ramen Girl, about an American lass who is stranded in Tokyo after breaking up with her boyfriend, and apprentices to a ramen master to get her life back together. I highly recommend it!
(Disclaimer: This movie has no transgender CIA assassins who side-by-side with comic book superheroes attempt to defeat an invading swarm of 6-dimensional extraterrestrial nano-spiders. But it's still great!)
There you have it. Come to Japan. Join in on the fun.
Or if you're already here, you know . . . the Japanese take noodles very seriously!
With the incredible success of my new novel, The Man Who Loved Too Much - Book 1: Archipelago, released only two weeks ago but already peaking at #11,496 on Amazon's Fiction/Coming of Age/Fantasy/Zombies /High School Cheerleader/Romance best-seller list, people often ask me:
"John, how do you come up with your characters?"
First, I drive my Mercedes to a local ramen restaurant, where not only do they
have great meals, but I can get my kitchen knives sharpened.
I walk in and sit down. I say something in Japanese. They just roll their eyes.
An eighty-five-year-old lady is across from me, slumped over at her table.
She might be breathing but I don't see how, with her face immersed in
the bowl of noodles.
I picture her as a twenty-year-old university student, dressed in either sexy
lingerie from Fredericks of Hollywood, or a Lycra fetish costume
purchased from an online store in the West Village. There's a tennis
ball strapped in her mouth.
Now . . . what is she feeling?
Suddenly, an off-duty Japanese police officer drives through the front of the
restaurant on a Harley Davidson. There is broken glass and disposable
chopsticks everywhere!
Inspiration!
And the plot thickens.
I thought the police officer had tattoos on his arms but they are just temporary removable sheer hosiery tattoos he picked up in Thailand, while on his police precinct's annual sex tourism holiday.
He orders the lunch special, Salty Miso Beef Ramen with Deep-Fried Pork Dumplings
on the side. Of course, all the rice you can eat is included . . . and it's free!
Now I hear the sound of a helicopter hovering overhead. Understandably, my first
instinct is that it must be Navy Seals either conducting exercises or
mounting a raid. There are so many suspicious people everywhere you look
these days. Especially here in Japan!
But no, it's a medical rescue team. Four paramedics tethered to long nylon ropes
drop down onto the street out front. They rush into the restaurant. The
first medic through the door grabs the old lady's hair. He violently
yanks her head out of the bowl of ramen, then gagging, gives her
mouth-to-mouth. But it's too late. Her wind pipe is clogged with
congealed noodles. She is dead.
While they drag her body out of the restaurant to hoist it into the helicopter,
some young boys, probably elementary school age, are passing. Several of
them are taunting a pathetic little guy, who unfortunately is
cross-eyed and suffers acute lymphedema. His legs look like pontoons,
very unusual for someone his age. The other boys are mocking him by
chanting: "Dalai Lama! Dalai Lama!"
Hmm. I don't get this. Dalai Lama? But I can use it! Sometimes you need
something a little off the wall to keep a reader's attention.
All this time I've been slurping away. The food here is truly amazing! My bowl
is just about empty, when a huge stabbing pain shoots through my gut. I
feel like someone has stuck a samurai sword in my belly button, twisting
it like they're wrapping pasta around a fork.
Food poisoning!
I don't know why I keep coming here. Every time I eat here __ I mean every time!
__ it's the same thing. I get food poisoning and spend the next six
hours . . . well, you know.
My only excuse for this habitual self-sabotage is that this place has been so good for
my writing. This is where it all starts. The huge cast of misfits and
miscreants that populate my stories are all denizens of the social
tapestry of this little hole-in-the-wall soup shop.
I'll tell you something else. No way am I giving away my secret.
You can try Googling "ramen shops Japan" if you like.
