"Meet me at Wendy's" used to be the the refrain when meeting someone in Azabu Juban, six minutes by foot from the Manor. With its prime position at the top of Exit 4, everyone knew how to find the hamburger joint in a city where getting lost is a sport. (The Exit is key since warren-like stations have multiple exits that extend for miles.) Wendy's acted as the gateway to the Juban shopping street until the chain quit Japan in 2009; the landmark became an empty storefront until today when The Darjeeling appeared, a tearoom with pricey pastry.
Like Greenwich Village the Juban is dotted with cafes and boutiques. Across from what has become The Darjeeling sits Tully's, the self-proclaimed Starbucks competitor owned by Green Mountain, while Starbucks dominates the next corner. On the same street after the sushi and kimono shops the thirsty person may choose between Koots (green tea chain) or Precious Coffee Moments, an old-fashioned kissaten (coffeeshop) established in 1933. Continuing towards Roppongi Hills (think: Beverly Hills) a second Tully's offers outdoor seating for the many dog owners and smokers. Predictably an artistic nihonjin sporting a blond ponytail and white spectacles parks his electric bike by this Tully's where he holds court in the early evenings.
Always a crowd at the shop selling sembei (Japanese crackers) and temptation at the handbag shop called Asami, which keeps a sale rack of their one-off designs outside on the street. Who can resist a stop at one of the two 100 Yen Shops in the Juban? A supplier of chewing gum, envelopes, cleaning supplies and for Y 200 the clear umbrellas that make navigating the crowded streets easy during rainy season. How times have changed since the Tokugawa shogun ran his horse trading market in the Juban 400 years ago.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
Signs of Summer
"Back home the first sign of summer is when we turn off the central heating," said an English neighbor at the Manor. "Here it's when we turn off the Toto." Her reference is to the toilet manufacturer rather than Dorothy's lapdog in Oz. Five years ago when former Tokyoite Liz showed me the Toto line at Gracious Home on Third Avenue I did not anticipate living with one. Now I cannot imagine life without my Toto. At Narita Airport, in Mitsukoshi depato and at every restaurant the electrically warmed Washlet with its panel of sprays and even a blowdryer welcomes all and sundry. A Niagara soundtrack masks unpleasant noises; easy to press that button by mistake when fiddling with the controls.
Second sign of summer is the kasa (umbrella) and higasa (parasol). July is firmly Toto time off as humidity hovers at 90% and downpours swoop down in the late afternoon. Off to Odaiba for the International Book Fair at Tokyo Big Sight via the Yurikamome (blackheaded seagull) line with the crowd. Fully automated the Yurikamome flies across the Rainbow Bridge above Tokyo Bay. No uniformed drivers with white gloves to make announcements on the platform (Go chewy kudasai -- watch your step); instead commuters are treated to a bird's eye view of water traffic.
Final sign of the season is the folding fan (hiogi) invented in nihon in the Heian Era some 1500 years ago. Paper and bamboo are an excellent cooling agent even in these automated days; men and women pack them and freely flutter them. At the Book Fair clever publishers distribute uchiwa, the nonfolding variety of fan that carries a marketing message. What a perfect omiyagi (souvenir) after hours of walking the aisles in the cavernous convention center.
Second sign of summer is the kasa (umbrella) and higasa (parasol). July is firmly Toto time off as humidity hovers at 90% and downpours swoop down in the late afternoon. Off to Odaiba for the International Book Fair at Tokyo Big Sight via the Yurikamome (blackheaded seagull) line with the crowd. Fully automated the Yurikamome flies across the Rainbow Bridge above Tokyo Bay. No uniformed drivers with white gloves to make announcements on the platform (Go chewy kudasai -- watch your step); instead commuters are treated to a bird's eye view of water traffic.
Final sign of the season is the folding fan (hiogi) invented in nihon in the Heian Era some 1500 years ago. Paper and bamboo are an excellent cooling agent even in these automated days; men and women pack them and freely flutter them. At the Book Fair clever publishers distribute uchiwa, the nonfolding variety of fan that carries a marketing message. What a perfect omiyagi (souvenir) after hours of walking the aisles in the cavernous convention center.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Zen Pets
Chisai inu (lap dogs) are the accessory of choice for Edoko with long-haired dachshunds leading the pack. In the Juban the dog grooming parlor Candy Jam is as entertaining as a quiz show on NHK; the plate glass window invites passerby to admire the polite pets as they get clipped and blowdried. Of late corgis seem in greater evidence, and one dog owner near the Manor pushes two mini schnauzers in a pram while a third rides in a backpack. As a rule dogs do not touch paw to sidewalk but are transported in tote bags, which is how I got the inspiration to carry Suki-chan in my fashionable Dean & Deluca canvas tote.
Hai time for Suki-chan's visit to the vet. With a recommendation from Cindy-san, our local expert, the appointment was made in nihongo at Athena Dobutsu Byoiin (Animal Hospital). Located behind Tokyo Midtown, a tower visible from the Manor, entailed a one mile taxi ride; the meter starts at Y 710 (about $8) but no tipping of course. To insure timely arrival we printed a map and asked the concierge to write our request on the sheet. Musume (daughter) popped Suki-chan into the tote bag, where she disappeared without a peep. I carried the hardcase plastic carrier in case neko (cat) turned into tora (tiger). After one or two false turns, the taxi driver found the street address and we entered the storefront. Glass walls meant we could watch the other patients: A papillon and a mini-mini poodle, both smaller than our Suki-chan. I tossed the plastic case in a corner while we waited our turn.
What a pleasant surprise: Our tora-chan peeked her nose out of the bag, then snuggled back down like a sweet neko-chan (cat). On her best behavior, she permitted Fukumura sensei to take her vitals, clip her claws and admire her luxurious neko no ke (fur) since local cats are mainly shorthaired with short tails. Back in the bag, she curled up despite the yipping of the Yorkie who followed. Does the tote bag explain the good behavior of pets around town? After settling the bill in cash (about $50), no problem to use takshii nihongo to direct the driver to the Manor. Mission accomplished.
Hai time for Suki-chan's visit to the vet. With a recommendation from Cindy-san, our local expert, the appointment was made in nihongo at Athena Dobutsu Byoiin (Animal Hospital). Located behind Tokyo Midtown, a tower visible from the Manor, entailed a one mile taxi ride; the meter starts at Y 710 (about $8) but no tipping of course. To insure timely arrival we printed a map and asked the concierge to write our request on the sheet. Musume (daughter) popped Suki-chan into the tote bag, where she disappeared without a peep. I carried the hardcase plastic carrier in case neko (cat) turned into tora (tiger). After one or two false turns, the taxi driver found the street address and we entered the storefront. Glass walls meant we could watch the other patients: A papillon and a mini-mini poodle, both smaller than our Suki-chan. I tossed the plastic case in a corner while we waited our turn.
What a pleasant surprise: Our tora-chan peeked her nose out of the bag, then snuggled back down like a sweet neko-chan (cat). On her best behavior, she permitted Fukumura sensei to take her vitals, clip her claws and admire her luxurious neko no ke (fur) since local cats are mainly shorthaired with short tails. Back in the bag, she curled up despite the yipping of the Yorkie who followed. Does the tote bag explain the good behavior of pets around town? After settling the bill in cash (about $50), no problem to use takshii nihongo to direct the driver to the Manor. Mission accomplished.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Bye Bye Buddha
"You've been to Kamakura many times but I haven't been yet," said musume chan (daughter). Most guests at the Manor (you know who you are) were escorted on the journey to the seaside town to pay their respects to Daibutsu (Great Buddha). Thirty miles south of Tokyo, one thousand years ago Kamakura served as the capital of nihon and the seat of the shogunate. Over the centuries the population has held steady at about 200,000, which now qualifies it as a suburb. So, without further delay on a rainy day in tsuyu (rainy season), haha to musume (mother and daughter) rode Japan Rail for one hour on a farewell tour. Tokyo train travel is simple: On the Jorudan Route Finder web site plug in the departure station (Tamachi) and the destination (Kamakura), and voila! A screen offers options at each price point.
En route we made a brief stop to Engaku-ji in Kita Kamakura (North Kamakura), perhaps the most important Zen Buddhist complex in the country. For a ticket of Y 300 we admired the San Mon (Main Gate), Shari-den (shrine of the Sacred Tooth of Buddha) and climbed up a steep staircase to view the Ohgane (Temple Bell). Europeans swarmed behind us, mainly speaking Italian. Back at the train station a sweet faced lady with a parasol smiled and asked a few questions in nihongo, then recommended the local soba (buckwheat noodles) restaurant.
Walking from Kamakura eki to Daibutsu for half an hour weaves through a hodgepodge of suburban homes in every style. Some houses would be comfortable in Scarsdale, while some could only make sense in Kamakura. Rain dappled the great bronze Daibutsu sat serenely with a tray of genetically modified fruit upon the altar at his feet. A ticket of Y 200 entitles visitors to pay their respects; for another Y 20 visitors can enter inside his body for a view from the window at the back of his head. At 13 meters he is nearly as tall as the largest Buddha, who resides in Todaiji Temple, Nara. Musume invested in a good luck amulet for good health, haha bought one to avoid calamities before returning on the 3:27 PM Yokuska Train back to the Juban.
En route we made a brief stop to Engaku-ji in Kita Kamakura (North Kamakura), perhaps the most important Zen Buddhist complex in the country. For a ticket of Y 300 we admired the San Mon (Main Gate), Shari-den (shrine of the Sacred Tooth of Buddha) and climbed up a steep staircase to view the Ohgane (Temple Bell). Europeans swarmed behind us, mainly speaking Italian. Back at the train station a sweet faced lady with a parasol smiled and asked a few questions in nihongo, then recommended the local soba (buckwheat noodles) restaurant.
Walking from Kamakura eki to Daibutsu for half an hour weaves through a hodgepodge of suburban homes in every style. Some houses would be comfortable in Scarsdale, while some could only make sense in Kamakura. Rain dappled the great bronze Daibutsu sat serenely with a tray of genetically modified fruit upon the altar at his feet. A ticket of Y 200 entitles visitors to pay their respects; for another Y 20 visitors can enter inside his body for a view from the window at the back of his head. At 13 meters he is nearly as tall as the largest Buddha, who resides in Todaiji Temple, Nara. Musume invested in a good luck amulet for good health, haha bought one to avoid calamities before returning on the 3:27 PM Yokuska Train back to the Juban.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Breakfast at Tsukiji's
"How about meeting at Tsukiji for our final meal together?" asked the five Eating Out Group tomodachis, referring to the biggest seafood market on earth. Since the days of old Edo dealers have operated from this port to satisfy a diet that draws seriously on les fruits de mer. To get the measure of the place, think Fulton Fish Market to the tenth power. As the auction gets started around 5:30 AM, gaijin (foreigners) like to start their Tokyo tour there. Jet-lag does not mix well with 900 professional wholesale dealers; since May the market has limited the number of visitors to 140 per day. With our rendezvous set for 10 AM, our group manages to miss rush hour and I have invited another American friend who rounds out the group.
Descending into the bowels of Azabu Juban to board the Toei Oedo line bound for Tsukijishijo eki (station) I bump into one of my eating companions. "I'm 77, same as Yoko Ono," she likes to say, and both of them are holding up well. Although she is an Edoko (native), this is a first for her on the Toei Oedo as well as eating at Tsukiji. We climb up into the market, greeted by a dense heat as well as earlybirds toting their purchases. While the auction may be over, the market is a hive of shops and the place is buzzing. Weaving our way through the market's alleyways, on one side a shopkeeper demonstrates his knives while on the other today's catch is on display. Surprisingly there is no noticeable fishy smell. Long queues form in front of some of the sushi shops. Last month Phyllis and I stopped at a kaiten joint (plates on a conveyor belt) where four plates of the freshest nigirizushi amounted to Y 600 ($7).
"Shall we try chirashizushi?" asked tomodachi ("scattered" sushi over a bowl of rice rather than individual pieces). For Y 1, 400 (about $15) seated at the counter, in minutes we were served miso soup and sushi bowls with a glass of mugi cha (cold barley tea). "The fish in the picture looked nicer," tomodachi told the counterman, who quickly handed over a plate of extra maguro. "Not enough vinegar in the rice," whispered another tomodachi. "How do you like the taste of urchin?" asked third tomodachi, referring to the yolk colored item without flavor. "That is squid," explained another tomodachi about a bowl with three nut shaped items. Perhaps the places with queues are superior, they wondered, as we polished off brunch. Calendars out, they set up September's lunch --the first one without me ("We miss you!" they say poignantly in the present tense)-- and promised that whenever I next visit Tokyo they will organize a reunion.
Descending into the bowels of Azabu Juban to board the Toei Oedo line bound for Tsukijishijo eki (station) I bump into one of my eating companions. "I'm 77, same as Yoko Ono," she likes to say, and both of them are holding up well. Although she is an Edoko (native), this is a first for her on the Toei Oedo as well as eating at Tsukiji. We climb up into the market, greeted by a dense heat as well as earlybirds toting their purchases. While the auction may be over, the market is a hive of shops and the place is buzzing. Weaving our way through the market's alleyways, on one side a shopkeeper demonstrates his knives while on the other today's catch is on display. Surprisingly there is no noticeable fishy smell. Long queues form in front of some of the sushi shops. Last month Phyllis and I stopped at a kaiten joint (plates on a conveyor belt) where four plates of the freshest nigirizushi amounted to Y 600 ($7).
"Shall we try chirashizushi?" asked tomodachi ("scattered" sushi over a bowl of rice rather than individual pieces). For Y 1, 400 (about $15) seated at the counter, in minutes we were served miso soup and sushi bowls with a glass of mugi cha (cold barley tea). "The fish in the picture looked nicer," tomodachi told the counterman, who quickly handed over a plate of extra maguro. "Not enough vinegar in the rice," whispered another tomodachi. "How do you like the taste of urchin?" asked third tomodachi, referring to the yolk colored item without flavor. "That is squid," explained another tomodachi about a bowl with three nut shaped items. Perhaps the places with queues are superior, they wondered, as we polished off brunch. Calendars out, they set up September's lunch --the first one without me ("We miss you!" they say poignantly in the present tense)-- and promised that whenever I next visit Tokyo they will organize a reunion.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Shinjuku-ku
By my calculation half of the women in Tokyo studied piano at Juilliard, while the other half belongs to a choir. Singing for health, to keep the lungs youthful, is recommended by medical experts in nihon. With so many people making music, weekends are chockablock with concerts. After practicing "Carmina Burana" with her choir all year generous tomodachi san sent me a ticket for the July 4th performance at Tokyo Opera City Concert Hall. In order to insure timely arrival two other tomodachis agreed to meet at Shinjuku Eki (station) one hour before the concert.
Most cinema viewers have seen the hectic streets around Shinjuku from the outside, thanks to Sofia Coppola's "Lost in Translation." Inside the station is another story: A mini city with shops and restaurants galore, it feeds into the Takashimaya and other depatos; by comparison, Grand Central Station appears sleepy. After traveling on the Women Only car of the subway (to deter chikan--gropers-- during rush hour), the plan is to meet at South Exit. This entails leaving the private train line for the JR (Japan Rail) meeting point, which takes about 15 minutes on foot. At the appointed platform packed with wall-to-wall travelers, how to find tomodachis? Via cell phone, of course, which proves that we are a few steps apart.
One more stop along a third train line leads to the Concert Hall, upstairs in a Lincoln Center type complex. Early birds have created a snakelike queue along the hallway-- seats are first come, first served! Doors open, a mad dash for seats. Finally, settled together, embraced by the air con a quick check of the audience reveals the majority listening with eyes closed, chins on chests. With 150 on stage, the supportive audience is full of friends and family. Omedetou gozaimasu (congratulations)! Afterwards tomodachis stop for happy hour at the British Pub before rushing home to catch Ryoma-den, the NHK series about the 19th century hero, Sakamoto. Tanoshikata (fun)!
Most cinema viewers have seen the hectic streets around Shinjuku from the outside, thanks to Sofia Coppola's "Lost in Translation." Inside the station is another story: A mini city with shops and restaurants galore, it feeds into the Takashimaya and other depatos; by comparison, Grand Central Station appears sleepy. After traveling on the Women Only car of the subway (to deter chikan--gropers-- during rush hour), the plan is to meet at South Exit. This entails leaving the private train line for the JR (Japan Rail) meeting point, which takes about 15 minutes on foot. At the appointed platform packed with wall-to-wall travelers, how to find tomodachis? Via cell phone, of course, which proves that we are a few steps apart.
One more stop along a third train line leads to the Concert Hall, upstairs in a Lincoln Center type complex. Early birds have created a snakelike queue along the hallway-- seats are first come, first served! Doors open, a mad dash for seats. Finally, settled together, embraced by the air con a quick check of the audience reveals the majority listening with eyes closed, chins on chests. With 150 on stage, the supportive audience is full of friends and family. Omedetou gozaimasu (congratulations)! Afterwards tomodachis stop for happy hour at the British Pub before rushing home to catch Ryoma-den, the NHK series about the 19th century hero, Sakamoto. Tanoshikata (fun)!
Sunday, July 4, 2010
The Raumen Museum
Leave it to the nihonjin to come up with the concept of a food amusement park. The dish in question is ramen, the noodle soup crowd pleaser that satisfies the appetite like a slice of pizza at 4 PM on Lexington Avenue. Location is Shin Yokohama, about 45 minutes by underground train from the Manor plus one stop along the JR (Japan Rail). For Y 300 the visitor steps into Showa 33 Tokyo (1958 New York), the year that instant ramen changed eating habits around the world. Wandering along alleyways are outlets of about ten well-known chains, along with a few bars and even a candy store with old fashioned treats.
First neighbor Wanda-san introduced me to the hearty soup in the winter of 2007; in the Juban we devoured a spicy bowl at Ka for less than Y 1,000. The following year, under the tracks of Shinagawa eki (station), Mme G and I discovered a joint that played the Beatles along with pork based ramen. Much later tomodachi san explained that light colored ramen is from Kyushu (the South), whereas Edoko prefer miso based. With shujin (husband) we ate at a shop with toilet bowl sized portions; I even queued with tomodachis at one of Tokyo's most popular shops, within walking distance to the Imperial Palace.
Is there more to ramen than the 1985 "noodle western" Tampopo (Dandelion) starring Ken Watanabe? Hai, according to Iwaoka san, who founded the Raumen Museum with its deliberate strange spelling in 1994. On a weekend evening families and couples drank in the old-time ambiance along with the bowls of chow. Tomodachi san and I selected one of the less crowded outlets; I ordered the harukiya (soy based with pork, ginger and garlic). We drank remonade with its marble ball in the neck of the glass bottle. Oishkata (delicious)!
First neighbor Wanda-san introduced me to the hearty soup in the winter of 2007; in the Juban we devoured a spicy bowl at Ka for less than Y 1,000. The following year, under the tracks of Shinagawa eki (station), Mme G and I discovered a joint that played the Beatles along with pork based ramen. Much later tomodachi san explained that light colored ramen is from Kyushu (the South), whereas Edoko prefer miso based. With shujin (husband) we ate at a shop with toilet bowl sized portions; I even queued with tomodachis at one of Tokyo's most popular shops, within walking distance to the Imperial Palace.
Is there more to ramen than the 1985 "noodle western" Tampopo (Dandelion) starring Ken Watanabe? Hai, according to Iwaoka san, who founded the Raumen Museum with its deliberate strange spelling in 1994. On a weekend evening families and couples drank in the old-time ambiance along with the bowls of chow. Tomodachi san and I selected one of the less crowded outlets; I ordered the harukiya (soy based with pork, ginger and garlic). We drank remonade with its marble ball in the neck of the glass bottle. Oishkata (delicious)!
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