Working for the Wasabi
Fukuoka, Japan
Teaching English in Korea, one quickly learns to appreciate the value of a day’s work. And right along with that lesson comes the greater appreciation for a day with no work. Or better yet, 4 consecutive days with no work. Such a prize is not to be squandered, but, rather, exploited to its fullest potential. To me, that means grabbing a backpack, a couple friends, and hopping on a ferry for a 4-day stint in Fukuoka, Japan. Which is exactly what I did. The following is a chronicle of the ensuing events, as they transpired, fully disclosed and only minorly manipulated for your reading pleasure.
Our weekend spent in Fukuoka was carried out under the banner of “no work”. We planned nothing, scheduled less, and held no expectations. For some, such ad libitum travel arrangements may spell disaster, or at worst, dullness. But this was not the case. Our days streamed by, a constant ribbon of spontaneous activities. Chance and happenstance were the only authors of our itinerary. Our wandering tour was guided by which crosswalk light was green, or which side of the street provided shade; but this route always led us exactly where we wanted to go. Such is the thrill of impulsive traveling. When you have no particular agenda, there is little liability for disappointment. “Lo and behold” were our city guides. We stumbled upon monasteries, the ruins of ancient palaces, an art museum, a baseball park, a small lake with swan boats and giant goldfish, a giant 4-story arcade, even a bungee-trampoline. We were constantly entertained by the random discoveries we found to amuse us. And, happily, many of these amusements in some way involved eating.
I am a firm believer that one of the best ways to experience a culture is though its culinary expression. If you are what you eat then, on this particular weekend, we were undoubtedly turning Japanese. We found an unfathomable variety of edibles: udon, ramen, edamame, tempura, teriyaki, yakitori, and even, I kid not, a square watermelon and red bananas! But despite the gluttonous nature of our cultural exploration, my stomach remained unfulfilled.
You see, there was one palatable delight I yearned for on my trip to Japan, one single Holy Grail of Japanese cuisine: its name is Sushi. After all my years of wasabi-wannabes and Itamae-imitators, some passable, some grievously disappointing, I was finally going to have the genuine article, the real Mc-Koi, the raw deal. True Japanese sushi! Saving the best for last, we decided that we would end our trip with a sushi dinner on the last night.
On our final evening in Japan, we ventured out late, and our quest seemed simple enough: Find a sushi bar in Japan. Eat. Check off another life goal accomplished. Little did we know what challenges lay before us. We found a bright and clean establishment and entered. That was the moment our quest became much more difficult than we had naively anticipated. The obstacle soon became clear: How to order? We demonstrated our finely honed pointing and gesturing skills with the agility and dexterity of a Julliard mime; yet there seemed to be an endless list of menu specifications and choices that had to be made. Specifications that required more than a yes or no grunt:
The Sushi Stage“Would we like Sake or beer? Set or Ala Carte? To share or individual orders? Chef’s choice or off the menu? How many pieces? Which kind of pieces? Sashimi or Maki-mono or Futomaki? Did somebody say Miazaki? Red bean miso or mushroom miso? Fatty tuna or lean tuna? I’m sorry that is not available in the set you ordered, please return to the second question and begin again.” I was beginning to feel light headed. This of course all transpired in a mixed dialect of Japanese and gestures, an improvised language we called “Japantomime”.
At one point, thinking it would exempt us from making any further decisions, we tried the risky method of “Just surprise us”. But they interpreted “surprise” as “rice” and assured us that that was already included in the meal. We didn’t correct them. It was clear both surprise and rice were going to play major roles in this dining experience.
To this day, I’m not entirely cognizant of how we reached an end to the ordering process. I may have, at some point, blacked out from hunger and head-spinning. However, I was conscious long enough to see people come in after us, sit down, order their meal, consume it, have a chat with the chef, and leave, all in the time that we were still struggling to understand the drink menu. But nonetheless the endeavor was successful forthright. We reveled in the fruits of our perseverance as we were presented with 8 gorgeous pieces of raw fish on rice. I couldn’t have been more proud had I made the sushi myself. As we consumed our well-earned meal I had to muse at the divergence between this single night and the rest of our weekend.
All weekend long we had enjoyed simply what crossed our path. Our obstacles had been dealt with by merely choosing to change our course, taking the path of least resistance. It seemed appropriately Taoist to move with the natural flow of adventitious travel. Yet the moment we had a goal to accomplish, a quest to undertake, resourcefulness and guile took the wheel. And I was surprised to find that it felt good to struggle again. When you must focus all your energy and attention into communicating yourself to another person, you see the value of making such an effort, which is otherwise taken for granted in a first language environment. It wasn’t just about getting dinner that night. It was the thrill that when living and traveling in a different country all mundane routine activities, such as finding a bus, ordering a meal, searching for a laundrymat, pose a new challenge. Learning to embrace the difficulties of living abroad, navigating and negotiating a new world, can make you appreciate working for what you need. Even when such challenges face you during 4 consecutive days of “no work”.
