The logo on his shirt should have been a dead giveaway. Bright mustard. Partially covered by a vest but now stretched over his paunch as he set his plate down: “Don’t Tread on Me” in black script under a coiled rattlesnake that sat atop what… Read More
Not once did the team break rhythm for a performance, no tableside flambeéing, no waving of fancy Japanese knives, no boisterous kitchen ass-slapping. And yet, this economical and unassuming approach to service required an almost unnecessary amount of effort behind the scenes. // Perhaps in turning to the left side, Kaliwa garnered more than its fair share of criticism; the unexpected necessities of exploration facing unnecessary expectations.
Musings on Colonization during a long Afternoon Tea spent alone.
Kotoya-san and I met near the tail end of winter in an old tea house by Lake Ashi under awkward circumstances. She stood on one end of a wooden platform raised a foot from the ground, cleaning supplies in one hand, face mask hiding her expression. On the other side, separated by an unlit fire place with a worn kettle and a ring of rocks, were four Australians girls alternating between trying to explain to Kotoya-san in increasingly louder, slower, and broken English that me taking their picture would take far less time than for them to first remove their shoes as they were being asked to.
In a conversation with a friend the other day, I remarked how I felt oddly “at home” during my short visit to Japan in all its glorious neuroticism; a nation of rules, propriety, and arbitrary rituals. Completely unlike the “Bahala na” vibe of rural Antique,… Read More
The Errant Diner 