NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM

One of my pledges in coming to Japan was to eat as much as possible, and so far, I feel as though I'm making good use of my time.  Those of you who are friends with me on Facebook have probably seen the entire album I have dedicated to photos I've taken of things I've eaten or want to eat. (Drew and Pauline, I blame you for this sick compulsion.) For those of you who are not on Facebook and therefore haven't seen the photos, this blog post is for you.  I'm calling it "the food porn" entry.

In my next life, I will move someplace where I can eat a baguette, some sort of ripened cheese, and a charcuterie plate every day, accompanied by fruit, pickles and fresh vegetables.  However, that life is not this one.  This reality is filled with foodstuffs ranging from the glorious to "what the hell is that"?  I'm steadily becoming a pseudo-vegetarian, as meat is expensive, and vegetables are reasonably priced.  I became the envy of all my friends when I found a farmer's market near my school.  Once a week I go stock up on locally grown okra, potatoes, figs, carrots, onions, garlic, basil, eggplant and tomatoes.  As a result, I am ruined.  Gone are the days when I will go to the supermarket and pick up a genetically enhanced, watery, mealy tomato.  The very thought turns my stomach.  The paradise that is the farmers' market lacks only one thing: affordable fruit.  

Fruit is prohibitively expensive in Japan- $5 for one apple, close to $10 for a small cluster of grapes.   But oh, the flavor! Eating a grape is like tasting the richest, plummiest piece of grape candy imaginable.  A Japanese white peach is so delicious that you may have to put your head between yours knees because you start seeing rainbows.  This may sound hyperbolic, but I assure you, every word is true.  Except for maybe the rainbows.  All fruits are eaten peeled.  For example, the Japanese have invented a rather charming method of separating the flesh of grapes from their skins.  Simply bite off the top of the grape before gently using your teeth to juice the fruit (don't puncture the skin!), while simultaneously sucking on it until the grape pops out, leaving its shell behind. An easy way to fascinate (and possibly disgust) the Japanese is to pop an entire grape in your mouth, or chomp down on an unpeeled apple or peach.

MY TOP 5 FOOD MOMENTS...SO FAR

1. I make my own caviar.  I have long loved "ikura," which is a kind of sushi that involves red caviar.  Imagine my glee when I found a whole skein of roe at the local supermarket, begging me to take it home.  

So I caved to the impulse buy, and got to work.  First, I had to separate each individual piece of roe from the membrane.  I tried to do this by hand with a paring knife, only to realize that it could be Christmas before I finished.  So instead, I logged on to the miraculous world that is the Internet, and deferred to the wisdom of the foodies.  Following their instructions, I boiled some water, let it cool a touch, and then submerged the skein for a few minutes.  I then removed the skein and easily pulled away the bits of membrane, revealing perfect little jeweled globes of roe.  

Victory! I thought.  I made my sushi rice.  I unfurled my nori (dried seaweed used in sushi).  I sat down, and took my first bite...of disgusting fishy fluid.  DISASTER. Had the roe expired? Did I do something wrong?  I again sought solace and answers in the Internet, and realized that I had skipped a crucial step: you have to brine the roe in order to make caviar.  So I made a warm saline solution, poured in the roe, and let it sit for half an hour.  Problem solved.

2. Two words: squid jerky (surume).  A friend was gifted a bag of "sweets," which she brought to share at a potluck.  Upon opening the bag, it soon became clear that the sweets were, in fact, various kinds of dried, salted squid.  However, refusal was not an option for this intrepid crew.  Each person manned a bag, and the snacking commenced. My conclusion: robust, maritime flavor given depth by aging.  I'm convinced there is a market for this product in the States. Let me know if you want a piece of this action.  We can brand it as healthy, as it is made of fish.

3. Black sesame ice cream. One hot day, I opted to cool down with some ice cream.  Ignoring the more conventional vanilla or chocolate, or even green tea or red bean, I elected to try the black sesame.  Slightly gritty in texture and taste, let's put this down as one of the things that Ben and Jerrys should not pick up as their new featured flavor (though "Black Sesame" does sound more appetizing than "Schweddy Balls"). 

4. Sushi.  I haven't eaten as much as one might expect, but the few times I have, it's been delicious.  I've enjoyed the greatest hits: yellowtail, salmon roe, various kinds of maki, salmon, octopus, eel, etc.  The most spectacular was toro (fatty tuna), which made me weak in the knees.  The worst was  seaweed with some sort of fish egg attached to it. I think it's safe to say that it was one of the more revolting things I've ever eaten- tasteless and of a hair-raising consistency, like something that had congealed and been put on rice.

The offending green sushi is middle right; toro is back center.

5. Goya, or bitter melon.  This vegetable is popular in Okinawa, and looks like I imagine a snozzcumber would, if Roald Dahl's book "The BFG" were to come to life.  Described by Dahl as "filthsome," that pretty much encompasses the taste of bitter melon, according to my sources.   Per instructions from knowledgeable Japanese acquaintances, I first cut the goya into small slices and salted them, squeezing out their juice in order to lessen the bitter flavor.  I then sauteed them in a pan with pieces of pork before adding soy sauce and a little rice vinegar.  The result? The vegetable was a little piquant, but not inedible.  I think it helped that the pan I sauteed them in was filled with drippings from bacon I had fried moments earlier.  

On a somewhat related tangent, I've slowly been making a few friends here.  We are united by our relatively advanced age, our sense of adventure, our love for traditional Japanese culture and experiences, but most of all, our obsession with food.   Our friendship was clinched when, ten minutes into a trip to Kyoto, I asked for us to detour across the busy street so I could take a photo of the Japanese branch of The Doughnut Plant for my doughnut pilgrimage compatriots from this spring.  The group willingly agreed, and instead of preparing to saunter on after the requisite photos had been taken, they suggested that we stop for a doughnut taste test.  What made this even more remarkable was the fact that we had met up not 45 minutes before for coffee and a pastry at the train station.  People who like to eat every 30 minutes to an hour? Kismet.

Four...doughnuteers?

WHEN IN ROME

Living in Japan, there's a cultural integration process.  Learning how to bow and when (10, 45 or 90 degrees), what to do with your shoes once you've removed them at an entrance (line them up neatly facing the door, so you can easily step into them when you depart), what form of "thank you" to use (present tense when someone is handing you something or in the middle of doing something for you, past tense after the action is completed), etc.  There are new gestures and body language to be assimilated.  Perhaps most confusing is the motion for "come here": extending the palm face down, then fanning the fingers in a move that we associate with shooing something or someone.  


My favorite gesture is "the shark fin."  When trying to move through crowds or past people, you bow at a 70 degree angle, with your hand held like a fin, which you then touch to your forehead as you move, muttering, "Sumimasen! Sumimasen!"

The shark fin at work

Conversely, here's a somewhat blurry photo of Western body language as decoded by an English textbook used in Japanese high schools:

As we all know, folding your hands over your abdomen with your elbows sticking out signifies "I'm bored."

Perhaps my greatest nemesis in everyday Japanese life is the trash.  There is nary a public trash bin for miles.  Furthermore, the Japanese trash collection system is as tortuous as the US tax code.  Rubbish is sorted into four basic categories: burnable (food scraps, paper, etc.); plastic; PET bottles, glass and aluminum; and bulk items, like broken crockery, old futons, piles of newspaper, etc.  It's difficult to know which bin certain materials go in, and to remember which days which things are picked up.  Burnable trash is picked up twice a week, recyclables twice a month.  Depending on how strict your local trash collection is, if you mis-sort your garbage, you can expect to find the bag returned to you in all its stinky shame.  The fabled bulk items day occurs maybe once a month; however, no one seems to know which day of the month it will be  Instead, it sneaks up on you like a surprise Christmas, with a mass exodus of old clothes, moldy blankets, and broken TVs and electronics.  If you miss it, you're forced to continue to hoard junk in your closets for another month plus.

Chart showing the different categories of trash, and which days they are to be picked up

If you're on time in Japan, you're late.  The Japanese make the most out of every minute of the day.  A Japanese acquaintance told me recently, "Let's meet at 6:40."  Not 6:30, not 6:45, but 6:40.  Or, more accurately, 6:35.  I showed up punctually at the predetermined time to find her waiting for me.  "I hope you have not been waiting long," I said politely.  "Oh, don't worry, I'm used to Americans being late," she replied.  Late, I thought.  I'm on time! Moral of the story: always show up 5 minutes early.  And even then, you'll probably find the Japanese person you're meeting waiting for you.



IT'S HOT UNDER THIS SPOTLIGHT
Small town life in Japan is pretty much like small town life anywhere.  Newcomers stick out, and everyone knows everything about everyone else's business.  If you bought toilet paper at the convenience store last night, one of your students heard about it from their sister's cousin's best friend's dog.  A JET friend who lives in a town 20 minutes away said to me recently, "I hear you ate peanuts for lunch last week."  I looked at her quizzically and she elaborated, "I'm friends with the woman at the post office, whose sister's daughter is a student teacher at your school."  The spies! They're everywhere!

Part of my self-intro lesson at school involves letting the kids ask me questions about myself, America, or anything that gets them talking.  Usually they ask what music I listen to and where do I want to visit in Japan, over and over again. However, one of my classes came up with:

Do you have a boyfriend? (A popular question in all my classes)
Why is purple your favorite color?
What other languages do you speak?
Is your hair color natural?*
Why did you want to be a teacher?

*They consider me a blonde here- huzzah! However misguided (or flat-out wrong) that may be, I'm looking forward to finally experiencing the perks of being towheaded.

On Friday, it happened.  After the seemingly obligatory "Do you have a boyfriend?," a female student asked the follow-up question of, "What kind of man do you like?"** I looked around the room in amazement to see one of my male students looking intently at me.  When I caught his eye, he immediately began wiggling his eyebrows at me in a suggestive manner.  Not to be outdone by a seventeen-year-old, I maintained eye contact while wiggling my eyebrows back.  I then ruined this moment of uncharacteristic aplomb by blushing deep crimson.


**One JET suggested later, "Choose someone older, manlier, and completely different from them in every way! Crush their dreams!"

THE STUDENTS ARE HERE! THE STUDENTS ARE HERE!

Term has officially started, and it's a lovely change to have students running amok in the halls.  I'm teaching 13 English conversation classes a week, each 50 min long.  Because the typhoon caused several days of classes to be canceled, I've only taught a handful of lessons, so it's difficult to get a bearing on what teaching will be like. So far, it hasn't been a huge success- students spend the period staring at me, only to look away quickly when I ask them a question.  But there have been no revolts or deaths, so I guess that's something. 

English curricula in Japan concentrate on speaking English, not on reading or writing it.  This was somewhat of a shock for me, considering that in American high schools and colleges, language students are typically expected to be able to at least write a paragraph in that language, if not a short essay.  Though Japanese schools start teaching English as early as kindergarten, the level of instruction doesn't progress very far.  For one thing, there is no systematic teaching of grammar (how pronouns work, conjugating verbs, etc.). Most of the high school students I've encountered speak in simple, declarative sentences: "I like soccer." "My favorite food is pasta." "I have 2 sisters."   Indeed, I've been told that it's not uncommon for the Japanese teachers of English to not actually be able to speak English, and spend the class speaking in Japanese. This forced the government to pass a law this year stating that English must be spoken in English classes the entire time, and that all Japanese teachers of English must undergo a proficiency test.  If you don't pass, you can find a new job.  (All the teachers at my school speak English well.  There are also a number of students who have incredible facility in English, usually because they have at least one parent who studied abroad in an English-speaking country, or studied it in school.)   

The line between me and the students is an interesting one.  There are three types of relationships I can discern.  First, Normal Sensei: these students treat me as any other teacher, and bow low to me in the hallways, or on the road to and from school.  They are also the least likely to talk or make eye contact with me.  They are respectful, but painfully shy. 

Then there's Be My Pet Elephant Sensei.  Many of the girls are far more familiar, and like to pet, examine and praise.  I had one girl offer me french fries on the condition that she be allowed to feed them to me like a greasy communion wafer.  Another randomly started playing with my hair, until I turned around to talk to her.  She blurted something out in Japanese, and refused to tell me what she had said until I appealed to another student, who replied, "She says you smell good."

Being a westerner, this feels a little creepy and more than a little wrong.  It probably would be by Japanese standards too if I were Japanese, but because I'm the "other," people seem to find this kind of behavior charming, as if this is just a part of the cultural exchange.  I mean, students in the West give teachers back rubs or sniff them for traces of perfume, lotion or deodorant all the time, right?  Right? (Those last two examples are true and happened to two JETs.)

The final kind of interaction I have with the students involves what I call "The Two-Way Mirror Look."  I'll catch sight of students staring at me in the hallways, eyes narrowed, like at an animal in the zoo, or some kind of looming threat.  The look is so intense that it's angry, and takes me aback.  When this happens, I stop and say loudly, "Hello! How are you?" The person's whole aspect changes.  They look shocked ("What?! She can see me? I'm not standing behind my force field of invisibility?"), and then a huge smile lights up their faces, "Hello!!!" they chirp back, "Iamfinethankyouhowareyouuuu?"

The Two-Way Mirror Look

What gets me about the Two-Way Mirror Look is that they never seem to see me staring back at them and register that they're being rude.  They're so engrossed in studying me, that they are oblivious to everything else.

BUNKASAI

Every fall, the schools in Japan hold bunkasai, or a school culture festival.  Students and various clubs perform dances, songs and skits, there are speeches by administrators, and each class takes on a project: decorating a classroom, selling food they've prepared, etc.

Our bunkasai lasted two days.  The highlights: kocho-sensei singing Sinatra's "My Way," a girl in a giant Pikachu costume, two boys kissing onstage, the boys of 2-6 dressing in drag and dancing (nothing entertains a Japanese audience like cross-dressing men), and eating a good 20 lbs of food a day.  Oh, and then there was the time when I got up onstage to perform with the ESS club.  There was singing.  There was choreographed dancing.  There was a lot of awkwardness.  They had chosen two songs; first, "Material Girl" by Madonna, and then (my ears bleed), "We're All in This Together" from High School Musical.  Having reached the august age of 26 without ever having seen the movie or heard one of its songs, I had hoped that the High School Musical craze had passed and that my HSM virginity would remain intact.  Alas, it was not to be.  We practiced 3 days a week, 3 hours a day, for 3 weeks.  As for the performance itself, suffice to say that several of the third year boys pointed and laughed at me. 

And that's all I have to say about that.

"WELCOME TO JAPAN. SOME OF THE RULES HERE DON'T MAKE SENSE"

Excerpt from my school's handbook

This past weekend we were on alert for Typhoon Talas, which by varying reports was supposed to hit the Kansai Region (where I am located) either Friday or Saturday.  Our first official day of class on Friday was canceled, but the teachers had to come in anyway.  Apparently conditions could be too hazardous for the students, but not for the faculty.  I asked one of my neighbors, a 30 year-old Japanese woman who speaks excellent English with an Australian accent, why classes would be canceled, but the school would not be closed.  "Welcome to Japan," she replied, "Some of the rules here don't make sense." 

I admit that I viewed Talas as more of a nuisance than a real threat.  Not only was I forced to find ways to entertain myself at school on Friday in lieu of teaching class, but my weekend plans were postponed as well.  A JET named Marty who lives really far out in the boondocks, in a town called Tenkawa, has permission to hold an annual party on the grounds of his school.  Every year, JETs travel from all over the prefecture to come down for two days of barbecue, sports, swimming in the river, drinking beer, patronizing the local onsen (local hot springs baths), and culminating in a mass slumber party in the gym on Saturday night.  However, the fete was postponed in light of the impending weather forecast- we were afraid the rain would curtail our fun.  The night fifty of us were supposed to sleep over, Marty's house was washed away by the typhoon.

Despite my occasional qualms about social media, it is really great in some instances. For example, when you wake up on Sunday morning to the news that the typhoon has done serious damage in the south of the prefecture, and you have no idea what is happening with your friends and colleagues who live in that area.  Messages flew back and forth as we tried to account for everyone, and people started posting on Facebook that they were safe.  One JET posted: "Shit got really scary there for a while- the bridge in front of my house collapsed, and there was a big landslide on the far side of the river.  My neighbors said there hasn't been a storm like this in their lifetime."  All in all, we were exceedingly fortunate.  A car and a house were washed away in the storm and a number of people lost power, but everyone is safe and unhurt. 

Photo posted on FB by a JET of the bridge outside her apartment

Marty's house, in the river

So where was I during all this? Safely tucked in my bed, thank goodness.  I had braved the rain on Saturday to go into Nara City with some friends to sightsee, but the winds were pretty tame, and the rain didn't really pick up until the early evening, when we were heading back home. 

I keep thinking about the JET program.  JETs put their lives on hold for a year or more to come to a truly foreign land to teach English and share their cultural traditions.  We adjust to things like living a life without cheese or sleeping on a futon on the floor.  But then there are the serious things, like earthquakes and typhoons and maybe the destruction of a metropolis by a giant lizard.  When I announced I was moving to Japan, a few people asked me if I was worried about earthquakes after what had happened in March.  It took me a second to answer, because I honestly hadn't thought anything about it.  To me, this was such an incredible opportunity that it outweighed any risk.  Other people who came over with me this summer said the same thing: this was too good to pass up.  Considering the fact that JET requires participants to commit to coming to Japan before they will tell you where you've been placed, it's even more remarkable that people throw themselves into this so willingly. 

The JET program has been a source of contention in Japan for a few years.  As a government-sponsored program, there has been talk about scaling down or cutting it altogether.  When the earthquake hit northeastern Japan last year, two JETs were killed in the tsunami that followed.  One woman died riding her bike home, after having stayed at school to ensure that her students made it home safely.  JETs have raised thousands of dollars amongst themselves and JET alumni to be put towards reconstruction efforts.  Volunteer groups have been organized to help rebuild the affected areas, and to provide relief to those worst hit.  The outpouring of time, energy, and financial resources by JETs in particular has really stunned Japan, and cemented the fact that most JETs aren't just here to eat sushi, take some pictures, and talk about how awesome they were because they got to work in Japan.  JETs get really involved in their communities, and remain so even when the chips are down.  Hopefully this dedication will convince the powers that be of the value of the exchange.

LOVE AND MARRIAGE

"Do you have boyfriend?"  This seems to be a recurring question from students, neighbors, fellow teachers, and complete strangers.  By Japanese standards, I am a "Christmas cake": like a pastry sitting on a shelf on December 25th, once an unmarried woman hits 25, she is in danger of becoming stale.  [According to a recent article in The Economist (I hike my glasses up further onto my nose as I type this), marriage rates in Asia are falling across the board.  Women are forgoing marriage in order to have careers, which is virtually impossible if you are married and have a family.  The birth rate is also decreasing, which means that universal pension funds will be severely strapped as Asia's populations age.  But I digress.]  As polite as the Japanese are, conventional propriety becomes a casualty of curiosity when it comes to foreigners, particularly women.  For example, it's not uncommon for male students to ask female gaijin teachers for their three sizes: bra, waist and hips.  I wonder if it's a function of being the "other," that we somehow don't count or stand apart from the way people usually interact.  This leaves Japanese people free to ask us about how we do our hair, or if we wear colored contacts, or to comment that we have a nice body (as one female student told me matter-of-factly last week). I can't imagine Japanese people having similar conversations amongst themselves, and even JETs who are Asian or of Asian descent aren't asked personal questions the way the rest of us are.

There is a lot of unintentional pairing up that goes on in JET, as the Japanese have a habit of coupling people together, regardless of whether or not a relationship really exists.  Take, for example, a friend of mine.  She's good friends with another (male) JET, who lives several towns away.  One Saturday they were out together, and were spotted by some of his coworkers, which raised some eyebrows.  He then stayed at her place Saturday night (again, just as friends), before leaving on Sunday morning.  On the return home, he ran into the same group of coworkers, who asked if he had been visiting his girlfriend that weekend.  "No," he said, "Just a friend."  "You LIE!" his coworkers said gleefully, "We saw you with her on Saturday, and now you are coming home on the train on Sunday!" The idea of a platonic relationships between people of the opposite sex is not unthinkable per se, but unless you're seen in a large group, it's pretty much assumed that you're an item.  I posted a photo of my family from my college graduation on the English bulletin board as part of my self-introduction (I admit- I wanted to demonstrate my education: "Look, kids! I am actually qualified to teach you, even though we look the same age!"), and have had several people approach me asking if Justin is my boyfriend (sorry, bro- it is the cross you must bear in life).  Even when I show them more recent family photos with my sister-in-law, they still pause, point to Justin, and say, "Who is that....?  Is that...boyfriend...?"  As though I must be dating ONE of the people in the photograph.  [As an aside, I want to tout my rockstar sister, who turned up in the WSJ recently.  We are even more proud than usual. Way to marry up, JB.]

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, JAPAN

September 1st marked my one-month anniversary in Japan.  So far, we've muddled through a few earthquakes, a typhoon, and my attempt to deliver a speech in Japanese in front of 780 people during my school's opening ceremony.  I was nearly trampled and eaten by a herd of sacred deer.  I've purified various parts of my being, and gained the blessing of the Buddha after climbing through an obnoxiously small hole (see pictures below) that is said to be the size of one of the nostrils of the daibutsu, Japan's largest Buddha, located in Nara.  I've eaten things both weird and wonderful, and met some truly lovely people.  Not too shabby.  Bring on the next 11 months!

I couldn't fit through head first

So I had to back it up.

It felt like I was being birthed all over again

Victory! The blessings of the Buddha be upon me.