 letters from japan by michelle My first encounter with a monster named Shochu at what would have been an otherwise fine evening in the Nishihara Community Center. Last weekend, an English teacher and friend of mine, John from Northern Ireland, asked if I would come to his small village outside the city to help with the local community center's International Day. He also asked my friends Debby (from New York) and Gordon (from London) to join us. We had no idea what was involved, but as these things tend to pop up often, and the teachers in school will ask (always last minute) if i can host some kind of wacky "American" party for the kids, i knew that I'd probably be asking his help in the near future, so i decided to go. We arrived in the Nishihara Community Center about noon on a Sunday (that Monday was a National Holiday so no one had to go to school) and were ushered to the cooking facilities. I was put in charge about 10 kids, at the Italian/Mexican table, where we made pizza with odd combinations like potatoes and shrimp, and guacamole with rock hard avacadoes. Debby got the Apple Cake table, and Gordon got some mysterious English dish I'd never heard of called Trifle. He also got a chef's hat. I didn't get a chef's hat. I did, however have two bloody fingers (one child, one adult) at my station. Both dishes turned out pretty disturbing-looking, but people ate them anyway. Other tables had various other world foods like Gyoza, which are Chinese dumplings, a Phillipino dish called Gitana-an. It was a purple dessert made with tapioca, bananas and purple yams. Despite how it sounds, it was pretty good. Better than the hardboiled egg/salami pizza. After the cooking was over and the kids settled down a bit, we watched some Japanese folks play South American music while singing in Spanish - a true cultural experience. During the singing, some of the kids got a little restless. A girl named Junko came over to me and did a funny little dance for me. She bent her knees, and waved her hands in front of her as if to get something sticky off of them and gave me a kind of curious look as if to say, Americans like this, right? She came over to me a dozen more times during the afternoon, with the same dance each time. I was puzzled, but i have gotten used to that feeling here in Japan. Once the music was over, we played a few games and the kids went home. Then the adults prepared dinner for us. There were maybe 15 of us, Japanese teachers and us 4 foreigners. We ate Nabe, which is an assortment of meats and vegetables boiled in a bowl on the table in front of you. its quite delicious (Japanese food is incredible, and I thanks my lucky stars everyday that it's so good). We had been drinking beer and halfway through the meal, someone busted out the Shochu, which is something like whisky. only far more foul. i guess. anyway, it smells like floor cleaner but that doesn't prevent anyone for pouring you a big glass. Anyway, we continued drinking after the meal was over and most of the Japanese folks had gone. Gordon and I, both of us a little more "pissed" (as he'd say) than we'd like to be, decided to try sumo wrestling on the hard tatami mats, while Debby and John, who were much less drunk, had to the watch in horror. I don't remember much of the rest of the night, but i now have several ugly scraps and bruises. The next morning, i could feel my stomach in my throat, and although the Japanese folks had returned and made an enormous breakfast for us, I couldn't eat. They had miso soup. They had scrambled eggs and sunny-side up eggs. They had bacon. They had pancakes. Pancakes! i had dry toast and thought i was going to die. Debby and John happily ate their pancakes and eggs while Gordon and I stared at the plates, trying not to get sick all over everything. Since returning to school, the teachers often ask me how I got such a bad scratch on the back of my wrist (the only visible mark of about five). Since I can't remember anyway, I make something up, but its usually pathetic, and I try to mumble a bit, and speak quickly so maybe they won't understand. Needless to say, I have been beaten up by this Japanese monster in a bottle, and Shochu should not expect to get a Christmas card from me this year. |
Mysteries of Japan Part Two: Climate Control (The Absence of) Mysteries of Japan Part One: Obaachans Godzilla Was a Misunderstood Foreigner School Lunch, or, Why I Carry Candy and Gum in My Handbag What's in a name? The Shochu Monster Airmail! Intro Find out more about the JET Programme
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