I just catwalked across the lobby in an elaborate and ostentatious imitation of modeling, because I thought it would be fun and I was imagining hidden cameras capturing me. This is the kind of thing a person does when she’s tipsy, doesn’t know anyone, and hasn’t had a traumatic childhood.
I thought today was uneventful but I just had the most wonderful experience in a restaurant. “Whale Wars” was on, sort of, except it was the local news and the footage came directly after the weatherman hammered on his map with a felt-tipped drumstick.
This is so much better, FYI, then our sensory-defying green screen. The Whale Wars thing was cool because the news story was from a Japanese fishing perspective.
“Oh! This pointy vessel is needlessly ramming us starboard!” Cut to British guy in bow tie who stammers and pretentiously gazes sexily into the camera, although he is not at all sexy and frankly appears clownish. “It’s not scientific research,” he breathes, while subtitles probably mistranslate him. “Hmmmmph.”
My chef is the greatest, to change an abrupt subject. I fell into this place a week ago because it was the closest doorway to the lobby and I was hungry, but I kind of fell in love with the prep guy (I can’t call him a cook for obvious sushitic reasons) because there’s nobody else in the joint so he stares at me when I eat, then gives me extra stuff. This is he:
Today I think he donated a salty fallopian tube to the hunger cause, because he rubbed his intestines and said “egg” when I gave him the exaggerated shrug sign, plus the gunk tasted like liver. Here it is:
They also give me soup, but I don’t know what to do with it because it looks like this:
Do I munch on the fin? Do I daintily slurp around it, complimenting the chef? Who knows?
He (the chef, that is) talks to me about sumo, except we don’t speak the same language except for the word “sumo” so it’s a lot of gesturing and smiles. There’s a guy in the back who knows 17 words of English, so he pops out and translates sometimes. He’s getting my favorite kind of kick out of the situation, which is the kind that becomes a taller pour of sake when he’s in charge.
You guys: I’m eating the kraken, there are no handles, and handling it is out of the question. I love it that they serve it on a leaf.
Anyway, I forgot what I was going to say, so goodbye. Turns out oysters melt fat, though. Good stuff!