What's so incredible? Why is she so awesome? How does she do it?

Tokyo has an older part and a newer part. Asakusa is what you’d expect Tokyo to look like, with its crowded streets and dingy establishments, but truthfully it’s a rarity in the city that boasts the new and shiny everywhere you look. Asakusa has some of my favorite little hidey-holes too, including that tiny little Sento I spent every night at for a week, including my favourite okonomiyaki seller, including the best spot to get ceramics, and until recently, I hadn’t ever had noodles there. Seemed fitting to get traditional noodles in traditional Tokyo (well, if there is such a thing), just a stone’s throw from Senso-ji, the largest and most famous Buddhist temple in the city.

Read the full review over at my foodblog, Up for Dessert.

Kamatama Udon-ya is an unassuming little shop halfway between Hase station and the daibutsu in Kamakura. Like so many small noodle joints in Japan, you’ve only got a handful of choices, and even less elbow room to boot. Still though, the smell alone is all you need to be assured of its quality, and even then, if the smell wasn’t enough, there’s the tray of flour-speckled udon clearly just made today, the flying hands behind the counter chopping minuscule green onions, and the faint sizzle that can only mean tempura-battered something or other. You will not be disappointed.

It may seem crass to us foreigners, but eating the face of Buddha in your noodle soup is pleasantly kitschy in Japan, and in Kamakura especially, mere minutes from the great metal Buddha, such a gimmick is fitting. The soup itself is far from gimmicky. Perhaps it’s just been too long since I’ve had a proper bowl of noodles, or that my American sensibilities are so easily impressed by the delights of properly prepared Japanese food, but in any case I may have come close to reaching nirvana in that very shop.

大きな地図で見る

The noodles are thick, but light, not dense like some fall varieties of udon tend to be, and of a completely un-uniform nature that points to their handmade authenticity. Your smiling buddha udon can be served hot or cold, depending on the season, in a scalding or a lukewarm dashi stock, depending on your preference. Alongside the standard noodles and broth is a large soy bean (Buddha’s third eye), a fried fishcake (his nose), and one of the tastiest cured eggs I think I’ve ever had: a hard boiled, just set mix of salt and age that one could only hope to duplicate. Needless to say, I licked the bowl clean.

Rodger Swan was a young man who made videos and shared them on the internet. He uploaded over 130 videos before his death this January and in telling the story of his life in Japan, impacted far more people than his nearly 8,000 subscriber count indicates. This simple passion of Rodger’s turned out to be far more meaningful than probably anyone could have guessed, inspiring a global audience and reminding many of us to follow our dreams, whether they take us halfway across the world or involve staying home to read Goosebumps. The Japanese Vlogging community familiar with Rodger was understandably grief-stricken by the sudden news, but a glance through Rodger’s video comments reveals that he touched a much larger group of people worldwide. Many have posted tribute videos, some have shared their favourite Swan stories, others, like me, have written about Rodger’s life.

He was that normal guy that everyone watched grow up. We saw him turn from a boy into a man…And as we watched that Rodger grow, we fell more and more in love with him. We fell in love with his normality. We well in love with his selflessness. We fell in love with the hope there were still people like Rodger left in the world. (via Kevin O’Donnell)

It may seem a touch superficial, a bit overly dramatic perhaps that such a mass of people who barely even knew Rodger are mourning his passing, but I assure you the sentiments are sincere. Rodger was a small part of a niche that stood for something much larger and more real: for compassion and curiosity and unyielding courage in the face of the less-travelled path — the perfect example of why blogging is more than just unchecked journalism or uncensored ranting, but instead an important medium deeply rooted in human interest in a way no other format does justice. Rodger’s published videos really did resonate with people, so called strangers, and through his candid monologue and honest storytelling, Rodger managed to inspire, to change, to make a difference. He moved some of his audience to learn Japanese, he enabled some to make the sacrifice of the world they know for a world much greater, and he affected many, myself included, in ways still unknowable, just by spending a few minutes every week with his video camera.

I think it’s impossible to imagine or count or know just how many lives Rodger touched…It’s a funny thing, moving across the world, as Rodger did, because you wind up being intertwined with the lives of people you never in a million years would have expected meeting. (via Kevin Cooney).

It takes a man every bit as amazing as Rodger Swan to remind us of the kind of people we’d like to be, and his character remains strong to this day. His videos leave behind a legacy, proof that Rodger’s life was far more meaningful than his death could ever be. We could pin Rodger’s appeal first as Tokyo Swan and later as Iwate Swan to many things, from his prolific posting to his relaxed and endearing on-camera attitude, but perhaps the most influential aspect of Rodger was his sincerity. For all the skepticism vloggers face, it’s easy to forget that the youtube audience actually can make an authentic connection with people like Rodger, people who are too genuine not to bond with, and while the phenomenon is a rarity, it’s also one of the most comforting connections we can have. The appeal of a young man thousands of kilometers away with unusual interests may not be apparent at first glance, but from those first videos it’s easy to see why so many felt so close to Swan and found solace in his shared journey.

His death…serves as a powerful reminder that ultimately, what matters is loving, caring, sharing, and being true to yourself. And doing that today, not tomorrow. The honesty with which he shared his life was touching. I found his attitude inspiring, and comforting too – knowing that this good person was out there. (via Joseph Tame)

I don’t claim to have known Rodger personally, and I don’t count myself among his acquaintances, but I do know a number of us touched by his work are keeping him and his family in our thoughts. I will always remember the way his videos and words and views on horror movies left a lasting impression that may not have made us family, but made us far from strangers. So goodbye, Rodger, you will be missed.

It’s been a lot harder than I thought it would be, saying goodbye to the people, saying goodbye to the places, and what you’re used to, because you do, you make connections, you meet people, and you form bonds, and that can be a difficult thing to walk away from because you’re never going to get this again. It’s never going to be like this again. But there’s always hope. You never know, one day we might meet again, so in that sense, you always have to stay positive. (via Rodger Swan).

We all remember our first trip to Tsukiji (pronounced “ski-gee”) fish market. In Tokyo it’s a right of passage, a tourist destination, and a local icon simultaneously. Where else can you buy a 85kg tuna for millions of yen? Where else do you have to chew your still-wriggling octopus tentacle before you swallow to ensure it doesn’t strangle you on the way down? And where else do you have to wear wellingtons year round?

It isn’t just the world’s largest, busiest, and most prestigious fish market, Tsukiji is a Japanese landmark. It’s the most readily accessible glimpse into the intense world of the Japanese work ethic, filled with zooming carts, white-gloved traffic managers, and more men smoking, talking, carting six cardboard boxes, throwing fish, shouting, spearing yellowfin whole, and trying to get you to buy a gross of their tomatoes. It’s a shoppers paradise, and it all happens before 4am.

Tsukiji isn’t just known for it’s impressive variety of seafare, or for the rapidity with which business transpries, though both are awe-inspiring in their own right. In my opinion, Tsukiji stands as a reflection of so much blatant Nippon-ism: the tireless working man’s vigour, the fisherman’s pride, the massive oceanic bounty readily bought for consumption from seaweeds to roes, well-oiled maneouvers that keep a large-scale machine running without hiccup, and of course, the sheer masses and palpably formidable presence of the Japanese. Seeing how much and how many different types of fish the Japanese eat is like seeing a microcosm of how big the country is, how many people it must support, and where it excels in the world arena. The tuna bidding wars are a sight to behold, and remind me of just how cutthroat the culinary world can be, as I watched several tourists being removed for touching a tuna too many.

Tsukiji market — and I mean all of the market, from the political fish trades inside to the garden-variety produce outside to the passerby merely glancing off the outer stratosphere of planet Tsukiji without even knowing how deep the rabbit hole goes — it’s a display of mastery, nothing more. The precision of fish sales, the exacting nature in which boxes make their way through the fireman’s drill off of the farmer’s truck, all of it is a demonstration with such everyday luster that if you aren’t paying attention, you might be convinced it’s nothing special. But it is something special. It’s this little hub of activity that turns pre-dawn glow into a boiler fire and ushers in a new day amid elbowing and elbow grease.

The above, by Myles in London, encapsulates the hubbub one can experience while the rest of the city is still a-dreamin’, the sort of frantic to-and-fro that, though routine in places like Shibuya crossing or Shinjuku station, is almost entirely out of place somewhere like Tokyo Bay. Contrast the insanity of the tuna auctions hidden deep in the heart of the warehouse maze that is Tsukiji with the quiet, calculated, calm of the sushi stalls rimming the outer ring of the wholesale market. Instead of 85kg tuna fish you get 2g, perfectly sized sashimi that tastes milder than anything you’ve ever put in your mouth. You get lines out the door for a morning course of nigiri sushi. You get foreigners from as far as Timbuktu placing complete trust in the sushi chef they’ve never met and don’t have a hope of understanding. It’s a place where the world gets turned upside down for a few hours every day, and then miraculously righted in time for the salarymen to make it to the office before their bosses.

My first night out in Japan I had every intention of visiting Tsukiji; in many ways the catacombs of seafood were always the first thing on my “must see” list, and yet I lay my head down at a ripe 3:00, wholeheartedly believing I would make it to the market before the clock struck six. Of course I kick myself for not just hitching up my skirts and heading towards Tsukiji then and there, because I didn’t make it out to the very place I wanted to be most until six hours before my flight out of the country months later. At the same time, the greatly delayed gratification ensured it was a place I’ll never forget, always love, and long to return to. Yes it does carry that kind of allure.

I have never seen anything like the zoo, nay, the orchestra that was that fish market, and before I could even poke my nose around, my mate Alisa was there, looking like the かいしゃいん I never knew she was, smiling like a banshee because she knew I was about to get an eyeful. She led me past the easily one hundred-person line awaiting Daiwa sushi and we took a seat at the entirely empty sushi bar next door. Alisa and the chef chit-chatted about the crazy tourists, and after we made our less than conservative (tako, uni, and takuwan are apparently unusual preferences for がいこくじん tastebuds) order, we were treated to a tour of the coldwater oceans. Alisa and I, both aspiring surfers, were hungry for the slightly salty aftertaste and critiqued one another’s favourite surf spots in Chiba before we said our goodbyes.

“Well,” she said, “now you’ll never want to leave.” And she was right, because I spent as many minutes as I could possibly spare ambling endlessly through the labyrinthian market, sacrificing much-needed sleep and photography equipment amid the piles of こつおぶし and the few remaining bunches of たむぽぽ greens. Tsukiji is a place you don’t forget, and while it’s in all the guidebooks and on all the travel shows and at the top of any shortlist you consult, that doesn’t mean it isn’t deserved. Tokyo is a city of places unlike anywhere else, a land of truly unique, and Tsukiji is perhaps the crowning gem of them all. It doesn’t matter that it’s been a place to visit since farther back than your grandfather can remember, because Tsukiji is not going to stop being amazing anytime soon.

Want to see more of what Tsukiji’s all about? You can see the rest of my photos of Tsukiji, or you can also check out Mark Wu’s comprehensive Tsukiji flickr set.

I’ve talked before about the wonderful world of Japanese hip hop, I’ve spent a bit of time waxing poetic about Japanese shibuya-kei, and I’ve even met the criteria required to be an 8bit-fanboy of Ymck, but I’ve spent far too few words defending what is easily the most dismissed genre of Japanese music: JPop. Some of it is really as terrible as you think, but there’s a hefty subset of the genre that’s solid quality, actually borderline visionary. Granted, you have to be into the electro scene and pretty accepting of vocoders and auto-tuning, but once you get into it you’ll be surprised how much super awesome stuff is coming out of that one geographically tiny country.

I won’t make you learn Japanese, nor will I make you comb through the endless stream of manufactured pop icons to find the diamonds in the rough. I won’t advise you to spend thousands of yen on still pricey albums. But I will tell you some of the great names in the Japanese Pop/Electro/SynthFunk scene that are worth checking out no matter what language you speak. I will give you some respectably mainstream names you can drop to carry on a conversation with the next Japanese conversationalist or enthusiast you engage with. I will give you a few gems from the underground and the local genba that are up-and-comers that should be well-watched even if they currently aren’t. And I will give you my personal and very contemporary guide to understanding and perhaps even enjoying JPop.

Electro-esque JPop (think ‘808s and Heartbreak meets Kylie Minogue):
We’ll start with one of the biggest names in Asia: BoA. BoA, or Beat of an Angel, is actually from Korea, but she accomplished what few stars can and made the crossover into Japanese popularity and now, with her new language skills, is trying her luck in America. You may not like it, but you have to know who this girl is.

To make international superstar BoA go down easier, let me let you in on a little insider’s secret. Check out Capsule for a perfect example of epically good electro-pop fusion, complete with crazy synthesisers, ’70s visions of space-utopia inspried costumes, and some surprisingly delicious, non-bubblegum flavoured pop. Check out the tracks “Eternity” from Flashback and of course the title track from More! More! More! to see exactly what I mean when I say epic.

Then there’s of course something in between the well-known and the unknown. Enter Pefume, a trio from Hiroshima that are more the traditional sugary postergirls you’re used to coming from Japanese soil. Unlike Capsule, they get radio play but, unlike BoA they aren’t a household name (yet). Their songs are exclusively dance-y and their image is fun, but there’s no shame in paying for their concert tickets.

Meg is surprisingly similar to Perfume, but unless you’re trying to bond with a 9 year-old girl, you probably won’t get much mileage out of this one. Then again, Japanese tend to think we foreigners are crazy already, so declaring your undying love for Meg’s entire discography shouldn’t hold you back from contributing to society.

How could I possibly forget about Ami Suzuki who made a thoroughly enjoyable indulgence in coining Can’t Stop the Disco as a sensational pop album. Ami Suzuki is hands down my favourite on this JPop guide, and I can’t seem to stop listening to Super Music Maker in my car, a sure sign of international appeal.

Even if you despise everything about JPop, a tiny piece of you somewhere probably still likes Saori@destiny for the ultra-feminine voice and infectiously peppy backbeats. It’s okay to embrace Saori@destiny, to construct a shrine for AI, or to obsessively seek out items with Double’s face printed on them. This is Japan. That’s what you do.

They used to be part of Japan’s authentic hip hop scene, but now they just pander to the dancefloor with a never ending lineup of megastars. I’m of course speaking about M-Flo, the duo from Tokyo with an endless stream of singles and studio buddies that the Japanese never seem to tire of. While fans like to lament the departure from their Planet Shining days, I personally think Award SuperNova (and the new AstroBoy single) give them much more credibility.

Rip Slyme is another one of those pop/hip hop fusions you just can’t ignore any longer because there stuff is good no matter your tastes. It’s lyrical, playful, and it’s an earful of JPop that won’t make you want to claw your eyes out. So if you were skeptical of this guide to begin with, star with Rip Slyme.

Full of Harmony is one of Japan’s many boy bands, in fact the one I shamelessly belt out as loudly as possible whenever it’s on a Karaoke list. Like most JPop stars, they sing a lot of slower ballads, but that didn’t make the upbeat track “Exclusive” any less amazing.

If Full of Harmony is the R&B boy band for the country, Heartsdales is certainly the girl version. You’ve probably heard them before and you didn’t even know it, from one of their many guest appearances on shows and in music videos with the likes of M-Flo for some bubble candy action. I guarantee if you say the phrase “Heartsdales” to a culturally-aware Japanese person, they’ll know who you’re talking about.

You’re not convinced. I can tell. You clicked on BoA before you clicked on anyone else and then you lost heart. Or you actually understood the words in Heartsdales songs. Or maybe you just listened to one too many of Meg’s tracks and are afraid. Some of you might be content for hours right know and can leave it at that, but many more of you will have a strangely difficult time accepting JPop into your hearts. I know I did. It was just a little to synthetic for me to consume without feeling mildly ill at first. So to ease the transition I’ve added some antidotes, a series of still poppy, still Japanese, but much more relaxing music. It’s not quite as popular as electro-inspired JPop, and your seatmate on the flight to Okinawa might not have a clue who you’re talking about (I couldn’t find anyone in Tokyo that had heard of Fantastic Plastic Machine, Pizzicato Five, or Cornelius), but this is the kind of music that really makes my heart sing. This is the stuff I listen to in my spare time, the type of beats I gobble up, the music that inspires me to become a house musician one day. So after you’ve burned yourself out on Ami Suzuki, give these guys a listen to assure yourself that JPop doesn’t have to mean covered in pink and with elaborate choreographed dance numbers.

House-inspired JPop (think jazz meets eurotrash techno):
Fantastic Plastic Machine is wildly experimental and downright brilliant most of the time. It’s one man in a room with a computer and a set of turntables that manages to make you believe that “Love is Psychadellic” and that “I’m Still a Simple Man.” Buy his albums. Now.

An oldie but a goodie, Daishi Dance leans a little more on the house side. While FPM is more funky, Daishi Dance is nonetheless equally capable and makes some pretty groovy stuff, a strange mix of piano and dance beats that leave you pleasantly confused.

Studio Apartment is known mostly for crazy remixes (and for being mistaken as Korean), but they make some awesome old-school jazz house that you could really drive all the way to Alaska rocking out to. I only wish they made more then their already intense discography so I could live in my Studio Apartment world all the time.

Okay, I know this doesn’t belong anywhere on this list, but Cubismo Grafico’s stuff is so unbelievable I have to shout it from as many rooftops as I can. His style is loop-driven, sample-based, unclassifiable wonderland (much like Australian mixer whiz kid Pogo). I’m reminded of aural birds singing me awake on a lazy Sunday.

I think house master and fellow 8-bit aficionado Ram Rider is all kinds of under rated. His re-envisioning of Ayumi Hamasaki’s “Real Me” especially is unbelievable, and he spent the time and money convincing his record label that Ram Rider Refeathered was a great idea, and anyone fighting for this is well worth listening to.

Perhaps one of the jazz scenes more famous powerhouses is Jazztronik, who is hands down the master of mood music. He’s another in Japan’s arsenal of US-undiscovered masterminds slowly turning our speed tribes into slow life believers. It’s dub as good as Thievery Corporation and pop as wonderful as Clazziquai Project.

Kyoto Jazz Massive have been around for over a decade and are still going strong, killing it in shows all over the world with a list of collaborators that leaves even my mind reeling. It’s got a strong bebop flavour to it, with overtones belonging to the Big Easy, but in the end it comes out as something a little more modern, a little more synthetic, and a whole lot more complex.

It would be absurd to even talk about this genre of music without referencing the beloved Mondo Grosso, the bossa nova-esque beatmakers whose albums, Born Free and MG4 are legendary. If you like Bebel Gilberto and her remixes, if you like Jazzanova minus the latter half of In Between, or if you’re into something worthy of Enjoy! House, then this is the band for you.

On the other side of the spectrum we have Shinichi Osawa who just tears his turntables apart for some forward-thinking but powerful electro. If you’re digging the sultry sounds of the jazz-house Tokyo touch, then you might want to steer clear of Osawa, but if you’ve got a stomach for Tiga, Danger, and MSTRKRFT then you should definitely look to Osawa for foot-pounding prowess.

That’s all I’ve got for you. Armed with your newfound list of JPop contenders with which to find your new favourite artist, to impress your colleagues with your far-flung musical tastes, to entertain your Japanese mates with lengthy discussions about pop stars you’re now familiar with, to find your foothold into more amazing Japanese music, because that’s really the point of this list. We’ve got Ami Suzuki next to Capsule next to Gubismo Grafico, next to Daishi Dance. I hope I’ve shown you just how vague a term JPop is, and how varied and wonderful the world of Japanese music can be, in its entirety.

Go there.

Tokyo tower

bicycles in Shinjuku

the shrines of Kyoto

a rainy day in Tamachi

Related How to pine for Japan: come home.

Personally I’ve had an incredibly stressful few weeks, enough so that I’ve developed an omnipresent sort of buzz in my head, resulting in a semi-permanent stress headache. Tired of being incapacitated by my own life, I decided to go out with friends yesterday. We spent the evening relaxing in Little Tokyo: sharing a few cocktails and appetisers at Yebisu Tavern, wandering the Tokyo Plaza for trinkets and Japanese sweets, and discussing the end of the world, plasma balls from the sun, and 2012 over authentic ramen from Daikokuya. As we crunched our edamame and planned fantasy international excursions into east Asia, I felt my headache slowly lift for the first time in days, and for a few glorious moments recounting Japan, I felt like myself again. I think it’s high time I really looked at why I fell in love with Japan, and why I should consider going back.

1) I was working. I might be the only person I know who’s looking forward to working 40-hour work weeks again like I did in Japan, but I simply adored having that separation between work and life. Not only was I throwing my all into the full-time internship I had, which was satisfying in and of itself, but I was also giving everything else 100%, which I hadn’t been able to do in a long time. I’m an all or nothing kind of person, and juggling 400 things as I am now means I only get to give any one of them about 12% of my energy, so everything feels shortchanged. In Japan, I was working the hardest of my life, but I was playing the hardest of my life too, and I loved every minute of it.

2) I was constantly learning. When you’re in a foreign culture, especially one as vast as Japanese culture, you’re never really done learning things: customs, phrases, politics, social issues, ideology, menus, history, the list just goes on an on. Add to that infinite wealth of things to learn a massive, frenetic city that isn’t just the largest in the world, but also the most 24/7 of any metropolis (yes, Tokyo even beats New York). There was so much to explore physically and culturally that it was damn near impossible to be bored. I was always stumbling into new gems, and meeting new people who showed me new sides of Tokyo every week.

3) I was incredibly inspired. In the same vein, Japan has so much energy, and so much art, so much beauty, so much history, so many subcultures, so many places to go, in short, the country has so much cool stuff going on that around every corner I was inspired to do more, to learn more. I’d see a poster and be moved by the graphic design, or I’d hear a coworker talk about their trip to Hokkaido and I’d be touched by the tale, or I’d hear a band and gain some incredible insight that I just had to take home and do something with. I’ve never been so enthusiastic or sparked in my entire life.

4) I was doing what I loved every second of the day because of that as well. I was travelling, photographic copious pictures, assembling videos on everything I could think of, jotting down ideas left and right, reading voraciously, and writing my thoughts on a near daily basis. I was able to strike the perfect balance between life and self; I had enough going on to stimulate me, but enough free time to put my plans into motion, and enough left over to socialise with anyone who would have a conversation with me. Essentially in Japan I was the person I want to always be.

5) I was free in Japan. I mean this in many ways. My worries were zilch, and not having to fret over time and money is one of the most liberating feelings ever. I knew I could take care of myself. I also felt infinitely safer in Japan than I did in California or Texas, and I felt I could wander freely and live my life on my own time rather than having to worry about subways closing or neighbourhoods I couldn’t go into. Tokyo afforded me tons of agency too, and with a 500¥ coin I could hop on a subway and go anywhere my heart desired. I could take a shinkansen to anywhere in the country or a short plane ride to anywhere in the region. There are always events going on and trips to take. I miss that freedom, the ability to explore freely and fully in a place as engaging and Japan.

Of course it helps that I am so head over heels for Japanese culture and fashion and music and history that just thinking about my time in Tokyo brings a huge smile to my face, and the prospect of returning makes me more excited than I’ve been in months. I was able to discuss the subject with a number of colleagues while in Japan, and overall the conclusion I drew was that the foreigners who live in Japan are there because they want to be. It’s not an easy thing to be a gaijin in any country, especially one as closed-off as Japan, but there are hundreds of expats who think it’s worth it. It’s food for thought for me, since I really did fall in love with the city while I was there. Sure one experience may not make a maxim, but it was one hell of an experience.

Aligned with my post yesterday about Japanese eating, I came across this wonderfully explanatory link today on Gridskipper about the glory that is Japanese convenience stores. While I can attest to the truth of the article, know also that when I return to the land of the rising sun I will be making my own rigorous investigation in much the same vein. So without further ado, happy readings.

Tokyo’s Weird/Wonderful Convenience Store Cuisine (via Gridskipper)

I am by no means food-cautious, in fact I am food-ambitious most of the time, but I’ll be the first to admit I had a long struggle with Japanese food, long before I ever left for Honshu soil. It certainly wasn’t a case of the kid that thinks he hates ice cream because he’s never had it, since I’d had it and decidedly despised it, so I was rightfully concerned when I eventually had to come to terms with Japanese food. I’ve come a long way from being intimidated by the daunting foods pictured above, and now I am able to down it with the best of them. Although it certainly isn’t my food of choice, I found myself craving a Japanese lunch of some variety after a day of errand running. Before I knew it I was pulled into one of my local Japanese restaurants and ordering a large lunch special, downing some hot tea.

The road to redemption started with a few noodle lunches in various neighbourhoods of Tokyo and a few desperate situations where I discovered that just because I hate tuna, raw or cooked, doesn’t mean I should write off all sushi. Now? I’m even willing to adopt a number of Japanese food philosophies into my daily life: leaving ingredients simple, showcasing natural flavours without a lot of over-powering spices, eating socially with small, tapas-like portions, and being okay with the bounty of the sea: fish, shellfish, mollusks, and seaweeds.

My saga with sushi is a strange one, but after a bit of mental arm wrestling, I’ve finally come to a good place with it. And that place is lunch. There are few things I enjoy more than a good lunch out, and ever since I kicked the habit of greasy food I’ve discovered Japanese food makes for what is arguably the ideal light lunch. Although it isn’t for everyone, a typical bento box (in-house or take-away) has all the makings of a perfect meal: variety, vegetables, pickles, dessert, warm and cold components, hot tea, portability, a degree of healthfulness, and reasonable prices. For about $8 you can treat yourself to a few good pieces of sashimi, some tempura of your choice, mashed daikon, an assortment of pickles, rice, sauteed vegetables, and of course, mochi or kuro-ame (rice or black sugar candy), all in reasonable portions. Throw in a little macha and I find it difficult to pass up. Witness the carnage of today’s entree:

I was not always able to make such a dent in a bento, or in any other Japanese dish for that matter. I found it strange, smelly, undercooked, and generally unappealing. But a few weeks downing the stuff and I became addicted to the small and subtle seasoning, the fresh taste, and the simple ingredients. In fact, by the day my flight left Japan, I was eating sushi for breakfast after a long night out. How did I, one who entered the situation so adamantly vegetarian and woefully suspicious of the cuisine make it out alive?

Pay attention, because this simple fact could assuage all the fears you ever have about cuisine in a foreign and distant (and seemingly disgusting) land: there’s a rule known to international travellers and the poverty-stricken alike. Bottom line, if you’re hungry enough, anything will taste good. Do not dare to doubt this universal law that hunger really is the best seasoning, for your stomach can only pretend to have standards for so long before it gives up the fight in favour of feeling full. It’s the law of Clif bars, those dry fruit and nut energy bars that taste like the most glorious god-granted gift on the face of the earth when you’re several thousand miles high on the Andes or HImalayas, tasty blocks of ambrosia that suddenly turn into bricks of ash upon reaching sea level again. Why? Because when you’re 18,000 up, anything with calories is gourmet cuisine, and back in reality you just aren’t hungry enough to enjoy a cardboard-resembling Clif bar the same way you did at the ravenous km 15. Well by day 15 in Japan I was just as ravenous and on that day I developed a taste for Japanese food.

For me the dilemma I have now, readjusting to Western food, is two-fold; I will never enjoy sushi as much stateside as I did in Japan simply because I’m not in Japan and thus forced to choose between horse meat, raw egg, or stinky tofu for lunch. Up against that, a little fatty tuna sashimi sounds brilliant. When faced with the choice between a bean and cheese taco and raw yellowfin, that call has an entirely different scope. The second factor in the equation is that even in a city as culinarily-equipped as Houston (the restaurant capital of the US), there just won’t be as much stellar sushi. We have stricter laws against wild fishing, less of a demand for good fish, and of course are limited by the offerings of the gulf coast unless you want to pay $26.99 for a single salmon roll.

That isn’t to say we here, yes even those of us not on the West Coast, don’t have any options for Japanese light dining. Most popular in the third coast’s largest city is Miyako’s (on Kirby north of 59), which has an amazing sushi happy hour deal and is always packed, though sometimes lacks when it comes to unagi, eki, and california rolls. There isn’t much of a choice of non-sushi fare either, so of course the cross-street competition Cafe Japon (on Kirby north of 59) has the strongest handle on all-around Japanese dining. Those are the bigwigs of the Houston Japanese scene, though a few others claim to be heavyweight contenders (i.e., Zake and Oishii), but the only other restaurant name you need to know inside the loop is Montrose’s own hidden gem: Nippon (on Montrose just north of the bridge over 59). It’s quiet and unassuming, sandwiched between an all-day spa and a “Friendly Chinese Restaurant!” but to be frank, Nippon should have caught on like wildfire ages ago. Instead, it remains a Montrose-area secret, one you too can now enjoy.

Of course you have several options when dining Japanese; I am among the many who get frustrated with the masses that think sushi is the only Japanese delicacy, especially since I despised the stuff for so many years. There’s udon, which are thick square wheat noodles served with tempura. The Japanese love their noodles cold and hot, or both, especially soba, or buckwheat noodles, which are usually served cold and dipped in and out of a hot soup-like broth. Then there are more styles for grilling meats than I have fingers, whether yakitori is cooked for you or you swirl your own in a big pot of water á la shabu shabu. So many options, you’re bound to find something you like.

Unfortunately if you’ve a sweet tooth, you do have to grant a few concessions to the Japanese. They don’t do cakes, nor do they do pies or traditional butter-egg-sugar pastries like the French (with the exception of Beard Papa’s, which is Japanese). If there are desserts, you can bet it’s fruit-flavoured, and probably gummy. But on the bright side, there is frozen yoghurt. Really good frozen yoghurt. Sweet cream cones are on display everywhere in a variety of flavours, most commonly vanilla, chocolate, and green tea, with the occasional sweet potatoe or mango (especially in Kamakura). Popular Tokyo chain the Golden Spoon is like a better version of Pinkberry’s or 21 Choices and downright dangerous to those with a love of ice cream. But you have to remember that the majority of the population in Japan is lactose intolerant, so yoghurt is as close to dairy as you’ll get. Milk comes in tiny containers and is quite expensive, not to mention laden with preservatives, and Japanese cheese is soft and tastes nothing like dairy. With options like that, it makes sense why Japanese desserts are few and far between.

The other thing you should keep in mind when perusing for your own Japanese restaurant of choice is Japanese dining habits. Like us in Houston, I found Tokyoites had the same variety in restaurant choices: great Indian, excellent Thai, a multitude of Italian options, a terrifying amount of Chinese ramen shops, and a number of fast food chains. But I discovered the Japanese don’t generally eat ethnically. If they go out, they go out to a Japanese restaurant. At home they eat Japanese food. Celebratory food is still Japanese. So if you walk into a Japanese restaurant and see lots of Japanese people, make note because you’re in a winning place. And I do hope you find your own winners, because Japanese food, however strange-sounding-looking-smelling, is not to be underestimated.

Every country has their version of the minimart. In Houston it was the Stop’N'Go, in Crested Butte the True Value, in Los Angeles, the 7eleven, in Tokyo the AmPm, in Sydney the Night Owl. Well, in Brisbane it’s the Golden Casket. It’s rainy, and I’ve got twenty minutes to kill before the next bus, so I decide to look for a magazine, not to buy (becaue Australian magazines are rubbish) but to browse and kill some time, when I happen upon this.

Hark! I yell in the middle of the tiny convenience store. It’s JPG Magazine! I am surprised, you see, because these magazines are already incredibly hard to find in the states. You can pretty much only find them at secret Barnes & Noble stores, or by ordering a subscription online (which isn’t worth it since they only come out with about three a year). But JPG is an ideal page-flipping magazine to browse while you’re waiting in an aeroport because it’s a magazine made entirely of pictures, with the occasional photographer’s story in there. So I pick it up and read about lensbabies (every issue talks about lensbabies) and Holgas (every issue talks about holgas) and whiz past the section on street fashion without a second thought. Then. Stop. Full stop. I run into this.

Not just a picture. A tiny little package of C4 right in the middle of a magazine I’m thumbing in a Golden Casket behind a man wearing a plastic bag like a hat who smells of used mouthwash. I recognise it. Like, I really recognise it, not that “ooooh I know I’ve seen that somewhere” but in an instant I know not only exactly where and why that picture was taken but what camera took it, what time of day it was, and how many times the photographer probably had to try before he got one without any cigarette smoke in it. I know because I’ve been there.

It’s in the “Destinations” section (go figure) and in one glance I knew it was a picture from Tokyo. It’s a walkway under the JR Yamanote line just by the Yurakucho station. But it’s more than that. It’s a tiny remnant of industrial Tokyo as it was two generations ago before they all felt the need to look 20, blow 4G on a suit and smell like a soap shop even in 35º heat. You can’t hold a conversation much less order in any discernible tongue from any of the tiny stalls and milk-crate tables that line the walkway because the subway noise from above clatters into your ears every four and one-half minutes to fill your entire brain with the sound of shifting steel and anxious commuters. Walking under that bridge is like walking through a time capsule.

It’s also a border. The line divides Ginza from Hamamatsucho. Ginza says, “Keep your filthy, discount priced electronic hands off of our main strip and don’t you dare touch my Itoyama,” while Hamamatsucho says “We will if you will, and try not to let your holier-than-thou elitism spread to our BIC, okay?” The walkway is a no man’s land between the neighbourhoods, but it’s also a refuge from both worlds. On one side the unattainable high life the Japanese so often seek, on the other the obsessive technology they can’t get away from. The walkway is a sanctuary where old men sit and talk and smoke and drink and avoid work for as long as possible.

And the coolest part of all wasn’t that I recognised the picture, or that I had walked through its gateway on several occasions during my commute to Tamachi, no. See, when you see a landmark like the Tokyo Tower or like Senso-Ji or like anywhere in Odiaba, you know it’s Tokyo. It’s the same as seeing a picture of Times Square, or of the Empire State building. Yeah, you’ve been there, but so has everyone else. It’s an icon. This walkway is not an icon of Tokyo. It’s a nothing. A nowhere. A tiny, insignificant corner of a busy city that’s two steps to the left different than the places around it. You can’t read about it in a tour book, you just have to stumble upon it, like the lady who sells basil from her front door, or that architecturally impressive (and apparently private) middle school. You see, the best part of all was that I understood one little space out of a gigantic fucking city all on my own. I didn’t just see the top ten list, or follow the tour guide. I actually knew the city. I was really there.