The Curious Case of Chocolate Button

Posted on 03/07/2025 by Luke

My day begins with a visit to a chocolate factory. Luckily, this chocolate factory is more a museum of chocolate facts than a factory made of chocolate, which, in 30-degree heat, would be somewhat messy. I’m still in Hokkaido, so while it’s hot, the humidity is reasonably low.

Today marks the 30th anniversary of Shiroi Koibito Park, a chocolate-themed factory with gardens. The translation of the name is unusual and means White Lover Park. However, the word for dwarf is the similarly spelt kobito, meaning little person, and has been named that way as a cheap pun which we’ll see later.

Entering the park, I buy a ticket (not golden), and receive a small wrapped square containing the exact chocolate that this factory makes; a bit of a spoiler, giving me the final product at the entrance. Inside, everything smells faintly of white chocolate and mild concern. There are a lot of stairs, the sound of cats meowing through speakers, and a room full of video screens telling the story of the factory.

In the quirkily named Time Travel Room, we learn about how this chocolate came about. One of the screens checks to make sure we’ve all been paying attention by offering up a quiz question answered by show of hands. The question is: What is added to chocolate to make it sweet? a) Powdered Milk, b) Powdered Cheese, or c) Powdered Snow?

“Hands up if you said powdered cheese?” says the woman running the tour, as she looks around rather confused. “Nobody said cheese??? How about snow?” It turns out I wasn’t paying attention, but still managed to correctly guess that chocolate can be sweetened by adding powdered milk. Next, we follow some cat prints on the floor up some more steps to the factory.

The factory floor is impressive, fully operational, and producing just one product: cookies. There is a counter that displays how many of each product has been produced today: 33,645 Shiroi Koibito cookies; 0 Baumkuchen cakes. I suppose they are using the lack of cakes as a comparison.

Remember that pun I mentioned? Well, in the next room it is on full display. All good factories have their slaves. Oompa Loompas, Wonkidoodles; but here at Shiroi Koibito Park we have White Dwarfs. They perform all of the tasks here, including milking the cows and creating white chocolate.

After yet more stairs, the sound of cats meowing, and multiple rooms of chocolate-related trinkets, we reach the end. I realise that we never did get an explanation for the cats. I exit through the gift shop and use the restroom. I notice someone has left some chocolate in one of the toilets.

I take the stairs up and into the café, where I decide to take a rest from all the walking and climbing. The factory really needs to invest in an elevator; preferably one made of glass. Speaking of glass, I order a glass of Shiroi Koibito Wine, not sure exactly what to expect.

It doesn’t taste like chocolate. It tastes like regret. Perhaps one of the worst wines I’ve ever had the displeasure to drink. I was expecting notes of white chocolate; however, this wine is unfortunately made from Niagara grapes, which are more commonly used for grape juice than wine.

At exactly 12 o’clock, the distant clock tower chimes and opens up, and there’s a little animatronic parade. I slowly sip on my wine, trying not to wince. I watch the White Dwarfs trapped in a loop of mechanised merriment. I finish my glass before finally taking a stroll out through the gardens.

Taking the train back to Sapporo, I get off at Odori Station. The train station is connected to a huge underground shopping complex called Aurora Plaza. I decide to take a stroll through, passing shops selling clothes and souvenir-fit cakes. I also see some T-shirts with terribly translated English: Fun up necessary!

As I continue my stroll, in the distance I hear what sounds like birds chirping excitedly. I then see a sign for ‘Bird Corner’ and decide to see what all the chattering is about. It turns out to be a glasshouse full of parakeets called The Little Bird Square.

There are a couple of blue birds, multiple green birds, and that’s about as good as my knowledge of birds goes, I’m afraid. Although I’m pretty sure keeping them down here in an underground plaza means they will most likely die before they ever see natural light. Credit though, as it does seem that someone at least cleans out the enclosure, and I’m certain that one of the birds did smile at me.

Further along the shopping complex, I stumble once again on a glass enclosure. This one, however, unusually contains scarves. The cloth appears to be well tended to, not the least bit ruffled. I think it’s supposed to look like a sea of clouds, but I can’t be sure. I do know that the scarves aren’t harmed in any way, and none of them seem likely to die anytime soon. They’ve already been dyed indigo!

My final stop for the day is a place called Retro Space Saka Hall. It’s a strange little museum that’s only open for a few hours a day, a couple of days a week, and houses the personal collection of curiosities owned by Kazutaka Saka, an 82-year-old Japanese man.

The museum is full of tightly packed shelves in every direction, arranged in sections and side rooms; a very well-organised collection of… well, of things. I don’t know where to look. There are things everywhere. If you can imagine it, Mr. Saka has probably collected it: Showa-era relics, gas masks, a large collection of syringes, musical instruments, a whole section dedicated to Eiffel Tower-shaped whiskey bottles, toys, figurines, bottle caps, buttons, stamps, cigarettes, women’s underwear, and photographs of women wearing underwear…

I begin to wonder whether Mr. Saka started out by collecting pornography and then, over time, began adding other random items like glass beakers and rocking horses to distract from all the images of naked women. Eventually it grew into this sprawling collection of almost one million objects. I don’t mind saying, I wouldn’t fancy having the job of dusting.

I have another thought as I pass by a wall of photographs of pin-up girls and a big pile of dolls: do other people just come here with stuff they no longer need and leave it behind? I can’t imagine anyone would actually notice the odd addition to the collection.

Just looking at the photograph of the pile of dolls, there’s so much going on in just that one area. Now imagine multiplying that by a hundred; you’ll get a good idea of just how overwhelming Retro Space Saka Hall really is.

I’m about to leave, heading toward the exit, but decide to take one last look at a shelf to my left. I must have missed it on the way in, overwhelmed on arrival by the treasure trove of everything mixed in with that odd smell of bygone. The shelf I’m standing before features a lot of dolls, tied up with string. The tied-up dolls on the bottom row are neatly arranged, all sitting on plastic toilets.

As I walk back to the train station, I decide that something about Mr. Saka is not quite right. Anyone with an entire shelf dedicated to Eiffel Tower-shaped whiskey bottles has a serious problem.

Life of Pipes

Posted on 02/07/2025 by Luke

I’ve finally decided to visit Hokkaido Prefecture, specifically Sapporo, the capital of northern Japan. The area I’m staying in over the next few days is seemingly charming. The first thing I notice about it is the open spaces. Then the neat symmetry of the streets. Then the pipes.

The nearby Odori Park slices across twelve neatly gridded blocks. There’s a river, a large red-brick mansion, and an illuminated TV Tower looming at exactly 147.2 metres in height: Sapporo’s artificial Polaris.

My first destination today is a bit of a hidden gem. So hidden in fact that the building itself is only identifiable by a single blue water droplet painted on its side. A grey concrete block of a structure in the middle of nowhere on the edge of the city. To find it, I am told to just follow the Soseigawa River. If you haven’t guessed it yet, the place I’m looking for is the Sapporo Sewerage Science Museum.

I don’t notice the single blue water droplet painted on the side of the building. What I notice instead is the stench; the kind that makes you immediately try to locate the source. Which, in this case, is the Soseigawa Wastewater Treatment Plant: right next door.

Inside the museum, there is nobody around. It’s actually free admission so I freely explore some of the exhibits. I quickly discover that there are mascots everywhere. There is a bacteria mascot, a sludge mascot, an activated sludge mascot, and a pipe-shaped mascot sporting sunglasses named Dr. Pipe. The water droplet is the star of the show and its name is Kurin-chan. There are no further details or backstories for any of the mascots.

The museum features a huge panorama theatre with empty seats, the movie they are showing today is called “Where Sewage Goes” and is an animated educational video. There’s a detailed diorama of the seemingly charming Odori area of Sapporo. Underneath the model of the city are drawers that can be pulled out to reveal the fascinating inner workings of Sapporo’s sewerage system.

I imagine children would love this place and its various petri dishes of animal fæces and eleven interactive games (some genuinely quite fun) where you can train to be an Operations and Maintenance Master, a Sewage Pipe Cleaning Master, or even a Sludge Treatment Master. There’s also a massive decorated pipe with artwork seemingly unrelated to the other parts of the museum.

Speaking of hands-on activities and pipes, the museum also features an 800-year old decommissioned sewer pipe that you can touch anywhere you like. I decide to only touch the outside of the pipe. I sanitise my hands and wave goodbye to Kurin-chan as I leave for the station.

In a city called Sapporo, it’s almost impossible to avoid seeing signs, sponsorships, and advertisements for a beer company that shares the city’s name: Sapporo. So, moving from one thing that comes out of pipes to another, I just hope this one tastes markedly better.

Founded in 1876 by German-trained brewers, Sapporo Beer survived relocation, stereotypes, and wartime censorship. The Tokyo facility was shut down for reasons that may or may not involve pipes. A year later, the first beer was delivered in boxes of ice back to Tokyo, and the years that followed saw Sapporo Beer’s popularity begin to soar across Japan.

As I enter the Sapporo Beer Museum I am instantly struck by the size of the massive gold Walt Pan. Used from 1965 to 2003, this historic steel sphere is capable of brewing 280,000 cans of beer at once. For context, that’s 280,000 cans of beer. A sign at the bottom of the ramp politely asks: “Please do not climb on the Walt Pan.”

In 1908, Sapporo Beer began using geisha in its advertisements, an image later viewed as stereotypical. All advertising ceased in the late 1930s for unclear reasons. When it resumed in the mid-1940s, the geisha were gone, replaced by more glamorous and recognisable stars.

As I leave the museum I exit into a roped-off line of people queueing to buy tickets for beer at a vending machine. I pay ¥450 for a ticket that I then exchange for a small 240ml glass of beer. I don’t mind though, it tastes very good and makes for a great photograph.

In Japan, there’s a concept called wabi-sabi. It’s hard to explain, but that photograph of my small 240ml beer does a decent job. The lighting is perfect, the glass pristine, the faded backdrop of a crowd of people in the beer hall, but something is out of place: a bubble, or the absence of a bubble. One missing pixel at the top of the glass. An imperfection. But for wabi-sabi, that bubble is a missing thing of beauty.

I take two sips of beer and realise my glass is empty, so decide to move on to my final stop of the day: the Mount Moiwa Ropeway. Unironically, right next to the ropeway is the Sapporo Waterworks Memorial Museum (more pipes). Luckily, it’s long closed today, so I admire the exterior and move on.

I pay ¥1900 and enter the ropeway. I am carried alone, lifted above the city, above the pipes, and past the skyline’s edges. The sun to the west sets behind the Shokanbetsu mountain range. I read a sign stating that Mount Moiwa has one of the three best night views in all Japan; at sunset, the view from the gondola is already stunning.

At the top, I await the gloaming. As the darkness of night blankets the city below, Sapporo shrinks and becomes less of a grid, and more of a circuit board of blinking lights. What makes the view even more satisfying is drinking my 500ml can of Sapporo Beer, whilst relaxing, staring down at the connected lights of my day below me, as I enjoy the moment.

Earlier today, I touched an 800-year-old sewer pipe that once carried the waste of people who don’t exist. I watched beer pour from a golden pipe into a glass, and now, I’m looking out at a city of interconnected lights.

I take in the view. Breathtaking. Yet all I can think about is that pipe. The one with the sunglasses.

International Food and Beverage Exhibition

Posted on 06/03/2015 by Luke

Today, I am at Makuhari Messe Convention Centre for Foodex Japan. In its 40th year, the event stands as the biggest trade show for food and beverage in Asia, featuring three thousand exhibitors from seventy-nine different countries. I received a private invitation, allowing me to hand over a business card at the entrance and receive my journalist pass, thus saving me the ¥5000 public entry fee. The first challenge I encounter at the event is their strict no-photography policy. They even threaten ejection from the event for anyone caught taking photographs, sneaking in animals, or attending solely for free food and drink.

Naturally, I adhere strictly to the rules, refraining from releasing any concealed animals into the exhibition halls or taking sneaky snaps of the event from a balcony above. And, of course, my primary purpose for attending is certainly not to indulge in the free samples of food and drink offered by the three thousand exhibitors. Today, all food and drink are complimentary, with stallholders actively encouraging me to sample their offerings.

I start with cheese. I seldom eat cheese in Japan, so when given the opportunity to be an official judge in a packaging and taste competition, I seize the chance. The competition involves comparing thirty-one cheeses from Japan. Just as I’m about to get serious about my judging responsibilities, the comedian in charge reminds me to take it seriously before asking me to select a wooden stick from a box. “Careful for electric shocks,” the man says, “this is high technology, like a supercomputer.” So much for taking things too seriously.

The cheese I have randomly selected is a Brazilian cream cheese made in Japan. I assess the packaging (somewhat basic) and evaluate the unique selling point of the product (non-existent). Next, I can choose any two other cheeses to rate in comparison. I opt for two cheeses that I’m eager to try. Following the rating, a taste test ensues, providing me with the opportunity to score the flavour and determine the likelihood of a future purchase. Interestingly, the cheese I selected, which appears to be the most expensive among the thirty-one, turns out to be the worst cheese I have ever tried.

After savouring the cheese, I crave a drink, prompting me to head for a cup of tea.

Unfortunately, the Yogi Tea stand offers their sample in the form of a tea bag. No hot water here. I have a chat with Sada-Anand Khalsa, a self proclaimed Yogi Tea Ambassador. His beard is better than mine, and his tea is apparently very wonderful. As I talk to him, he appears distracted, distant, and looks like he is about to fall off his stool. He’s probably had a few too many cups of his bedtime organic tea product, no doubt.

I continue exploring the red-carpeted route, treating myself to devil fruits and açaí berry smoothies. In Pakistan, I’m given the chance to try six-billion-year-old sea salt, and in Egypt, I indulge in some tasty salted peanuts. Upon reaching Japan, I find myself surrounded by microphones and cameras, as I become the subject of a television show—quite ironic, considering the event’s no photography or recording equipment policy. During the interview, I’m asked to sample Japanese food to capture my authentic reaction. However, they choose edamame, a dish I consume almost weekly, making it challenging for me to convey a genuine response to the familiar taste of beans.

After the interview, I head to England to enjoy a scone. However, I notice that the stalls here are manned by individuals with uninviting expressions and disappointed faces. Unlike everywhere else I’ve stopped, where warm smiles and polite conversation welcomed me, it’s a different experience in England. Disheartened, I make the decision to leave and never return. Instead, I choose to visit the friendly land of Scotland for some delectable scallops. Later, I make my way to the welcoming Wales to enjoy a sample of a beer I’m already familiar with—Dark Side of the Moose.

In Austria, I take a moment to chat with a friendly man about beer. The Flying Brewery proves to be wonderful and charming. After expressing a clear interest in sampling copious amounts of their free alcohol, the amiable man turns to his colleague and exclaims, “He wants to try them all!” This marks perhaps the turning point in my day, leading me into the delightful world of free alcohol. The beers here are fantastic, and I relish each and every one. The brewery even gifts me a set of twelve coasters and poses for a photograph. While a part of me considers that the journalist pass around my neck might have influenced their hospitality, another part of me believes that they are genuinely kind and passionate about their craft.

With an ever-increasing thirst for beer, I head over to the only place that can satisfy my taste: Belgium. After wandering around in beer heaven for about an hour and sampling familiar delights such as Stella Artois and Hoegaarden, I move on to some of my favourite drinks—Delirium Tremens, Kriek, and Chimay.
“One more glass, sir?” says the man at the Chimay stand.
“Why, thank you, sir,” I reply, feeling very humbled and slightly drunk.

I continue to explore, observing snakes in bottles of miscellaneous liquid and engaging with companies solely present at the event to secure a Japanese distributor. After a bit of stumbling, I find myself in Mexico, enticed by amusingly shaped bottles of expensive tequila.

AsomBroso is a luxury tequila from Tequila, Mexico, and one bottle costs around ¥7000. After sampling a small glass, I strike up a conversation with the friendly man manning the booth. A simple mention of the word ‘journalist’ earns me a second glass and an invitation to take a photograph of his display. The tequila is, in fact, the best I have ever tasted—good quality stuff.

In Finland, I chat with a nice lady about the health benefits of bilberry. In Indonesia, I indulge in fresh tuna sashimi. Thailand offers me samples of multiple hot sauces served with various delicious canapés. However, my favourite dish of the day comes from Malaysia—shrimp noodles in a spicy sauce broth that comes with a strong warning: ‘Extremely hot, eat carefully and very slowly.’ As I wander through multiple stores offering sweets, dried fruits, organic chocolate, and health products, I somehow take a wrong turn and end up in Australia. Unfortunately, there’s no attention from the yawning people here, no free samples, only misery.

Finally, I explore what China has to offer. I am surprised by the contrast between China and Australia; the politeness expressed by the people here at such a late time in the day, and the complete lack of yawning and misery is a big surprise to me. Everyone wants to speak to me, everyone is friendly, and of course, everyone wants me to try their products. One store I particularly enjoyed was Shantou Sweet House Foodstuff.

This Chinese confectioner offers many interestingly named products, such as Brain Licker, Nipple Lipstick Tooth Candy, and Plastic Fruity Sour Sour Stick. “Wait here for a moment,” says the stallholder, following our long conversation about sugar. He returns with a huge bag of sweets, including strawberry-flavoured popping candy that comes with two free stickers.

Leaving China, it feels like I’ve just been on a six-hour tour around the whole world. I exit the event and take the free shuttle bus over to Kaihin-Makuhari Station. For some reason, a woman in the train station hands me a free sample of a doughnut. Free samples are the last thing I can enjoy right now; food is the very last thing on my mind.

Back at home, as I empty out my full pockets of the many free gifts and brochures, it reminds me of a lost childhood memory of Halloween. I still have an awful lot more food to eat, but I can’t really complain. I enjoyed the event, the food, the beverages, on what has been quite a wonderful day in Chiba.

Wig Trouble in Little Chinatown

Posted on 20/02/2015 by Luke

I am a little way outside of Tokyo, in Yokohama. The area was once a quaint fishing town where nothing much really happened. After the Americans came with their ships, Yokohama opened Japan up to the world of foreign trade, and these days, Yokohama has become one of the major ports for trade in Japan.

My first stop is the site where the Japan-America Treaty of Amity and Friendship was concluded. The treaty, also known as The Treaty of Kanagawa, was signed in 1854 on this very piece of ground and effectively changed the way Japan dealt with people from other countries. The signing also gave birth to the flourishing city of Yokohama. A memorial made up mostly of mirrors is here now, and uneven ground at the centre of this historic spot has become the ideal place for rainwater to collect.

With so much history in the area, Yokohama features many foreign buildings and places and is heavily influenced by various different cultures. It is one such culture that brings me here today – the Chinese. Today is, of course, Chinese New Year, so I thought the ideal place to celebrate would be in a city with its very own Chinatown.

Marking the entrance to Chinatown hangs a brightly coloured gate. The first thing I notice is that beyond the gate, the rows of Chinese restaurants and shops no longer resemble Japan. Tucked between two such restaurants sits a branch of Starbucks Coffee, instantly shattering the illusion that I might actually be in China. I make my way through the crowds and arrive at a temple.

Yokohama Kanteibyo is a Taoist temple dedicated to the Chinese general Guan Yu, now recognised as the god of war and victory. Built in 1871 by Chinese migrants, the temple has been destroyed four times but always rebuilt, a common theme in Japan regarding temples. These days, the temple symbolises good luck and good fortune in business, attracting a crowd of Chinese residents and tourists celebrating the Chinese New Year.

Inside the temple, people queue up to pay ¥1000 for a piece of scented wood. The lit incense is then placed into a pot. Burning the first incense of the New Year is considered especially important in Chinese culture, with participants believed to invite prosperity for the upcoming year.

After the incense, people retrieve their fortune, following a tradition similar to that of Japanese temples and shrines. Common themes emerge between the two cultures, such as celebrating the New Year by visiting a temple or shrine, offering the first prayer or burning incense, and enjoying traditional food. The notable distinction today is the upcoming Lion Dance.

I exit Yokohama Kanteibyo and step into the lantern-lined streets. Drawing in twenty-one million visitors annually, Yokohama Chinatown is the largest in Japan, boasting over six hundred shops and restaurants crammed into this compact area. Today, it seems like all twenty-one million have converged here, as both sides of the streets are teeming with people. The congestion makes it challenging for me to move freely.

I find a decent spot in the crowd and wait. Despite the imminent Lion Dance parade, the road remains open for vehicles, creating a potentially dangerous situation. A traditional Chinese vehicle labelled ‘Family Mart’ manoeuvres through the throng, coming perilously close to running over someone. Each time a vehicle passes, a man with a megaphone urgently urges everyone to step back, causing chaos. Additional delays occur due to a problem with the head of the lion costume, pushing the Lion Dance to start an hour later than scheduled, finally commencing at half-past four.

Firecrackers, louder than the Big Bang, shatter the silence. The abrupt explosion of sound startles me, eliciting frightened cries from children in the vicinity. Soon after, a man adorned in a lion costume emerges, prompting cheers from the crowd. Accompanied by the rhythmic beats of drums, the lion commences its dance. I manage to observe the lion’s performance for approximately four seconds before it vanishes into a Chinese restaurant, presumably continuing to dance around inside.

As the lion re-emerges from the restaurant, its head is removed, and the drumming ceases. This anticlimactic moment leaves me wondering if there’s more to come. I linger for a while, hoping for additional excitement, but the crowd has largely dissipated. The firecrackers echo once more, leaving the air tinged with a gloomy white smoke, and the lion resumes its dance into the next Chinese restaurant. Bored with the spectacle, I decide to bid farewell to Chinatown in search of something more intriguing.

Strolling around for approximately an hour, I stumble upon something of historical significance. In 1871, shortly after the signing of The Treaty of Kanagawa, a street named Nihon-O-dori was constructed. This street holds historical importance as the first modern street ever built in Japan. Originally, it was established as a division between the settlement of overseas migrants and the Japanese population.

The signboard reads, “This street presents the best opportunity to enjoy glimpses of Yokohama’s past.” I stroll along the entire thirty-six metres of the concrete street, attempting to savour glimpses of the past. However, my usual lack of enthusiasm is once again disrupted by the sight of a giant Ferris wheel looming in the sky above.

A Handful of Salt

Posted on 12/01/2015 by Luke

Sometimes in Japan (and the same can be said for life in general), I have absolutely no idea what is going on. Today, a red carpet has been placed in the middle of a busy road. Not only does this carpet obstruct many motorists who drive down here every day, but it actually stretches the entire length of Kappabashi Street – and Kappabashi Street is a very long street indeed. Is the head of state making a surprise visit? Is some type of awards ceremony about to take place, perhaps? Or is there no reason at all for this vermilion impediment? Only time can provide the answer.

For the last few months, I have been trying my hand at a little private English conversation practice with just one student—a 71-year-old Japanese man who has lived in Asakusa all his life. With a keen interest in food and Japanese history, he has provided me with an endless source of knowledge about post-war Japan and the changing attitudes amongst Japanese people. I enjoy teaching him, and our conversations often cover an array of topics, such as Bonseki, China Syndrome, and foods I’ve never heard of before in my life. Today, we are heading out to try such a food.

He drives us across Tokyo to Yotsuya. On the way, he starts a conversation with the dashboard of his Toyota, instantly reminding me of something from a science-fiction movie. In Yotsuya, we visit a shop called Ariakeya. The shop specialises in selling just one dish—a Japanese delight known as ‘tsukudani’.

If I were to ask anyone to name three foods associated with Japan, tsukudani probably wouldn’t even get a mention; and, if I’m completely honest, I had never heard of it until last week. Tsukudani most commonly involves seaweed, meat, or fish (often pond fish) that has been simmered in soy sauce and mirin. It can be eaten up to a year after it is made. Many years ago, this was a staple food in Japan, but due to its high salt content, it has become somewhat less popular, with concerns about salt being bad for health and such.

The woman in the shop is very pleasant and can speak excellent English; she has even prepared an English menu for me in anticipation of my arrival. I am offered samples of various dishes before settling on my favourite, Maguro—cubes of tuna. Soft, but surprisingly chewy at the same time, the outside is extremely salty but very sweet. The middle offers a dryness that you would expect from marinated cubes of cooked tuna. Overall, the fish is pleasantly moreish.

As we leave the shop, I notice a small tray of salt outside the entrance to a restaurant, guarded by a shisa—an Okinawan dragon. Curious about the purpose of this salt display, I ask my student. In his usual enthusiastic way, he explains to me that many years ago, the Emperor of China lived in a Palace so big that the only way he could get anywhere fast was to ride around on the back of a bull. Inside the Palace, the Emperor had three thousand women, each in separate rooms. Every night, the Emperor would tour the Palace on the back of his faithful bull and decide which woman he would spend the night with.

The women knew that the Emperor rode around on a male cow; I mean, everyone knew, it was hardly a secret. The women were all desperate to marry the Emperor, for the wealth and status they would receive if such a ceremony occurred. Finally being freed from their solitary rooms in the Palace was often considered a secondary incentive. Somehow, the women discovered that the bull liked eating salt, so every night, they would place saucers of salt outside their rooms. The bull would smell the salt, stop to eat, and hopefully, the Emperor would choose that room to spend the night. Somehow, this tradition of salt piles outside of rooms came over to Japan, and salt is now placed outside many restaurants. Bulls represent customers, or so the custom goes. The story made me wonder if the idiom ‘Like a bull in a china shop’ took any of its origin from the same story, but before I have time to ask, we are back in Asakusa, and I have a red carpet to inspect.

Back at Kappabashi Street, some women are singing in front of a man that I think is supposed to be a clown. Eventually, though, answers come, and the reason for the whole street being closed off becomes apparent.

A kappa (or at least a man dressed as one) follows the red carpet, walking the length of Kappabashi Street. The kappa stops intermittently to wave at the passing crowd, walking alongside an old woman carrying a scroll, and has a big red heart painted on its back. I have no idea why. No idea about any of this.

Back at home, I dine on my neatly wrapped packet of tuna cubes, which cost ¥432. Tsukudani is usually enjoyed with rice, but I will snack on this salty-sweet tuna as it is. Unfortunately, this type of food is not too pleasing on the eye; it might look like something you would serve to a domestic animal or a bull, but its taste suggests that this might be a bit of a waste. The tuna is, in fact, delicious and perhaps one of the best foods I have tried in months. The only problem, again, is the high salt content, but that shouldn’t put you off trying it at least once.

I seldom place links to other websites, but I genuinely enjoyed the food from Ariakeya, and they were very nice to me, so here is their shop:

http://www.ariakeya.com/

Japanising.com

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Tag Archives: Food and Drink