Nagoya castle

We've now been to Nagoya castle twice; once by ourselves and once dragging reluctant progeny with us.

Walking through the ancient stone walkways of the castle, it just kind of makes you wonder how things were in days past.  How did the shogun cope when his daughters rolled their eyes when he asked them to tour the outlying province or if not that then for the love of God to hang up their damned kimonos rather than leaving them dumped on the tatami mat?  Honestly.  He probably paid good yen for those (or at least had to put the squeeze on a local tailor - little known fact, 'put the squeeze' did not originate in Italy or low budget mafia movies but, rather, in 12th century Japan - it was a common threat thought to have been associated with the meaty hamhocks of the sumo wrestlers). 

On the cusp of spring (sorry to everyone in Maine, which is also on the cusp of spring but still experiencing 12" snowfall and subzero temps).

This series of buildings served as a reception center, where the shogun would entertain various dignitaries and lesser noblemen.  I suspect other shoguns would be entertained in the castle itself (unless they showed up with an army).

The interior of the reception area was a maze of rooms that represented various waiting areas.  If you had business with the shogun, you started under the peacocks and graduated room by room until you were staring at a bunch of tigers on the wall while hoping the shogun was in a good mood.

If the shogun had business with you, I'm pretty sure there was a dungeon area under the castle.

Someone you never want to see in a dark alley.

Two people you never want to see in a dark alley (though for different reasons).

Hattori seemed pretty impressed at how quickly I was able to master the ninja salutation and the master ninja facial expression (you can't tell, but our facial expressions are identical).  I chalked that up to my extensive martial arts training in high school and college in addition to watching Bloodsport recently.

You know it's been a long day with the family when this hut looks inviting.  I kept edging towards it thinking 'I could just slip away and go in there and lie down and take a vow of silence and not have anyone tell me how bored they are or how tired they are or how much more fun it would be to watch Seinfeld or Gilmore Girls or even My Little Pony.  Even maybe static.  They'd be willing to watch a little static when it came right down to it.'

Everyone is smiling because we've run out of things to see at the castle and it's time to go home.

Yet another shout out

This one goes to Uncle Brian, for his unusual thoughts on ways the Japanese might push the boundaries of plumbing.  After reading the blog post on the various bidet settings, he noted that the logical extension would be a colonoscopy setting.  That way, you could get reimbursed for your toilet seat through your HSA.

I'm thinking this idea is good enough to end up on Shark Tank.  It'll have to be the NSFW version, as I'm sure that Mark Cuban will want to see a demonstration of the setting before investing.

Shout out to the top comment maker on the blog

And the prize goes to Deba, who won for both frequency and content.

The prize is unfortunately this blog post.  But well done!

This contest was limited to those people making comments online, as Lily and Tessa tied for most in-person shouted comments.  

DAD!

The things we live on and the things we don't

I have foolishly become accustomed to "barista level" oat milk in my coffee.  A small carton runs roughly 834 yen.  It could be a hedge against gold.  I have tried several times to "downsize" to generic "oto miruku" and simply cannot take it.  It's watery and tasteless and looks like regurgitated baby formula.  Some of you are probably thinking 'that pretty much describes all oatmilk.'  You clearly have never seen oto miruku in Japan.  The last thing I thought I would be is an oat milk snob.  IPA snob?  Sure.  I mean, who isn't?  

Unfortunately, the supply chain forced me to compromise.  The harsh reality is that the Nagoya grocers and convenie operators were wholly unprepared for the Douglasses and our eating habits.  I'm afraid we are a bit like locusts.  We descend on a store and pick one item and purchase all of that item and then we move on.  The first three weeks, it was dried mangos.  I would go in and buy six packages of the mangos and then go in the next day and buy the last three (it was too embarrassing to buy them all at once - plus, I'm backpacking those groceries home).  Eventually, we wiped the store out of mangos for several weeks.  We
then descended on the local Lawson convenie and proceeded to buy all of their dried mangos.  By the time both stores were able to restock mangos, our daughters decided they didn't really like mangos so much anymore and instead really really like english muffins.  "Why haven't you ever given these to us before?" Lily demanded as she mashed a stick of butter onto a muffin.  

Ultimately, both stores ended up with a massive amount of dried mangos and no english muffins.  And so it goes.  All of this to say, we wiped a different store out of our fancy barista level oat milk, so I'm drinking the local sub-par oat water.

This IPA helps lessen the sting.

As does this cappucino from Freak Coffee.

And a few more things that have sustained us here ...

Street pizza!  Margherita and Four Cheese with Honey.  Soooo good.

Poke bowl from Aloha Cafe.

Aloha Cafe has cleverly marketed this as "breakfast," presumably based upon the nutritional value of the flower.

The most nutritious thing here has to be the popsicle stick.

Ahhhh, Crunky.  Otherwise known as Nestle Crunch.

Yet another lucky find by Lily.  When it comes to sugar and white flour, she's the equivalent of a                   .

If that stays in the blog, you know the censors have stopped paying attention.  :)

Lily later said "daddy, did you censor truffle hog?"

Yes, yes I did.

This may be the one thing in Japan that is shaped like a fish and yet is completely fish free.  

Sugar and white flour filled with custard.

I think the rough translation is 'quick heart attack.'

Pre-fried tofu runs about 84 yen for a brick, which is a real bargain (unless you're Uncle Andy, when tofu can never be a bargain unless it is in the trash).

And now for the "don't" category.

The sushi cream cone, a rare failure of imagination from the fish industry.

This looks like something Hannibal Lector might serve as an entree, but it's actually compressed bean paste.  On second thought, maybe Lector would serve that.

"I ate his liver with some compressed bean paste and a nice Chianti."

Eh.  The line doesn't work because you want people to be horrified that Lector ate someone's liver, not that he ate compressed bean paste.

I believe this is squid but may also be a prop from Alien.  I haven't seen a cookbook that covers this sort of thing, but I'm hoping there's more to it than boiling.  Maybe pan seared with a bit of pepper?

Movie night!  Pass the crunchy fish and ranch dip.

If you can get around the image of eating something that is sticking out its tongue at you ... you'll find that you're eating compressed bean paste.  

So, really, who won?

Who could resist the temptation of chowing down on a cute kitten marshmallow?

A guy allergic to cats?

Anyone with a soul?

Why do we continue to anthropomorphize our food?  I mean, how would you describe the emotion in the eyes of those cats?  They don't exactly scream 'EAT ME!'

More like ... 'May I have some milk?  Why am I trapped in this bag?  Why are you looking at me like that?'

At a sushi restaurant facing off against this tentacle.  At the end of the meal, I (unsuccessfully) tried to hide it under the sauce.

A most amazing dinner

The other night our friend in Nagoya graciously offered to take us to dinner at Kamikura, a beautiful restaurant in a mansion in Yagoto.  The chef agreed to prepare a vegetarian course for the ladies and modified the menu slightly for me.  However, a quick look at the website suggested that this was a 'fine dining experience' and therefore a far cry from our typical restaurant.  I know this because the website had photos of a white tablecloth.  There was admittedly a bit of stress leading up to the experience, as Amy and I recognized we needed to instill a bit of etiquette in our daughters.  This point was driven home a week before the dinner when Lily brought her hand down on our dining room table and inadvertently hit a chopstick that went flying into the air and smacked into the wall, leaving a trail of soy sauce in its wake.  "Oooof farooofa," Tessa said, because her mouth was overstuffed with pasta and it's difficult to enunciate with that much penne crammed into your cheeks.  Similar nightmare scenarios played out in the days following.  It was beginning to look like we would not be invited to dinner at Downton Abbey despite the fact that Tessa has been randomly speaking with a British accent.

Despite our deep seated anxieties, we put ourselves together pretty well.

Tessa upon being reminded to eat with her mouth closed.

"Fine, I'm never opening my mouth again.  Starting now!"

Never was short lived.

The restaurant was stunning.  Too stunning.  As we approached the building, Tessa became overwhelmed by anxiety that either a) the restaurant was closed and I would be arrested upon attempting to breach the perimeter, b) the restaurant was open but I would still be arrested upon attempting to enter, or c) she would be associated with me in some way.

To Tessa's astonishment, I was welcomed inside.  We were given a quick tour of the restaurant, including the Western dining room.

Then, unfortunately, it was time to sit down and eat.  Time to see if all of our stern looks and hissing commands and sighs of disappointment had any effect on our daughters' frontal lobes.

The evening was amazing.  I'm not sure who ate dinner with us that night, but it was almost certainly not Lily and Tessa.  The two girls at the table were poised and funny, and not one chopstick hit the wall.

And the food ... I don't know how to describe the experience without using words like sensational and superlative and super good.  Perhaps the best way to describe it ... it would totally be worth it to book a plane ticket (from wherever you are) to Tokyo, take the Shinkansen to Nagoya and the subway to Yagoto and wait outside until they have an opening to have a meal at this restaurant.  

We had a nine course meal along with paired wine and sake.

For those of you counting, there aren't nine pictures here.  I can only say the food was good enough that I forgot I was going to blog about it.

An update on our pup

A quick update on the most popular member of our family according to all members of our family; our dog, Murphy.  We regularly receive updates from the kind man watching our house, Midhun, who has been essentially making a documentary of his care of him.  Murphy might refer to the documentary as The Best Days of My Life.

As some of you may know, our home is the equivalent of a canine comfort desert.  There is no bacon.  There is a permanent restriction on seconds and thirds and elevenses (Murph is likely closest to a Hobbit by nature if not appearance).  But most troubling, dogs are not allowed on the furniture.  Amy's point has always been that Murphy has more beds than anyone in the house (he has five scattered around the house) so he can just deal.  But still, a dog's bed is not a couch.  

Murph went through a brief period in which he combined performative art with protest.  In this piece, he seems to be commenting on the quality of his bed.

We have long suspected that, in retaliation, Murphy has been sneaking couch time when we are out running errands or even just out of the room.  Sometimes, we would walk out of our bedroom and hear a jingle and a jump on the ground.  Could be random dog noises.  Could be a dog jumping off a couch.

We soon found more compelling evidence, as the tan couch was covered with a level of black dog fur that would be unlikely to waft through the air.  Accepting a bit of defeat, Amy placed a pink towel on the couch to limit the amount of fur.  Soon, the pink towel had a layer of black dog fur.

The problem is that this has been circumstantial evidence at best.

But now we have proof (sent to us by Midhun). 

The story goes like this.  Midhun went downstairs for a few minutes, leaving Murph in the living room.  As Midhun was coming back upstairs, he heard a sound.  Could be a random dog noise.  Could be the sound of a nervous couch squatter.  

This picture captures Murph's "Innocent Dog Look" or "Pleading Cow Eyes."  

In the past, I've awakened in the middle of the night to get a drink of water and, on the way back to bed, I will often glance into the living room to see a dark shape nestled on the couch.

Dream?  Reality?  Doesn't matter.

"Good for you," I whisper.

Heartfelt goodbye text

One of my astute readers wanted to see the heartfelt goodbye text I wrote as I prepared for the storm of the century.  I thought I would share the template I used.  Feel free to use this if you are ever facing a crisis and need to get some texts out in a hurry.

Dear <insert name here>

I am trapped in a Tokyo subway due to <insert disaster here>.  I don’t know if I will make it out but I wanted to tell you how much your <insert relationship type> meant to me over the last <insert time period>.  I think fondly of <insert shared experience> and have always valued your <insert adjective> <insert personality characteristic>.

<insert salutation>

Luke

Back to Tokyo

The thing about Tokyo is that there's not just one thing about Tokyo.  If you Google 'best 10 things to do in Tokyo,' you'll find warring posts from influencers with too much time on their hands writing snide comments to each other.  Some of the lists are helpful.  Some of them are just trolls trolling trolls.  

By contrast, if my daughters wrote the best 10 things to do in Tokyo, their lists would be eerily similar.

1. Lay in bed and watch tv
2. Lay in bed and watch tv
3. Lay in bed and watch tv
4. Lay in bed and watch tv
5. Lay in bed and watch tv
6. Humor dad by going to a shrine and complain until he brings us back
7. Lay in bed and watch tv
8. Lay in bed and watch tv
9. Pretend to sleep and watch tv under the covers
10. Eat breakfast

The infamous Douglass luck manifested early in this trip.  In watching the local weather announcements, we saw with horror that Japan was about to be struck by a 'storm of the century' that would cripple the infrastucture.  Given that we are from the Northeast (we are basically Starks), we took this warning seriously.  We thought about cancelling the trip.  We googled prepper sites for 'how to survive for a week when you are trapped in a Tokyo subway.'  I wrote a few people heartfelt goodbye texts.

Here is a picture of the storm of the century that shut down Tokyo.

In the bottom right there's a snowflake that melted instantly upon hitting the pavement.  Still, you know it was serious because a) it was a Friday in Tokyo and b) there were no people, no cars, and no dogs in trousers (it's a thing - blog post pending).  It felt a lot like The Living Dead: Tokyo Time.  Luckily, I'd also Googled 'how to survive in a Tokyo subway during a Zombie apocalypse' (though there was nothing on there I didn't already know).

While in Tokyo, Amy had a meeting with a colleague who has clearly never seen pictures of the US northeast in the winter and regarded this storm as the worst thing to hit Tokyo since Pokemon.  This colleague appeared gravely concerned about how she was going to get home.  Amy saw a stockpile of gatorade and saltines in her office right beside what looked like a home made spear.  Looks like somebody else subscribes to the zombietokyo reddit.

Enjoying Tokyo?

We had a late lunch at a conveyer belt sushi restaurant.  

I had a lot of sushi, as my stack of plates will attest.  Lily looked nauseous and had an edamame.  

It was only later that I learned her nausea was at least partly related to a Tik Tok prank in which teenage anarchists take a plate from the conveyor belt, lick the item, and put it back.  

Yet another of social media's contribution to society. 

Here I'm caught mid dad joke.

Tessa caught thinking it was funny.

By that night, Tokyo looked a lot like Gotham.

My brother, who has been frustrated by the complete lack of Godzilla in my posts, provided this rendering.

If anyone would like him to Godzilla your wedding photographs, I'm sure he would oblige for a modest fee.  

That night, the girls watched television while Amy and I went down to the hotel bar and listened to some jazz.

I had The Vesper.  

Watashi wa Bond.  James Bond.

I'm pretty sure the bartender got the joke.  But maybe not the one I intended.

To our daughters' horror, the next day we mandated leaving the comfort of the hotel and television and ventured out into one of the shopping districts.  Both daughters viewed this as a profound betrayal that was sadly typical of our failed "carpe diem" parenting philosophy (which they have since rebranded as "carpe puppis").  

After brekkie, we took the subway to Nakamise Dori and wandered in and out of shops (though with Amy's sense of direction it's possible that we wandered in and out of the same shop a few times).  Lily discovered that she does, in fact, like shopping and proceeded to have a manic episode in a purse store.  She left with a lot of purses and no money.

I also forced the family to see the Senso-ji temple.

Quick traveling tip for families - if you take pictures facing the sun, the squinting will make it look like you are all smiling.

The one place I'm never going to ask for directions.

Given our complex culinary needs, an Italian restaurant represents the best possible outcome for an early lunch.

In our last hours, we really wanted to find Harmonica Alley, which was described online as a lively warren of restaurants and bars lit by traditional Japanese red lanterns.  Google helpfully directed us to a dark alley that smelled like a sewer and had no restaurants or bars.  At one point, Amy cleared her throat and suggested that I head down the alley and see if the shape on the ground was a person and, if so, if that person was alive.

We retraced our steps and walked down street after street of an open air mall looking for an alley with red lanterns or a vegetarian restaurant that Happy Cow (Sad Soybean) told us was nearby.  To make matters worse, the vegetarian restaurant was sketchy and closed, the few places that were open appeared to be shutting down, and our internet provider suddenly decided that we had all abused the Fair Use Policy and was throttling us.  So by this point, we were lost, starving, and angry at Google but taking it out on each other.  This is what family therapists refer to as The Low Point and is, coincidentally, the least amount of fun for the odd person out in the gender game.  For those of you keeping score at home, that's me.  This is particularly true if you are the one who suggested traveling to Harmonica Alley.  If you've ever traveled with Amy when she's hungry you know it's like sitting on a fire-ant hill after bathing in honey.  A matter of seconds and you wish for death.  So in an effort to save our sanity and family, we randomly walked into a basement Indian restaurant.

Best decision ever (except for Lily - as her facial expression suggests, no decisions that day could even be called marginal).

Smile for the blog!

Exhausted and sated, we walked back to the train station and stumbled into the damn alley.