Cha Xiu Bao

Juice of dekopon is adored by millions of hormone-laden boys, for no reason at all...

Life for a child in the old ages of China isn't easy. According to Chinese belief, a child is supposed to have passed some thirty dangerous barriers by the time he reach the age of 15 years. To get about this nicely, there's many who believe the saying that if one wishes to facilitate the raising of one's child, he should give him a lowly name as his childhood name, such as dog, goat or horse -- think 50 Cent, Akon, Black Eyed Peas of modern days -- insofar the child can go pass the maleficent demon who's guarding the barriers without notice. 

There's actually a whole lot of evidence I can pick out from my kit bag to back up this saying about name composition. For instance, shakers and movers like Ssu-ma Hsiang-ju whose childhood name was Chuan-tzu (dog), Huan Hsi's was Shih-tou (stone), Fan Yeh's was Chuan-er (brick), Mu-jung Nung's was E-nu (despicable slave) and Yuan I's name was Yeh-i (underworld messenger). The list just lingers on: there were also 'Striped Beast,' 'Bald Head,' 'Tortoise,' 'Badger' and what not. The more you mince about this trial of naming logic, the more it stands to reason that naming your boy a 'Fag' will be one of the most sensible things to do to protect him from being bullied. 

And it's getting hard to keep up when we're even naming a orange in the same manner, which is not to say the name is not great. Dekopon, which is named so because its large protruding pump on the top. 

All fitting, novel and good. Just that it isn't so resonant to induce any sensual desire. This is easy to comprehend because the Japanese was obviously being too frivolous, empty-headed, flippant, dizzy -- you name it -- when it was debuted and hence hasn't pay attention to this fading art of naming in China. 

To pick up where it's left, we Chinese somehow, along the years, have given it a more congratulatory name (without its parents' notice). 

 We call it the Nipple Orange.

Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto

Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto, domo...domo 

Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto, domo...domo 

Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto, domo...domo 

Thank you very much, Mr. Roboto 

For doing the jobs that nobody wants to 

And thank you very much, Mr. Roboto 

For helping me escape just when I needed to 

Thank you-thank you, thank you 

I want to thank you, please, thank you

Molecular cooking is so yesterday lol... bonus slideshow here

Trust me, there is a tavern in Japan you can really monkey around in!

The sky is falling and tribulation is mounting apace.

So it begs no pause to learn that some Japanese tavern owner is sacking human waiters in favor of a couple of monkeys to keep the ever-ballooning labor cost in check. 

Monkey business. Amen.

Newer, sleeker, proverbial Abs for all sweet lovers...

Look hun, the six pack Abs of mine! Sexy, yo?!

And the new pacemaker, the green tea mochi... not unlike the tokamak reactor used by the Iron Man for the same level of energy boost, hahah!

Lovely mochi in 6 different flavors by MochiCream, brought back home by friend from the Narita Airport of Tokyo. What a treat they are!

 

 

 

Ponshukan, sonnet of sake from the Snow Country

To be perfectly honest with you I haven't got the faintest idea what to expect from Niigata beyond the fantasy I grown from reading the novel Yukiguni (Snow Country) by Yasunari Kawabata way back when I was in high school. 

Just in case you don't know, the novel is a compelling tale of a geisha and a dilettante in Niigata. The fragility of life and love is brilliantly chronicled and the ending is heart-meltingly grievous; you can almost hear a whisper of sadness from the Snow Country as you read towards the end.

It is the book where I first read about sake: urbane geisha pouring sake for her clientèle to have the latter paralyzed by happiness. Oh, the definitive combination of good swill and good swing -- little wonder that I had loitered away half of my boyhood in countless romantic clouds that followed. Oh, g-eisha, ge-i-sha, my gei-sh-a! My dame serves me warm sake in the cold weather. It's aerial, it's musical and it's surely beautiful.

All of which does not alter the fact that sake is not served like this in Niigata in every-day reality.

Here in Ponshukan, one of the most famous sake shops in the southern part of Niigata, sakes are sold, cold, in Iidō-hanbaiki (vending machine in Japanese), as though those for condoms. If you want the sake, feed the greedy, stone cold DIY machine with coins first; put in the same kind of plastic cup they give you in the clinic for urine sample under the stupid dispenser second and third, await the machine to dole out the fluid you wanted.

Quite a dissonance, ain't it? The romance is missed, the bubble of my fantasy popped and the disappointment is beyond diagnosis.

Depachika, Paradise Lost for our gastronome lust

Let's forget about the cute, chubby mug of Bibendum for the time being. There could be a Michelin-starred sushi bar, kaiseki ryori or ultra lush French dining room that you're set to stuff your face on while in Tokyo, but in the midst of things, "depachika" is arguably the best way to indulge yourself into the kaleidoscopic food culture of Japan in the cheap and ease.

A word formed with depa from "department store" and chika, or basement in Japanese, depachika is the Eden that never quite caught the commensurate attention of mainstream travel guides in the English world -- the wickedest sin ever committed by the articulate but sometimes malinformed travel writers. This could be, with its countless booths of wagashi and counters of patisseries, confiseries and chocolat francaise romping in various diaphanous scarves and lacquered bamboos, a Zen garden planted in spacecraft or Marianne masqueraded in kimono. Either way, a true blessing for the foodies in the know.

And thanks to the marketing savvy of the Japanese, or lack of that by the French for that matter, you don't quite need to trek across the corners of Paris with whines and frowns. With some of the most captivating designer chocolates and pastries (Pierre Herme, Jean-Paul Hevin and Sadaharu Aoki, naming just some of my favorite Parisien labels) and all the most obsessional produce from around world strewing in a single strata, it is quite possibly, to put an aesthetic point to it, an ukiyo-e of the yummiest dreams you've ever made [proofs from my Flickr photostream can be envisioned here, here and here].

Before you strike your divine blitz of kamikaze attack on the booths, in the midst of things, you can go visit here and here (sorry, in Japanese only) for the latest news and promos at different depachika across Japan.

Ladies, some school boys to whip up your coffee, and your booty too!

TSUKASA SAKURAKOUJI beams childishly, throws his arms open and exclaims: "Welcome to Edelstein boarding school for boys! You must be tired after your journey; let me help you relax."   ~Cafe Edelstein in Tokyo.

Jaysus, it creeps me out like I first caught up the Thriller MTV 25 years ago, you know, like got seized by the zombie flick and let the rap by Vincent Prince twirling in my mind all over... that's how creepy this whole cosplay thing is to me. But still, I am totally hiring these creatures to my niece's next birthday...

Tsukiji, a Rashomon experience

It's a fish market, the largest central fish market in Japan.

It has something to do with death. Millions of fish laid low on the ground in a suffocating stillness before any sunlight crack through the air, a tell-tale of the ephemeral of life as the translucent vapor of chillness goes up from their dead bodies -- my friend, life is as fleeting as the morning dew and as lacking of importance as a fluttering leaf, so the sermon goes. The stampede of shadows over their dead bodies, however, moves as turbulent as a sea in anger, as if vying to give the audience a visual account about how vigorous life can be by the dialectic of light and darkness. Twists and turns; length and breadth; highs and lows, they've got it all in a capsule that is dawn...

In came could be your ronin with no name, lone ranger who only does what he does for his own wallet? A samurai on the hire with marginal loyalty, huhuh? Just a day in office for the ordinary salary man? Or even a nasubito (or brigand in English) disguising in a sheep's wardrobe, who knows?! All this, goes through every day the way as though human nature would have choreographed it. All this, in a giant arena blurred with the distillation of subjectivity and uncertainty.

In the market, every face tells a story.

 

Sorry, about baseball

Elaborated ASCII art tribute to mother, from Japan.

Share more love to the special someone you love, buy more gifts home when you travel... dedicated to mom, the best chef in the world.

No Cookies for Old Men

 

Pounding mochi with regular "Nintendo cross-over with reality," Japaneasy weirdness --

itsumo no toorini (as always).