Yet More Kyoto

Yesterday I did some some exploring in Kyoto. There is another one of those covered markets near my hotel that sells local delicacies. I think Kay would have particularly enjoyed one of their specialities, a bright red whole baby octopus on a stick with a quail egg stuffed in the head for added flavor and cuteness. I think the sight alone would make her retch; I didn’t have one, because they all seemed to be looking at me with an expression of “I’m so very disappointed in all of you.” 

I was walking down the street in a downtown neighborhood and spotted this poster of, of all people, Sammy Davis Jr. It must be decades old; they used to be big on using American celebrities to sell booze. I like the juxtaposition with Winnie the Pooh.

Later, I wandered the streets looking for dinner. I came across a really sinister Korean restaurant that looked like it was run by Klingons. There were grills; the place was filled with smoke, and any health department in the US would have shut it down in a New York minute. What the hell, I thought and ventured in, trying to decide whether to order the grilled beef cheek or what they called the “chicken guts on a stick.” I was met at the door by a hostess who told me I needed reservations. There were a few seats, but I didn’t see a single gaijin, and I think what I got was the brush-off, probably for the best.

I went a few doors down and found a yakitori place; they let me in on the condition that I would leave by 8PM (it was about 7PM) because they had a large party coming in. Once I let them know I’d vamoose in plenty of time, they were pretty friendly. There was a big, tough-looking guy, and we discovered we were both judoka; he had the califlower ears to prove it. We discussed our tokuri-waza (favorite techniques); his is uchi mata (inner thigh reaping throw), which I could never master.

Mine was Ushiro Goshi.

What it lacked in sophistication and finese was made up for by the satisfaction of slamming the other guy onto the mat so hard he almost couldn’t get up.
I told the lady serving me that she could pick my chicken yakatori selection, but I didn’t want any chicken heads or asses included. I’m not sure what part of the chicken I was eating, but it was all pretty good. I made my way back through the darkened streets of Iwatoyama (this neighborhood), and I was reminded of some lines from Raymond Chandler’s “The Simple Art of Murder,” which I have freely adapted:

“But down the mean streets of Kyoto walks a singular man, a man who is not himself mean but who has been known to become irritable and petulant at times…his step is light and his senses acute, except for the vision in his right eye, caused by the lens they implanted when they fixed his cataracts fogging up; those bastards at Eyesight Vision couldn’t see their way clear to correcting it until the week after he was to come back to Japan. Plus, their optician sold him a pair of glasses for 700 dollars; the ones he got from Zenni were as good or better and cost $35 clams. The meager light from the few streetlights glints off his cueball-like noggin, which, let’s face it, is unusually large. His name is Erikku Matto.”