11:39 a.m. - 2006-11-07
And the Japanese Breakfasts: MY GOD, THE BREAKFASTS!
It was during our first breakfast with the Tokazakis (Japan Mom and Japan Dad) that the sheer madness of Japanese hospitality revealed itself to us at last. We toddled into the dining area around eight to find many tiny plates and bowls awaiting us. For each setting, these contained: a bowl of rice, a bowl of miso soup, a plain omlette containing about two (fresh!) eggs, a smattering of green beans, a tiny plate of relish-type things, and a cold shredded radish/dried fish dish. And probably more stuff I'm forgetting. Also, there was a communal plate with refreshing dried and sugared pear pieces; the process of their drying and sugaring remains a mystery to me. And the green tea was a-flowing.
This was our first meal following sashimi night, with all the slippery chopstick fumbles and the not eating fast enough. So we resolved to eat fast, thinking it would put Japan Mom at ease. There were two stumbling blocks: For the unacclimated, it's really hard to eat lots of rice first thing in the morning, maybe because we Americans are used to lots of grease in our morning starch, grease being absent from the sticky white rice of Japan. And also, Kia doesn't eat eggs, in fact can't eat them, as they activate her gag reflex. Also, she had kind of a hard time with the tiny dried fish thing. So whenever Japan Mom's back was turned I would wolf down some of Kia's eggs in order to avoid us not finishing our meals and possibly offending our gracious host. This became difficult as I progressed through my own breakfast, trying to shove all the rice down my gullet in a timely manner. Ten minutes into the meal, I wondered if anyone had ever died of a sudden and massive food overdose. Things started to look up as I finished off my rice bowl, which of course caused Japan Mom to take immediate notice, and when she said "More?" I was afraid to say no and suddenly I had a whole other bowl of rice and I was starting to rethink this whole eat-fast-so-as-not-to-offend business. I seriously felt more stuffed than I've ever felt in my life and it wasn't yet nine in the morning. By the time I finished the second bowl of rice I could already feel the salt from the miso soup making me retain water, working in tandem with all the rice to bloat me beyond all recognition. I thought about Robert DeNiro preparing for "Raging Bull" by gaining thirty pounds. I had discovered a new empathy for weight-gaining stunt actors. Gaining lots of weight suddenly just doesn't make you feel good.
We waddled away from the breakfast table a little before nine as Japan Mom made plans for lunch: Udon soup at eleven. Other than the daunting quantity, it had been a lovely breakfast. We were getting to know Japan Mom a little better and their house was a pretty relaxing place to hang out, out in the country as it was, shrine adjacent.
After this breakfast, the meals would become less formal and stressful for Japan Mom and Kia and I would begin to feel like household fixtures, which was part of the point of the whole trip.
You see, Yid Vicious went to Japan as goodwill ambassadors, to meet and greet with the people of Japan, specifically those of Chiba, Wisconsin's sister state. Ostensibly, we went as a band, but the real purpose for our being there was to have interactions like the one recounted above to learn about the Japanese as they have an opportunity to learn about us, thereby creating harmony and human understanding that can cross the oceans and span the very globe. In this regard, the trip confirmed for me one of the general principles to which I've always subcribed: We're more the same than we are different. Each culture, be it Japan's, Lapland's, or Oshkosh's, is important in that it connects one to one's ancestry and past. But I think that culture is, in a sense, largely cosmetic. Human beings all have the same basic needs and wants. Culture is just the tool various people have for defining, achieving and preserving these.
Ultimately, all the mistakes with chopsticks and weird vocal miscommunications aren't the things that matter. What matters is, Japan Mom and Dad took us into their home and fed us because they're kind, generous people who just happen to be Japanese, and we hope for the opportunity to return the favor one day, should they find themselves in Wisconsin, which who knows, maybe they will.
Anyway, so after lying around like beached whales for a while and then enjoying some udon, we were trundled off to our first performance venue, a rice warehouse in the heart of old Sawara. It appeared to no longer contain rice, but there were a couple of giant, two-story hand-drawn wagons inside of the type used in the annual Sawara festival. I think maybe the space was now being used as some sort of cultural center, as there were lots of photos and museum-like displays outlining the history of the region. The inside of the building itself was amazing: from the stage you could look up and see strata upon strata of huge log rafters, stretching up forever toward a roof that wasn't even visible. This made for some really cool acoustics, echoey and ambient, but warm. A great room for Yid Vicious, in other words.
Gradually we were reunited with the band, all of whom had host family meal stories similar to ours. I noticed we all looked a little different than we had the day before. A little tired, a little frazzled, like the travel fatigue had caught up with us a little, plus the overfeeding, plus the heat. (It was unusually warm in Japan for October. Outside it usually wasn't all that bad, but indoors it could be really stifling, owing to not a lot of ventilation.) I think when we had landed in Japan we were all riding a big high of excitement that carried us through the next day. Now, two days after landing, the thirteen hour flight and the disrupted sleep schedule were beginning to show on us a little. (Although Daithi appeared strangely immune. His ruddy wakefulness seems never to flag. Odd, that.) But we remained cheerful and upbeat, as only Yid Vicious can.
We were thrilled to find that, despite my expectations, the Chiba people had rounded up some gear for us, drums and amps and pa and a bass for Bil. There were five Sawara city employees who had a band called the "Rhytm (sic)Stars" and we would be using their stuff. Also, we got to hear them play. But first, we played. This would be our only totally public concert of the week, the others being in schools. As far as I could tell, the audience was made up of people who had some involvement with the Chiba sister state organization, plus a bunch of Junior High taiko kids who were also playing after us, plus their parents and such. We played about an hour set, following a brief set of mandolin songs by Rick March, joined by Daithi. Our set wasn't totally perfect, but afterward I felt that we had brought "it". Or brung it. Whatever, I think "it" was definitely in evidence that day. The crowd response was none-too-overt, but we were told to expect that. Japanese reserve, you understand. We were told afterward that the audience had enjoyed it a great deal.
After we played, I went back to my self-appointed duties as Band Videographer and Annoying Everyone by Always Videotaping Them Guy. I took my seat in the audience as the Rhytm (sic) Stars were readying themselves to play. There were five of them: a trumpetist, an alto saxophonist, a keyboardist, a bassist and a drummer. The drummer was very nice and had insisted that I make myself at home behind his drums, as he offered me a drum key, saying "Please. Please." They were Pearls, a six piece with a silver finish. And they had a Shure 57 on the snare drum, the same mic they use to mic snare drums everywhere. You see, we ARE all the same! So the Rhytm (sic) Stars play a style of music called I don't remember what and I forgot to write it down. (Maybe someone who remembers will post a comment?????) It's all instrumental and they read charts. Upon first entering the rice warehouse, I had noticed them warming up and was immediately intrigued. Because of the trumpet and alto primarily, they reminded me of the Art Ensemble of Chicago. They were playing a lyrical sort of slow song that sounded to me like what the Art Ensemble will tend to play before they start doing an hour-and-a-half of circular breathing, roiling, batshit energy music. But Rhytm (sic) Stars didn't do the energy music part. It's kind of like pop music, but melancholy, usually slow pop music, perhaps for slow dancing during difficult times. I think they also did a medley of anime' themes. Anyway, we LOVED the Rhytm (sic) Stars. Although we saw them for free, I would have happily paid money to see them.
And then we heard the taiko kids. They played for about a half hour totally from memory. Damn, can those Japanese kids concentrate. And the music was good. I found myself especially smitten by the little metal round thing that functions as the keeper of the pulse, almost like a cross between a ride cymbal and a cowbell. After a while they kind of freaked me out, because their faces were totally frozen in concentration, frozen into staring masks that made them seem like little people who kind of looked like children but who weren't children at all, who were instead hard-as-nails drumming and flute-playing machines. (Also, I felt kind of stupid for knowing nothing about the music they were playing even though I've been playing drums for like thirty years. This would be a recurring theme for me throughout the trip: I'd wish I knew more about Japan in general. I mean, it's not like I didn't have time to read up on it or anything.) Of course, after they stopped playing, they went right back to being fun-loving, care-free kids. Amazing, that.
Next, we ambled around Sawara for a little bit and were eventually taken to a hotel for a party, where we'd be all dressed up and dined, speeches would be made, gifts given. Can you EVEN WAIT to find out MORE??!!
NEXT: MORE.
Also,
BURRITO NIGHT, November 6, El Pastor.
I have it on good authority that the English name for this Park Street eatery is "The Barbequed Pork". This is what Kia ordered, in burrito form. I got a chicken, because I'm predictable and lame. Both were good, we each got the medium, which was a goodly amount of food, not too much, not too little. Kia said her burrito may have been the single best Burrito Night burrito she's had so far. We also each had a Negro Modelo and got out of there for less than twenty bucks. As a special bonus, the guy waiting on us was wearing a red sweatshirt and suspenders, so we got to pretend we were dining at a fire station. Romantic!
