Culture shock

I gave Jeff a bit of a fright on Saturday night.  We went out for ramen (noodles in broth) for dinner.  As we started approaching the restaurant I started feeling a bit unwell, something related to overly tight shoulder muscles from my new workout routine and a car seat made for narrow Japanese shoulders.  Inside, I couldn't remember the name of the ramen I usually order (one loaded with sprouts and other veg) but we thought the 'Stamina ramen' looked right (and a healthy high veg diet gives you stamina, right?).  We were wrong.  Very very wrong.  It came out with the noodles wrapped round a fatty piece of bone, with a raw egg cracked on top.  I looked at the globules of fat floating on the surface and watched small bits of fattiness break off the bone in the centre and my stomach turned.

I had already spent the previous evening at a work function where I pondered the philosophical question: why is it that the more I spend on a meal, the less I like it?  My hugely expensive work dinners are always full of 'delicacies' that I struggle to swallow.  At this particular dinner things kicked off with sliced sea slug.  Other particularly memorable foods included the obligatory sashimi platter, with several different types of fish, octopus, a whole raw fish and a shell with stuff that even the Japanese didn't know what it was; and a fried chicken dish.  What part of the chicken I can't tell you.  I have learnt not to eat chicken in Japan, but I took the smallest piece to be polite and immediately regreted my decision.  It was very thick fat with maybe a bit of cartilage going on.  My chewing didn't penetrate and I realised there was only one thing for it - it was going down whole with my oolong tea.  I was thankful I had been 'training' by swallowing four big supplement pills at once, but even so it took me several attempts (and possibly some odd noises, crossed eyes and a purplish facial colour) before I succeeded in swallowing the offending piece of meat.  After that I ate a big piece of salmon sashimi because, relative to that, a big piece of raw, but fat free, meat seemed refreshing. 

Anyway, when I sat in front of this big steaming bowl of fattiness, the previous evening's efforts came back to me in all their horror.  I managed to eat out the noodles - just - and made it out to the car before I had a meltdown.  Jeff paid up and came out to find me super upset in the car.  After several bottles of iced tea to take away the taste and soothing talk about how everyone suffers culture shock sometimes failed to assuage the tears, Jeff started rustling around in the back seat.  "I know what you need!"  He put something small and white in my hand.  "It's moment's like these you need Minties!"  I couldn't help but laugh.  He had bought them at the Singapore airport when we found a wonderful wonderful store that stocked Whitakers, licorice allsorts and Minties.  And who knew advertising could be so right?  A little Minty piece of home was exactly what I needed!