Ye’ll find this elegant chateau down a narrow alley in Yaesu, the east side of Tokyo station. The crennelations and gothic woodwork are particularly striking against the backdrop of small, worn buildings that populate the rest of the region. As you cross the expansive drawbridge, you’ll be heralded by a row of trumpeters in livery, while just inside the door a cluster of eunuchs will sweetly announce your name.
In fact, the staff does deserve special mention. Their status vis a vis genital mutilation is unclear, but they were among the odder groups in Tokyo – from the embarrassed old washer-woman who could bring menus but under no circumstances accept orders, to the surly page-boy who wordlessly took the order, to the shrill and excitable harpy who snatched payment from my purse, cackling demonically. This is their lair, familiar from many excursions to eat of the curry, and of the rice, and of the curry rice, and the fluffy, fluffy omelets.
From the bubbling cauldron they first dish up a dish of bat’s blood in which has been simmered the entrails of various and splendyde types of worm. And a small green salad.
And shortly thereunto do they lop upon your trenching-board a shadowye platter fairlee groaning with the weight of the rices, and the egg thereupon,
and the hayashi in a cuppe to the syde, whiche one may spoone upon the ensemblage. And one may call it om-hayashi, and devour it. It was sweeter than the usual, and obviously they put no effort into the rice (it’s often mixed with ketchup or something) nor the omelette (it’s often formed around the rice). But pretty good all the sayme.
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As an aside for the tourists among you, consider taking buses instead of trains. For some countryside destinations, they can be much more convenient and cheap, and they go to all sorts of places these days…
Must have been a slow day at work and you needed to get your brain working creatively.