You’ve noticed that photo-taking is an increasing hobby for me, right? It’s temporary and very low-stress, but I still spent 8 hours today cruising around – from Monnaka to Otemachi, Kasumigaseki to Kappabashi, Asakusa. Getting around, you know? Tokyo by bike is the best possible way to see it.
At left, the fauna of Asakusa. Someone says Koto ku is known as low-class; I think Taito and Adachi are more so. I’m not saying, I’m just saying.
And I’m also saying that while buying a present for my cousin Little Chef, I went to this place that I’ve eyed a dozen times. It’s on Kototoi Dori, which goes from the bridge of the same name over through mid-Asakusa and then curves past Nippori into Nezu. Useful street, if a bit non-linear.
Non-linear could probably describe the thought processes of the chef. I asked why he started a French restaurant in this godforsaken location. ‘Well, there was a French restaurant here before, so I got the fridges and stoves and plates and glasses real cheap.’ His kitchen is small and cramped. He said ‘It’s just me, so it’ll take a while, OK?’ Peering over the counter, I saw a guitar.
‘Hey, Can I play that while I wait?’
‘Ha ha ha!’
< >
‘OK, I guess so.’
For some reason I have only recently discovered that one should use the camera’s timer liberally and to good effect. I am also reminded in looking at this picture that someone needs a shave.
This salad of grilled pickled mackerel could be a meal in itself. I swear there was a whole mackerel in there, in large pieces. And lots of salad. And a good deal of yumminess.
Midway through: ‘Hey, I forgot to put on the tomatoes. Can I just dump them on top?’
Why sure.
The high point of the meal, pun intended, was this cannabis-infused, cabbage-wrapped, pork-based hamburg steak. With a poached egg on top. Good lord and butter, look at the height he achieved! You could probably dunk if you stood on top of it. It was also very tasty, which is no mean feat (in my book) for boiled cabbage and pork meatball.
It’s just come to me that my posts usually end very weakly. It must take some effort to bring things to a stirring close, leaving the reader wanting more. With the limited effort I put in, things usually just putter to the finish, trailing off.
Like this meal. Sad to say, the creme brulee was lousy – must have started too warm, and then he torched it way too long, so it was almost hot custard under a thin, burnt crust.
Story of my life.
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