(This title was only supposed to refer to our dinner tonight – our last in Japan – in a kind of silly attempt to make it catchy. But I just realised that as today I finished reading Christopher Brookmyre‘s Not the End of the World, a pretty hilarious and thought-provoking (and full-on) anti-religion rant (in fictional form – there’s a tall Scottish lad with long hair and a mad televangalist who’s going to make a tidal wave), it’s more appropriate than I intended.
The dinner was a massive pork steak that was beaten then poached in a tub of fat then sizzled with some thick sauce and heaped onto a pile of shredded cabbage. They plonked the saucepan down in front of us, along with a huge bowl of rice (Japanese rice is SOOOOO good!) some miso, cold jasmine tea and a glass of beer.
Pretty great last meal.
Cute waitress too, who giggled uncontrollably into her hand when we tipped her. (This was after we’d endeared ourselves to the staff by exaggerating the tear-making properties of the onion they were cutting in front of us. Boohoo, we’re funny foreigners and we like your food, boohoo.)
How we discovered the place, seeing it from the flyover:
So now we’re in our Last Hotel, after our Last Supper, awaiting our Last Sleep in Japan. Special k wants to come back for good, but when I ask him why, the most coherent answer I can get out of him is that he thinks it would be cool if our kids were little white Japanese kids.
Not sure that cuts the sashimi.