just a number
last week i rode the bike to the blues bar. it wasn’t too cold, and so i took my time. also, i was looking for a snack to supplement the hot dog i would have at the music spot later. because it was already dark, i noticed a well-lit shop window as i rode by. the inside was painted white, and photographs seemed to be exhibited. my bike stopped underneath me as i gripped the brakes. the sliding door opened, and i permitted myself to enter as i could see no one. the space was small, about eight square meters. tiny, but not unusual for a japanese gallery. next to the door, which i closed behind me, was a small table. it provided a visitor list and a pen. i wrote down my name.
among framed pictures, big silver chrome prints were put up, maybe one by one and a half meters. huge black-and-white depictions of, to me, an unknown child of the brassicaceae family. as i wondered about the flat steel holding the top edge of the print to the wall, a head poked out through a small gap in the back corner of the room. a middle-aged man appeared and introduced himself as the owner of the place. he explained how daisuke yokota, the exhibiting artist, works and then guided me to the hole in the wall. i bowed in respect for the low pathway and found myself inside a bar. the price to visit the gallery was the order of one drink, he said. i asked if he also offered a snack, something to eat, staying true to my original motivation. he told me that he had just made oden, which i promptly ordered (as there probably was no alternative anyway).
oden: a winter dish. different ingredients are simmered and served in a widely used broth (a mix of dashi, shoyu, mirin). imagine small side dishes such as daikon radish, cooked egg, fish rolls, konnyaku, fried fish cake, and others meeting and enjoying a hot spring (onsen). mustard is watching, hesitantly waiting on the side of the steaming pool (also a child of the brassicaceae family).
the oden was just right, and i asked the chef about his bar. he told me how he had a photo lab first, in the space that had become a gallery over the years. when the ramen store next door closed, he started to rent it too. the previous owner said he could keep all the kitchen equipment and the counter — a bar was the logical conclusion. now he gets by selling drinks (and oden) to gallery visitors and a couple of regulars.
i asked the next question as i chewed on a bite of konnyaku: are you also a photographer? the answer: yes and no. he studied it but was unhappy with the commercial work he had to do. the first realization kicked in while working in a company after finishing his studies. to get out of the city and clear his head, he took a flight to okinawa. no plan, just change. he stayed until all his money was gone. he took some photos, but most of the money went out the window for booze. that was 25 years ago, he said. i choked on a bit of mustard; my eyes were watering. he greeted a pair of men taking a seat at the end of the counter.i finished my bowl, paid, and thanked him for his story. the bike’s chain creaked as i hurried along the street; the jam session had already started.
he went to okinawa in 2000, the year i was born. i am 25 years old now, and i am going next month — i booked the flight last December.
14th of feb.
a week later i strolled along a different street with similar intent — it had been a while since the last meal, certainly some weeks since the last thai meal, i thought to myself. as my tongue tried to mimic the taste of pad thai, my thumbs navigated a digital map. hit. phuan thai: 4.4-star rating, “pad thai on the menu” — no second guesses. it was on my way home, and i arrived at the colorful shopfront a couple of minutes later.
i showed my index finger to suggest i was eating alone and was pointed to a free table next to a couple of similar age, on a valentine’s date. i received a glass of water, a warm towel, and the menu. the latter confirmed the online description: “pad thai on the menu.” i ordered it — no second guesses.
the plate arrived quickly, and i squeezed the lemon wedge over steaming noodles, shrimp, and peanuts. some chili flakes from one of the small ceramic pots — perfect. i had just started to enjoy my dish when dessert was served. a small thai woman hurried energetgetically from table to table, wishing everyone “happy valentine’s!” and handing chocolate to the guests.
where are you from?
germany, doitsu.
ah, dankeshen!
correct! i laughed and turned my focus back to the meal again. though, not for long. the door opened, and the chocolate lady shot out of the kitchen once more. “happy birthday, happy birthday!” everyone, guests and staff, clapped their hands and congratulated the arrival. paisley shirt in dark burgundy, brown trousers, and a big glass of beer in front of him as soon as he sat down. the thai lady informed everyone once more: it was the special guest who had just arrived. everyone nodded in his direction. somehow the lady caught my eye as i lifted my head and came to sit opposite me. she made an offer: if i guessed the age of the birthday boy right, i would eat for free. three guesses!
my first guess was a compliment: 45 years!
errrr. she crossed her arms in front of her. wrong answer!
next guess: 53! errr. wrong age! last try.
i looked at him, trying to take the situation into account. he was definitely older than 53, maybe 60. but for his 60th he surely would have brought some entourage, perhaps booked the whole restaurant. last guess: sixty-one years old.
61? she asked.
correct! correct, you are right! i gift you the meal.
she jumped up from the chair and broke the news to everyone. “he guessed right, so i gift him the pad thai. lucky pad thai!” i blushed, as now it was me who got congratulated. lucky there were two second guesses, i thought to myself. she returned to my table, sat down, and asked: how old are you? i laughed because the game we played next was already laid out. i explained: if you guess my age, i will pay for the pad thai — three tries! more laughter. she certainly appreciated our mutual passion for guessing games and began to think.
24! she confidently puts her first tip.
errr. my arms formed an x.
older or younger?
older.
she shifted around on her chair. 32 years!
errr. sorry, also wrong. last guess.
i showed different angles of my face as she took her time to think. younger than 32, right?
yes, younger.
last guess then, 26!
so close! 25, sorry.
so close, twice! pad thai still free, ok.
she got up from the chair and made me transfer to the big table with the birthday guest. that way we sat together as new friends. the thai lady informed me, pointing her finger back and forth between the paisley man and herself, that they were the same age: 61 both! her phone rang. small talk with the paisley man of 61. the standard catalogue of questions made me sound like i knew how to speak japanese. he works as a teacher, likes to travel, and is a regular at this place. the phone call had ended. we discussed how many countries each of us had visited. as a european, i obviously have an advantage with all the trains, small countries, and that. after some comparing, i asked: you’ve known each other for a long time?
oh yes! when we met, you were just starting to breathe air! it was 25 years ago, in the year two thousand.
lets see what will be next. on the 25th i got my last workday and will be on okinawa from march 1st.
kunde
this time’s recommendations: the third hand by marton perlaki isbn: 9781739930943. yennek – serena “x” (inner zone mix)
this time’s (very cool) quotes: “i don’t even like old cars. i mean, they don’t even interest me at all. i’d rather have a goddamn horse. a horse is at least human.” j.d. salinger, the catcher in the rye. “better to reign in hell than serve in heaven.” john milton, paradise lost (found in hell's angles by hunter s. thompson)