New! in my Etsy shop, just in time for the holidays! ☆*:.｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆
The Tokyo Craft Kit, $25
As I mentioned earlier, I have a slight crush on masking tape. It is inexpensive and colorful, and so it always finds its way into my shopping basket.
I’ve started carrying masking tape with me everywhere I go. And a notebook. And stickers, colored pens, a sewing kit, the occasional hair bow, and embroidery floss. It is important to be prepared when when inspiration strikes.
And so, the idea for a Tokyo Craft Kit was born. Each on-the-go DIY craft kit includes a handmade drawstring bag full of whimsical and fun craft goodies: stickers, notebook, 4-color pen, a self-inking stamp, a dainty bow pin, and 2 rolls of masking tape.
Last week I went to the mt tape expo in Shibuya. mt tape is a Japanese washi paper masking tape. It comes in a variety of colors and patterns and is delightful. At the expo, all of the walls and floors and windows were covered in masking tape. They hung pretty little globes from the pretty tape-covered ceiling.
I wandered through the expo then found myself at an impromptu craft party, sitting in the sunshine with strangers where we ooh-ed and nodded our approval of the evolving tape masterpieces around us. A few girls squealed the occasional “kawaii!” It was a charming afternoon.
I love mt tape, and am doing my part to keep this company in business. I walked away from the expo and pop-up shop with this haul:
What do you do with fancy masking tapes (and pudding stickers), you ask? Well, I tape stuff. I decorate packages (if you’ve ordered from my Etsy shop, you might have noticed). I tape up gifts, notebooks, pencils, my umbrella. I use it to say “hands off, this pen is mine!” I mark special dates on my calendar and embellish notes to friends. Sometimes I even use it to tape something to something else.
As Dan reported, our recent trip to Kyoto was livelier than expected. While wriggling fish haunt his dreams, all I can think about is this:
Parfait perfection.
Maybe we need to look at that again…
This was lunch. I’m not ashamed. I also wasn’t alone — this is what my father-in-law ordered:
We’re like two peas in a pod sweet beans in a parfait.
But let’s back up. After we arrived at Kyoto station, Dan and I used our keen instincts — we found the only restaurant with a line and stood in it — to track down some seasonal soba.
Clockwise from the top left — pickles, tempura mushrooms and green peppers, warabi (a soybean-powder-covered mochi dessert), soba noodle soup with mushrooms, tempura dipping sauce, yuba (tofu skin, a Kyoto specialty), mushroom rice (kinoko takikomi gohan), and more pickles (another Kyoto specialty).
Nishin soba, another Kyoto specialty.
After lunch we went for a hike. At the peak there was a restaurant serving beer and ice cream, of course. What do you think this shop owner’s commute is like?
When you climb a mountain and meet a guy wanting to sell you ice cream, you can’t refuse. This one was kinako.
Our weekend wasn’t all about food, I swear. We did some sightsighing, and a little more sightseeing. And then after an especially rainy afternoon, we found a charming little omurice restaurant. Maybe not the haute Kyoto cuisine my in-laws were expecting, but it was perfectly placed comfort food for a chilly evening.
And, to round out the weekend (and our waistlines), we ended with a trip to Kyoto Ramen Street.
With a belly full of noodles and a cold beer in-hand, we hopped on the shinkansen for a sleepy trip back to Tokyo. Ah, how I love Japan in the fall.
You know how you go out to a restaurant, order a meal, and then it comes out cooked and all around ready to eat? Funny story.
Ordering off a menu in Japan where we have a tenuous grip on the language is always a mumble gamble. I see the kanji for chicken…but then what are all those characters after it?
“I’ll have the [murmermurmer] chicken.”
“You mean the chicken [somethingsomething]?
“Yep, that’s the one.”
And then we wait, and then it’s chickenmurmersomethingorother, and it’s delicious. Or, it’s chicken womb.
A great meal swings on the hinge of chance?
In Kyoto last weekend, my finger got stuck in the hinge, and then when I tried to pull it out, my pants ripped, but then it turned out that I was already naked. You know how the old Abraham Lincoln saying goes.
Ang and I were snacking at a conveyor-belt sushi restaurant. One of those classy ones, where there’s no reason for the conveyor belt because everyone is ordering their meals off iPad menus.
There was a giant fish tank behind the sushi chef. The tank had a strong current, and the fish were swimming with purpose, swiftly. It was a nice touch. In Japanese, you’d say the place was moody.
But then a panel opened behind the tank, a net went in, a fish came out, and a chef in the back kitchen was waving a horse mackerel at us (Angie).
Our chef told us, “Oh, you have to try the [mumblescrumble] aji. It’s our specialty.”
“Oh it’s [somethingmumble] aji? Sure, good.”
“Really? Wow. Ok. Grrreat,” the chef said, now slipping into his only English.
Net in, fish out, horse mackerel waved at us (Angie).
The chef in the back disappeared.
“This is where he goes and kills the fish,” I said expertly, stupidly, feeling a little bad that we had sentenced a fish to its death.
The expertly carved sashimi came out with the fish carcass presented on the plate, a macabre garnish we’re used to at this point.
We went in with our chopsticks, and the fish carcass wriggled. Then the fish carcass tried to breath. Then the still-very-much-alive fish didn’t really do much of anything, because it’s pretty hard to move when someone carves off most of you.
Ang let out a little whoop of a nervous giggle, like if Annie Oakley saw someone slip on a banana peel.
I let out a “whooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaarbfl.”
No, I didn’t keep my cool, because I was uncomfortable keeping an animal alive just so it can watch itself being eaten. Yes, I continued to eat the fish, because rule number one of dining etiquette is to not let your meal see itself go to waste.
We ate slowly, just hoping the mackerel would stop moving, but also dreading the moment when it would stop moving.
A waitress came by and said they would fry the skeleton for us when we were done eating. We decided the best we could do by the fish was to put him down quickly. We shoved the sashimi in our mouths and let the waitress take the fish to his deep-fried grave.
Feel free to discuss the ethics of this in the comments. I’m going to watch a video of a chimp washing a cat for the next 30 minutes.
I have a friend who is very smart, but also very, very stupid.
He is a professor and scientist and an expert in something smaller than I can see with my eye. He is also a college friend, which means I have seen him perform antics not suitable for re-telling on this family-friendly blog.
Recently my friend went to a party, and to bring the proper party pizazz he asked his coworker Grace if he could borrow her jacket. Grace was known for having an eclectic wardrobe, and this was no ordinary jacket. As my friend describes it:
Shiny. Metallic. Vinyl. Bright pink. The only label inside reads “palm tree.” It was a custom made gift from her grandmother in China.
I’m sure you already know where this story is going. My friend went to the party with Grace’s jacket.
The jacket did not survive.
And so my friend contacted me, and with tears in his eyes told me this horrible tale. I was quiet; I let the story sink in. I mourned for Grace’s jacket and cursed my friend. And then I told him he was lucky to know another person who owned a metallic pink jacket.
Maybe he chooses his acquaintances carefully, or maybe he’s just the luckiest bastard I know. But it’s true that I happen to own such a jacket, hanging in my tiny Tokyo closet.
But a simple metallic replacement just wouldn’t do for poor Grace. We had to make up for my friend’s silly, fat-man-in-a-little-coat misstep. So I added sparkle.
And more sparkle.
And a pig wearing a bow.
For you, Grace — may it not replace your grandmother’s gift, but help you forgive my very-smart-but-still-a-little-stupid friend. His heart is in the right place.
If you would have told me a few years ago that after moving to Tokyo I would be ooh-ing and ah-ing craft books dedicated to ribbons and pink bows, I would have laughed in your face.
Only the bows knows who’s laughing now.
I even made a mega bow. I’m not sure what head of hair is ready for this.
This craft book is adorable, full of easy accessory projects to make in under an hour.
I love the brooches and badges. If I wore one of these, I would feel like a winner all day.
I’m not sure what to try first — the bow necklace or the hairy shoulders.
The illustrated step-by-step instructions are really easy to follow, and the assembly techniques heavily favor a hot glue gun. It’s like I’m an 11 year old again!
And get ready for this … scrunchies are making a comeback! A J-pop band even sings a song about them (ponytail to shu shu) though due to gratuitous beach and wet t-shirt scenes, I’ve decided not to link to the music video. Do the work yourself.
But since we’re being totally honest with each other, I’ll admit I was the most excited by this sight:
Black sesame and honey ice cream. With a gingersnap spoon. I shoved it into everyone’s face, insisting they must try the Most Delicious Ice Cream Combo, until I realized that meant less for me. So I sneaked away to lick my cone clean in the dark shadows of a shrine.
We opted for the kaiseki meal in our ryokan, which meant dinner while wearing our pajamas and yukata (cotton robes). While our server delicately described the seasonal components and zen balance of each dish, I was busy taking photos and so I had no idea what I was eating. Vegetable or fish? Who cares! It’s boiled!
It was great, but it made my mouth tired.
Our ryokan also served us breakfast, with amazing little pillow-like cubes of tofu.
I love Japanese breakfasts. I’ll take some rice and grilled fish over an omelet any day.
On our way out of town we stopped for lunch at Katsukura, a tonkatsu (fried pork) restaurant in Kyoto Station.
The sorta-trendy restaurant serves you sesame seeds with a small mortar and pestle, to grind and add sauce to for dipping. I did it wrong. Who knew you could be so uncouth at a fried meat restaurant?
In case anyone is curious we stayed at the lovely, not-too-fancy Ryokan Motonago. The tonkatsu restaurant is located in the JR Kyoto Station, The Cube, 11F (above Isetan).
At first, these felt wrong. The first taste reminded me of the butter in a squeeze bottle that was sometimes offered for our grilled sweet corn when I was a kid. The kind of squeeze butter that, upon closer inspection, says “butter flavor” on the bottle, causing a gut punch of betrayal.
But 5 seconds later, I got over my butter supremacy issues and ate the entire box. These should be called Super Duper Lick-your-Fingers-Clean Butter.
Whew, it has been busy in these parts. We’ve had family and friends visiting, which is fantastic. We’re got more family on the way, which is fantastic. It was Dan’s 30th birthday, which was extra fantastic. Oh, and we had this little typhoon last night. No big deal.
There has been some of this:
A lot of this:
(Please notice the sign over the beer kegs says, “Please help yourself!”)
And even a little bit of this:
I am amused that this purikura (sticker picture) makes us look so hip. This booth not only makes your eyes bigger, but plumps your lips, too.
We also found a bar with a pass-through window in the floor — I was handed our drinks from the bartender below just minutes before another customer took a tumble through the rabbit hole and onto the bartop. Exciting stuff.
Through the winding streets of Golden Gai we found Jete. It was so hip, I felt lame taking my camera out once we were inside.
Seeing Tokyo through the fresh eyes of our visitors has been … well, fantastic.
The Tokyo Craft Kit, $25
Saké Puppets 