Friday, August 26, 2011

The Ultimate Comfort Food

The other night I came home from work at my typical time around 10pm. After looking around my kitchen and realizing I had nothing to eat that could be made quickly, I remembered I had spent a small fortune on a tiny block of Scottish red cheddar in Hiroshima last week. Grilled cheese! As I took my first bite of a proper grilled cheese (non of this processed cheese slice crap), I realized I can follow the timeline of my life through various grilled cheese stages.


My earliest memory of grilled cheese is staying home from school sick as a child. My lunchtime meal would almost always be the perfect grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup, prepared by my dad. I was one of those kids who played sick quite often. Always the planner, at the start of every month, I would pick the day I wanted to be sick. I would begin the night before at the supper table by complaining my stomach hurt and not eating and then going to bed early. The next morning before my alarm went off I would hide under all my blankets to give the illusion of having a fever for when my mother came to wake me. Sometimes under my bed I would even hide talcum powder to put on my face so I looked pale. My mother would leave for work and my father would go outside to do chores and I was free until lunchtime when he would come in and make me the ultimate meal.


In university, it became one of my staple foods, along with Kraft Dinner, hot dogs, and instant noodles. Now, I enjoy cooking (as my waistline shows) but back then I hated it and didn't have the time to worry about proper nutrition so all I needed was a giant block of Cheddar from Costco, a freezer full of homemade bread from mom and a giant bottle of Heinz ketchup and I was set.

After my second year of uni, my true gypsy nature got a hold of me and I took off to Australia for a year. My boyfriend in Australia was obsessed with grilled cheese and he probably made the best I had ever tasted. I don't know how it's possible but I was addicted. Perhaps he sprinkled some crack into it? Or maybe the sandwich maker he used gave it a little extra something by sealing the edges and the flavour in, rather than the usual oven or stove top version.


Perhaps my most fond memories of grilled cheese (or cheese toasties as they're called in the U.K.) are of in Scotland and coming home to the hostel in Drum at a ridiculous hour with the munchies. Because it was Drum, there were no shops open at 3am to get the usual British drunk food of kebabs or chips. So it was up to us to feed our own cravings and it more often than not ended up being a cheese toastie (unless of course a tour group had just been in and then we would steal their leftover chicken). The whole gang would ascend on the outside kitchen and we would drunkenly slave over the stove making our cheese toasties, with more than a few accidents, leading us to the motto 'Cooking when drunk is a recipe for disaster'. At the festivals we would even sometimes serve various cheese toasties such as cheese and leek, cheese and tomato, or *WAIT FOR IT* CHEESE AND BACON!!!! How did I not think of such a brilliant concoction before? I do apologize to all my vegetarian friends, but this is literally the most amazing sandwich in the world and you don't know what you're missing.

Returning to Canada after any extended travelling I also have fond memories of Harry Potter days with my best friend while eating grilled cheese or my room mate bringing me a plate of greasy goodness as I lie in bed hungover after a very welcoming welcome back party. One of the few remaining happy memories I have of 'the ex' is even of cooking grilled cheese over the campfire at Pike Lake.


In Japan I've been making Japanese grilled cheese. The recipe is as follows: Squeezy butter, crappy processed cheese slices (or expensive imported cheese from shop in Hiroshima), and expensive Japanese bread. Make as you would in any other country but eat it in Japan. And there you have Japanese grilled cheese.


The history of grilled cheese, according to Wikipedia dates back to ancient times. Apparently it was a common food in the Great Depression of the 1920's, due to its cheap ingredients. It is common in cultures around the world, due to both cheese and bread being a staple, easily available, cheap(ish) food. I even like cold grilled cheese sandwiches. But this is coming from a person who prefers cold coffee and warm beer. Grilled cheese is the food that goes with me wherever I go, the ultimate comfort food.

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Nights out in Shitari

A few months ago, my fellow teachers and I renamed our new hometown from Hikari to Shitari, due to the non existent nightlife. The streets are literally dead after 9pm and the only people who live here are senior citizens and children. Small by Japanese standards, the city is still roughly around 30,000 people so you would think there would be a few decent bars, but we haven't even been able to mind one measly club.

Then two weeks ago, my boss invited us to a Japanese beer garden on Saturday night. It was my Saturday to work and admittedly I thought all of day of an excuse to get out of it, but never came up with one good enough. We walked to the 'beer garden' which had a beautiful view of the Inland Sea. To me, a beer garden has always been a big striped temporary tent at a rodeo or festival, consisting of rows upon rows of tables, drunks, and a smokey haze upon entry. Most Japanese beer gardens are on roof tops of buildings overlooking the city but this one was inside a large Italian restaurant with a buffet of food, an entrance fee, and unlimited beer and food. The only thing similar was the smokey haze upon entry. We stayed a few hours and got a good buzz, before we decided to move things to 'Stage Two' (the bosses exact words). We wandered over to the Jazz Bar. It was about 9:30pm on a Saturday night when we entered and the place was deserted. After a few drinks everyone started parting ways to catch trains home (the last trains leave around 11pm...I told you it was the middle of nowhere!). Eventually it was just Tomas and I and and the Master (bartender). Suddenly in walked a group of three. One of the girls could speak English quite well and began translating for us with another newcomer. The new guy found out I was from Canada and started telling me how he had spent a week there 10 years ago. He stood up abruptly and left, and I figured he was going out for a cigarette. Ten minuted later he's back with a photo album he had run home to get. I politely flipped through it until I got to the last few pictures, which were of him in bed...with a man. Tomas turns to him and asks him what they're all about. He looks at them and says 'Oh! That was my lover. I was gay, but I'm happily married now...to a woman!' And he holds up his left hand and points to his ring finger. Suddenly he stands up and leaves the bar again, taking everything with him. We didn't think he was coming back but suddenly he walks in again with bags from 7-11 that he hands to the Master. The Master opens them and lifts out enough cakes for everyone in the bar. He hands one to each of us and goes around pouring a shot of Tia Maria on everyone's. Soon after we finished, Mr. Happily Married gets up and leaves again, this time never to be seen again. His seat is replaced soon after, however. It doesn't take long before the new customer strikes up a broken conversation with the only gaijin's for miles around. Turns out he's a magician, who's also happily married. Do you see a pattern here? Surely it can't be Tomas, as he's not exactly the David Beckham the boss says he is. Obviously I won't be finding out if the myth about Japanese men is true, not in this town anyway! We sat while he did card tricks for us, but couldn't have been too good as even in my drunken haze I saw him mess up a few times. He gave me a card with his website on it: Hono Bono Magic, Mr. Mane. I have yet to find the website however...eventually we meander home through the empty streets stealing figs on the way...

Last Saturday we went out again, this time to the bosses condo which overlooks the Nijigahama Beach. In my six months here, I have never seen Shitari so packed. It was the biggest event all year in the city; the annual fireworks celebration. We had a barbecue which Bruce, the new teacher/retired ex-sniper had cooked for us. When we got there at 6:30pm he was already hammered. By the time the fireworks began at 8:00 and I had half finished my box of wine, I was well on my way as well. The fireworks lasted for exactly one hour, finishing at 9:00 on the dot. Tomas, Bruce, and I decided to continue the party at the Irish bar near the station, taking two of our adult students with us. We stopped at 7-11 on the way to get a drink for the 30 second walk. The parking lot was filled with Japanese teenage rebels with orange hair and sparkly Hello Kitty outfits (for the boys) and yukata (for the girls), drinking grape Fanta and bragging about the time they came 2 minutes late to class. After walking through the crowd yelling 'Kampai!' about 30 times we arrived at our destination. Bruce was dancing with the locals and we were having a great time. Atsushi asked to see Bruce's bullet wounds and he showed them to us, but after that the mood seemed to change. Bruce eventually passed out in his chair and suddenly he fell right out of it. Some of the locals ran over to help him up and we got him sitting again. They kept asking 'Are you OK? Are you OK?' until suddenly all hell broke loose and Bruce opened his eyes and knocked the Japanese man closest to him out, sending his glasses flying. Suddenly, the table was thrown over, glasses broken, salsa on the walls, and Tomas held up against the wall by an ex-Marine sniper, capable of doing who knows what? Poor innocent Masako jumped up to get the tiny barmaid, as if she could do anything. I tried to pull Bruce off of Tomas but could feel his muscles flexing, the bloode and adrenaline coarsing through his veins, and knew it was pointless to try. All the while the Japanese fools (no racism intended, but they were getting annoying and only making matters worse) were behind me, yabbering away. I don't know what I said exactly, but I finally felt Bruce relax and managed to get him sitting down, but Tomas wouldn't let go of his wrists for fear he would hit me. I can't remember the words that were said, but all I remember is looking into his eyes and seeing sadness and pain, like I've never seen before. Suddenly he was hugging me and telling me he wanted to go to the beach. We got our things together, paid a ridiculous amount, all the while muttering gomen nasai to the barmaid and when we were ready to go, Bruce was again nowhere to be seen, his phone and glasses sitting on the table. After searching around the station and beach we found him passed out on a set of stairs, convinced him to get up and crash at out apartment, only to have him sit down on on of the chairs at the train station, where he remained until we left him there at 6:20am after refusing to get on the first train home.

Although these nights out have not been the best of my life, I did meet a few people who will stay in my mind for awhile. But the most important lesson learned is, it's not the bar or the city you're in, but the people that you're with. You'd think I'd have figured that out after two years in Drum!