The reality is that every neighborhood, every train stop in Tokyo is worth a visit. No matter how random the location, chances are good that if you walk around, you’ll find something amazing to eat; a super cool shrine or temple to explore and some sort of weird museum or historic home turned library — …
I have written previously of being infected with what I can only term “Tokyo Love.” It is a cherished affliction which transforms drab, suburban residential streets into wonderlands of tiny, eccentric gardens; reveals dark, dense alleyways as gateways for incredible dining. It is a love that creates great potential in every train station, every tiny …
The other day, my daughter and I were in the impossibly large food court in Ikebukuro’s Seibu department store. In the produce section, a man was handing out samples of a mango priced at about $50. The mangos were individually packaged in wooden boxes, nestled in soft paper, looking as much like art-works as pieces …
As I type this, I can barely lift my right arm. My shoulder is a hot, puffy mass of bruises and broken blood vessels. Why? Because I participated in the Torigoe Matsuri and carried two Mikoshi (the palanquins that hold the neighborhood shrines) on my shoulders in one of the most chaotic, frequently frightening and …
It has long been a point of family pride — Freeman / Riva pride — that we always have capers in the refrigerator. It is a metaphor for maintaining a certain level of dignity: Life should never get so out-of-control that you can’t manage to spruce up your tuna or a dish of pork chops …
Every morning I wake my son and daughter up at 6:30 AM. There are groans, grumbles, sometimes flashes of annoyance: “OKAY!!!” “I KNOW!!” They shamble to our kitchen table and I prepare breakfast. Fresh strawberries in yogurt; fried egg on toast; chocolate croissant. I hound them to get ready; get their books together; brush their …
I recently re-read Ian Frazier’s wonderful book “Travels In Siberia.” I am very glad that Frazier wrote this book as his wonderful writing supplanted the need for me to EVER go to Siberia. As beautiful as it sounds, as fascinating as Siberia is, the clouds of mosquitoes, the horrifying bathroom facilities and the unceasing “difficulties” …
Ever tried raw tongue? Ever gobbled up uncooked harami (skirt steak)? I have! Sounds gross. Tastes delicious! I would have never known had I not been brought to Motsuyaki Den in Naka-Meguro. Motsu means entrails, offal, the left-over bits; yaki means grilled. Like its name, Den is unadorned. No tables. Linoleum counter. Rock and roll posters. Baseball on the …
Last month my sister and her husband came to Tokyo for a visit. I made intricate plans; used a ruler to carve out grids on our calendar; I matched favorite restaurants with favorite neighborhoods — keeping a sharp eye to let them experience some of our local pleasures so they could see how we live. …
I often think Japanese people do not make mistakes or ever have accidents. A slippery bottle of soda, a mishandled cup of coffee has never been accidentally dropped onto a subway floor. People don’t seem to lose their keys, their wallets, their phones. For the most part, people don’t bump into each other, step on …
