Mito

Furukawa ふる川 Mito, Ibaraki, Japan 茨城県 水戸市

/ Stephen Tetsu / 1 Comment

Been a while as I was busy at work and all that good stuff.  Also I’ve been eating a lot of food and getting fat and all jazz.  One of the chief culprits?  Furukawa, a new-ish ramen shop that opened up down the street from my apartment this summer and has subsequently garnered a lot of buzz online, considering the area in which it’s based.

With my days off currently being Thursday and Friday, there’s pretty much nothing stopping me from hitting up the place once a week and polishing a 1000 yen worth of noodles and the works in a thirty minute whirlwind of gluttony and stress eating.

Not an empty seat in the house.

Not an empty seat in the house.

Whilst in America, we generally refer to ramen as either the kind that comes in a styrofoam cup and will give you a heart attack or the kind you get at a Japanese place, ramen in Japan is itself a discipline with many different schools and styles of preparation and flavor.  (It’s a long story, one that you can at least start to grasp by looking at this link.)

The ramen in Furukawa comes mainly in assari-style salt or soy sauce based bowls with occassional specialities coming in with the changing of the seasons.

My usual go-to is the assari soy sauce ramen (pictured below), silky smooth but still with enough flavor to let you know that you’ve just shortened your life by half a decade. The noodles are thin and firm, actually not entire unlike the noodles in Instant Ramen… except they don’t taste like cardboard and cigarette butts.  A typical bowl comes with a piece of chicken and an almost rare piece of thin chashuu, a slightly more finesse take on what is at times considered a man’s meal. (No sexism intended.)  The price for a normal bowl of filling noodles and broth?  700 yen (or only 60 yen more expensive than a Big Mac set).

Furukawa

Shoyu Ramen. 700 yen

But since I’m a fat person, I don’t just stop there.  Nope, I also have to get my daily serving of rice in a bowl, here topped with a nice portion of sliced chashuu, soy glaze, and mayonnaise.

Furukawa

Chashu-don. 300 yen

Were I a health conscious individual, this would probably be enough for an entire meal.  But I’m not.  Eating the chashu this way is a good way to sample the efforts of a ramen shop when it comes to one of the most crucial aspects of the ramen experience.  And Furukawa, of course, passes with flying colors.  The price of this bowl of goodness?  300 yen.  In other words, an economic success.

Recently, with the advent of Autumn, Furukawa has been offering a hearty special: Butasoba.  Thick noodles in a thick, fatty broth served under a heaping pile of bean sprouts, cabbage, pork and shame.  The price once again?  700 yen.  It’s almost like they want me to eat at their shop at every possible opportunity.

Butasoba. 700 yen. 200 arteries clogged.

Butasoba. 700 yen. 200 arteries clogged.

The only downside of eating an infant-sized portion of this stuff?  The sensation that your stomach may burst open Alien-style immediate upon devouring it in a primal frenzy.

Overall, Furukawa is one of my favorite places to eat in Mito (probably top three, if not number one).  While ramen will never be a healthy food, the bowls crafted here are generally done with enough care and attention to detail that you could probably trick yourself into thinking you’re eating somewhere good for you.  If you find yourself in my neck of the woods, definitely do try to sneak in for a bowl (also, call me).  You won’t be disappointed.  (Unless you hate good things, in which case, screw you.)

Tabelog page (in Japanese)

Sakura Season

/ Stephen Tetsu / 3 Comments
It's spring. That means it's flower time. Everyone party!

It’s spring. That means it’s flower time. Everyone party!

It’s April 2014, the weather is finally starting to take a turn for the better, spring break has come and gone for those people fortunate enough to get one at all.  April means spring.  And here in Japan, spring means sakura.

For those not in the know or those who are otherwise uninitiated in the art of contemplating the falling cherry blossoms with a great degree of self-importance and pretension, sakura is the Japanese term for “cherry blossoms”, a type of plant/tree/thing that is apparently different from plain old cherries in that sakura trees don’t actually bear any fruit (Thanks Obama), are probably a bitch to clean up what with their falling petals and all, and look dead for most of the year save a one week (or sometimes less than that) period in which their flowers blossom and millions of Japanese people flock to parks and groves in droves, eager to ring in the tidings of warm weather with copious amounts of booze, food, and shenanigans.  It’s like college, only with old, beaten-down businessmen and cold, neglected housewives instead of frat bros and skanks in tubetops and heels.

I would would be lying if I said that I didn’t appreciate the cherry blossoms or the warmer weather but I would also be lying if I said I appreciated it as much as I appreciate the internet or a shirt that isn’t either too big or too small.

The thing about sakura season in Japan is that it pretty much is three months of build up, followed by three days of peak blossom season, followed by weeks of fallen blossom petals blowing everywhere and generally causing a big mess and allergies for a lot of Japan’s more nebbish, hypochondriac population (“My nose is runny, I have hay fever!”).

Over the years, sakura and hanami have come to be associated with the passage of time, more specifically, graduation, which, unlike America, usually happens right around March and April.  As a result, most of the nation’s pop culture pretty much stops what it’s doing and shifts course into full blown sakura-mania, complete with daily sakura forecasts, sakura-themed TV specials, and more sakura songs than you ever thought could be possible.  It’s like Christmas is in America, except in this case you don’t get any presents and there are (more) drunk people in the train station (than usual) singing old folk tunes to themselves.

IMG_2752

So sure, the sakura blossoms maybe pretty to look at but overall they may be a bit of a pain in the ass.  Plus, once you get over the fact that you no longer need to wear arctic expedition gear to work everyday, everything else is just peachy (or maybe in this case cherry-y?).

Or maybe I’m just a cynical, hardened bastard…  Yeah, that’s the ticket.

 

IMG_2790

 

 

 

My suits are smelly and so are yours. (Or how I learned to stop worrying and love the Japanese fragrant suit spray)

/ Stephen Tetsu / Leave a comment

So this job of mine requires me to be in full business attire all day everyday, full business attire being dress shirt, tie, sports coat and all the dressings.  Coming from the laid-back casual business culture of California, this has been probably the biggest adjustment for me in my move to Japan.  Not only have I had to abandon my beloved shorts and sandals (which are impractical during Mito’s cold winters anyways) but I’ve had to come in to work dressed like a big boy everyday.

At first this was a bit of a problem because, let’s face it, I’m anything but a fashionable guy (my idea of being stylish is throwing on the most random colors possible and calling it a day or dressing like Eddie Vedder circa 1995).  I could figure out the whole button-down shirt and slacks part because I’d worn those things before but when it came to ties, I was way out of my league.

Ties

When the day of my first job interview came, I actually had my mom tie my tie for me.  When the day was through, I simply loosened the tie and slipped it over my head and then reapplied it whenever necessary.  Practical and a sign that I’m obviously a genius? Yes.  A major stepping stone on my journery to full-fledged adulthood?  Not in the least bit.

The obvious drawback of my brilliant strategy was that all hell would break loose if my tie, in some horrible accident, happened to come untied.  Unfortunately for me, that happened before I even started packing for my move when, after a job interview, I absentmindedly fiddled with the thing around my neck and doomed myself to a life of tie tying and not being a total slob.

It hasn’t been easy.  It took me a good three hours to tie a tie by myself for the very first time and that came after hours upon hours of watching how-to videos on YouTube (note: Most how-to videos on the internet suck).  And even with that knowledge in hand, it still took me hours upon hours of practice to make my simple rudimentary knot not look like a pile of dog poo.  Even now, I still can only put my tie together in the most rudimentary of ways without it looking like a three year old tried to do it.

In other words, don’t expect me to be tying a foofy Chesterton Quadruple-Windsor knot anytime soon.  That stuff is way out of my league.

One thing that I have been able to do though is chose ridiculous colors for my ties.  Inspired by a binge viewing of Colin Baker-era Doctor Who, I was compelled to start wearing the most brilliantly obnoxious colors I could find.  Since my company is so stringent when it comes to its dress code, my ties are pretty much all I can get away with (and a lot of my students seem to like it, so there.)  Thus far, my bizarre tie collection only consists of a brilliantly puke-lime green tie with orange, blue, and white stripes (my go-to) and a milder tie with a pattern of what appears to be a picture of belts on it.  As time goes on, I certainly want to add to this collection because I am currently declaring war on your eyes.  And, honeslty, I kinda feel naked without a tie on now.  (No comment as to whether or not I wear one to bed.)

20140210-174943.jpg

Watch out (insert famously fashionable celebrity here), I’m coming for you.

Suits

The concept of suits still confuses me.  “Here’s a jacket.  Just don’t wear it when you’re outside too much or you might ruin it.”  What is it about a sports coat or suit jacket that makes so much nicer than any other form of clothing?  Is it the fact that it’s intentionally missing buttons?  Maybe it’s the fact that you can’t throw it in the washing machine lest you want to waste three hundred dollars.

And yet, we have to wear them every single day.  I guess it makes us look professional.  I’m not sure.

What I am sure of though is that whoever these suits were actually designed for does not have the same shaped arms as me.  “The armholes go a half foot under where the shoulders are, right?”

Of course all of my suit problems may just be a result of the cheapness of the wares in question.  When all of your suit jackets have been purchased through clearance or sale, you’re bound to encounter some quality issues.

And since you can’t wash them, your suit jackets wind up smelling like wet dog turds by the second month in and you start having to sit in the corner of the office so as to not inconvenience your co-workers with your rotting stench.

Thankfully, the Japanese are big on clothing spray so your jacket can smell like a field of daffodils with a few swishes of the spray bottle. (As to whether or not spraying your suit makes it smell better, I plead the fifth.)

The Verdict

Overall, I’m enjoying the whole businesswear thing more than I thought I would.  It makes me feel accomplished and dapper and those are modest victories in my book.  Plus my new-found love for awful ties allows me to still be weird without being overly obnoxious (ha!).

In other words, now I’m an adult… but not really.

-Stephen

PS, go ahead and stalk me on the social medias and stuff if you’d like.  Hell, go ahead and dislike every single one of my videos on YouTube for all I care.

PPS, any thoughts, questions, or declarative statements?  Feel free to send them to me via the comments section here OR on twitter (@STEPHEN_TETSU).  I will respond to them.  Believe me.  I have absolutely nothing better to do.  At all.  At.  All.

Sooooooo I kinda made a vlog

/ Stephen Tetsu / 1 Comment

Yeah.  Can’t say I’m exactly photogenic or good at talking but I was too lazy to write down stuff so I recorded myself saying it instead (and now here I am writing something to tell you about it… IRONY…).  The video’s terrible I know.  And I pretty much regretted doing it the second I posted it.  I’m pretty sure this is how 25% of the people who make porn feel after their first day on the job (the other 75%, of course, is too proud of their impressive assets to notice).

 

Anyways, I’ve decided to share this abomination with you all.  Who knows.  Maybe I’ll do another one or two.  I’d much rather just write things out and put them on this blog but sometimes things just ain’t that easy and Big Daddy isn’t feeling up to it.

Either way, here’s the blog entry.  Enjoy.  Or throw your computer in disgust.  Either one is acceptable.  Even both.

 

I was actually more nervous making that dumb thing than I should have been.  I mean, it’s not like anyone’s going to be watching that.  Hell, no one reads this blog for Pete’s sake. 

 

Anyways, I think I’m going to start writing more.  

See ya around,

Stephen Tetsu

Me Versus the Japanese Cockroaches (Not a Racial Epithet)

/ Stephen Tetsu / Leave a comment

Pictured: An infant Japanese cockroach (photo taken from Rakuten)

So one thing that they don’t really cover in most of those fancypants English-language living in Japan guides is the fact that there are crazy bugs here.  Like nasty, gnarly, size of your fist monster insects that are probably capable of surviving five nuclear winters.  They’re absolutely ridiculous and apparently resistant to the frigidly cold climate of Mito, the northeastern Japanese city I now call home.

When I first came to my apartment one month ago, things seemed pretty hunky-dory aside from the lingering stench of cigarette smoke left behind by the last tenant of my place.  Sure the bathroom seemed exceedingly dark and the ladder up to the loft where my bed was was crooked but, hell, I could get over those little things.  I’m a manly man, after all.  But this manliness would soon be put to the test.

Life on my own in a small apartment in a relatively alien city with a climate much colder than I’m used to (snow expected on Thursday) went relatively well for the first day or two.  But then my new friend decided to crash the party.  Cockroaches aren’t uncommon in Sacramento but they’re usually pretty small, die off whenever the thermometer dips below forty degrees fahrenheit, and still afraid of the usual bug deterrents (bugspray, traps, the bottom of a boot).  Japanese cockroaches, on the other hand, are like the hardened ex-cons of the insect world.  If you saw one of these things coming at you in a dark alley, you’d be best off just throwing your wallet at it before making a run in the complete opposite direction while screaming like Chekov in the Wrath of Kahn. Seriously.

My new friend is probably the size of my fist with a shell that’s probably thick enough to be bulletproof.  He smokes three packs of cigarettes a day and runs a drug cartel from my closet.  On occasion, I have seen seen him open the fridge and feast on leftovers.  You may not always see him or hear him, but you know that he’s there.  Watching.  Waiting.  Planning his next move, thinking of new ways to make your life a living hell.

I’ve tried a number of proactive measures but he’s too smart for any of them to work.  The dude just walks right through the sticky cockroach traps and someone in the administration staff of my household appears to be leaking the details of my planned bugspray raids.  I’ve heard cold temperatures are supposed to kill this things off but I’m pretty sure my friend has somehow been altered by Fukushima radiation, resulting in some sort of super-roach capable of breathing fire and devouring entire villages of unsuspecting people.  Nothing is going to get rid of this thing, nothing can stop it.  Like the aftermath of an unfortunate night of drunken antics, all you can really hope to do is try to contain the damage.

In the battle of man versus bug, the bug has emerged victorious.  I give up.  Resistance is futile.  There’s nothing more to be done.  I accept the rule of my new insect overlord.  All I ask is that he chip in for rent every once in a while.

-Stephen

P.S. His cousin Larry’s getting out of prison in a few weeks so if anyone wants to volunteer to take him in, just drop me  a line.  Even if you don’t, he’ll come to stay anyways.  Cockroaches aren’t really big on courtesy.

On the Eve of My Big Move

/ Stephen Tetsu / Leave a comment

Remember when I wrote that I’d be a good blogger and update and write things on a consistent basis like a good boy?  I lied.  I’d like to say that I’ve been too busy to write but that’d be a boldface lie.  The majority of my days over the past two months have passed with marathon Doctor Who Blu Ray collection sessions and getting more in-depth into basketball statistics than is probably healthy for a normal human being.  But all those days, all those wasted hours have been done in preparation for this moment, this day.

As I write this, I only have about 20 more hours left in the United States before I haul two suitcases jammed to the brim with snotty office clothes that I never imagined I’d ever wear onto a plane bound for Japan and the high-stakes world of underground wolf wrangling.  Okay, so maybe I made that last bit up in a desperate attempt to impress you guys and not seem like a total sad sack.  Here’s the reality of my whole move thingy:

  • The destination: Mito-shi, Ibaraki Prefecture, Japan.
  • The job: English instructor/ teacher at a large chain English conversational school (Not quite sure if I want to disclose which company at this juncture)
  • The salary: 250,000 yen a month (I think)

My contract official ends in March of 2014 due to a technicality but I’m actually probably signed until 2015, at which point, who knows what the hell’s going to happen.  Until that point, I’m going to be living in Japan, away from my family, away from my friends, away from my beloved American sports (which is probably a good thing because I swear I’m a bad luck charm for the 49ers), and more importantly, away from all of the people who have filed restraining orders against me.  In short, if graduating from college wasn’t enough of one, this is a brand new start from scratch (disregarding the four suits I’m bringing with me and the laptop I’m typing this on).  I didn’t really need a fresh start or anything but I find that concept all sorts of fascinating.  All those ties and social circles I’ve acquired over the years? Gone.  That safety net of family and friends? Adios friendo.  Now, if I screw things up (which I probably will… repeatedly), I’ve only got myself to blame and I’ll be the one suffering.

In writing this post, I’m once again procrastinating on the whole packing deal.  I’ve made the decision to take two suitcases, which I’ve found to be surprisingly empty, even as I do my best to fill them with everything I’ll need to be a professional in uptight business Japan, which means I’m probably forgetting something important.  It’s not money (I’m barely gonna be scraping together enough to survive for the first month there) and certainly not socks.  Maybe it’s something less physical and more… abstract.  I already know the most important thing: No matter how much I prepare myself, I’m going to be caught off guard.  So why worry about packing?  Once I have the big stuff down, what point is there in sweating the details?  I don’t want my last couple of hours in the states to be filled with dread and panic.  I want to savor that thick American smog, get stuck in the usual bumper-to-bumper traffic of the American commute, smell the roses undoubtedly doused with some drunk hobo’s urine.  If the time comes and I’m missing something crucial, so be it.  It’s not like Japan is a distant way station in the middle of the Sahara.  They have stores there too.

If you’ve made it this far, thanks for reading the ramblings of a dude who’s low on sleep and high on impatience.  I promise I’ll try to write a bit more once I’m over there since I’m sure some of you will be curious about what I’m up to amongst the chilly natto-fields of Mito.  If that doesn’t appeal to you, why the hell are you even reading through this blog?

I know the impact of what I’m doing has completely gone over my head but oh well.  I’ll have plenty of time to ruminate on the deeper meaning of my job in Japan during my twelve hour plane flight.  Let’s just get this show on the road.

-Stephen

Something I probably won't be getting in Japan

Something I probably won’t be getting in Japan

P.S.  I should probably check whether or not I’m actually booked on this flight.

P.P.S. If anyone is reading this and has my phone number, just get rid of it.  My sister’s taking over my phone and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to deal with you guys texting her with your nonsense.

P.P.P.S. Whoever invented the Rice Krispie Treat deserves a Nobel Prize.