One word.
And it’s not just any udon.
Very much inspired, since two months ago, by the movie Udon (what else?), I decided a trip is not a trip unless I do something crazy. And so I did.
I booked a flight to a very local city named Takamatsu, in the Kagawa prefecture. Where the most famous Sanuki udon is born, and still breeding very flourishly.
The movie Udon says, you have not tasted udon until you’ve tried Sanuki udon. And me being me, I chose to believe.
Of course, when I decided on the side trip and when I made the phone booking for the flight, I hadn’t really thought about the real problem. I never considered if I could even accomplish my mission in a Japanese town that probably speaks 0.005% English. Until…
”If you ever get lost, it’d probably take two years before the embassy finds you…”
Which doesn’t really sound like a bad idea. Really.
So it’s kinda disappointing now that you’re getting to read this.
It turned out as well a trip of other ‘firsts’.
For one, it was the first time I took the monorail with many other locals to the domestic Haneda airport, who all looked like they had just as important missions to accomplish for the day as I did. It was also the first time I took an ANA flight.
One thing for sure: I have never felt this excited boarding a plane since... well, that’s for me to know.
Takamatsu reminds me of Phuket.
Well, at least for the brief moment I got off the plane and took my first step out of the airport.
Blue skies, happy sun, nothing but the sea in front of you. And the limousine bus waiting to bring you to town. It was the perfect summer holiday, it seemed.
I had absolutely no idea about Takamatsu when I landed. Only some Japanese brochures that told me about mountains and gardens and seas, but nothing about udon. And the fact that I wanted no mountain nor garden nor sea, but only udon.
Kagawa is the smallest prefecture in Japan, and it is said that on this island, there are about 800 Sanuki udon shops, the bulk of which are found in its largest city, Takamatsu.
Not a surprising fact, if you see a standalone udon shop every other minute during the bus ride to town.
I wasted no time the minute I got off the bus at the last stop – the main Takamatsu train station. I had only about six hours left before I had to head back toward the airport.
So I started walking.
Clueless, directionless, helpless. Still, I walked. I didn’t exactly know what I was looking for, but I knew the good ones must be hiding somewhere. And they had to be the cheap ones.
And that was where I made my first stop. That would be breakfast part ‘A’.
To the uninitiated (or should I rightfully say, to the ignorant?), udon seems just like one of those simplest fare in the world that goes as an accompaniment to other meatier stuff and only serves to fulfill the “carbohydrate” portion of your meal. But as I learned from the movie, udon is anything but simple. And true to its essence, the movie tells you about the pride of udon masters (mostly grumpy obasans and ojisans) and their works; it tells me at least, that the only way to appreciate udon is to taste it unadulterated.
And “kake” is the word. (I think.)
Oh, and may I add, you probably can’t get udon this cheap in Tokyo. Good udon. All of 150 yen.
Okay, I must confess. 150 yen buys you a ‘sho’ portion. Which means ‘small’. Which in turn means it only tickles my stomach. Which really means I could very well have parts B, C, D, E for breakfast, or whatever.
Summer’s terrible in Japan. And it was probably a bad idea to have kake udon in summertime.
It took me about 45 minutes to find the first shop, and I was done in ten. My perspiration had not even evaporated by the time I slurped the last bit of the soup and stepped out on my way for number two.
Oh oh oh. I have to add this now. Nothing feels greater than the fact that in Japan, you can SLURP like your mom’s not around.
Anyway, walking around aimlessly looking for udon shops in summertime is no joke. It is a feat only for the hungry (me) and the desperate (me again) and the mad (me me ME!).
I walked around in loops and turns, completely ignoring the map (what map?), got distracted a bit by some shopping (yes, there are things to buy in Takamatsu), and my stomach was finally getting really grumpy.
I couldn’t find any more of those quiet little udon shops. Strange as it may sound, but where I was roaming around, it is probably much livelier at night, full of izakayas and other bars.
By day? It is quiet to the point of being almost ghostly. Well, Takamatsu is almost ghostly by itself, anyway.
I was getting really so irritated, I decided to hop into some shop that looked like part of a chain.
Bad idea, perhaps. But my philosophy? In Japan, no food is bad food. Not even chain-store food. Just like my Yoshinoya.
Second round was zaru udon. Probably the wiser choice for summertime.
And when you eat it cold, you get to taste the real Sanuki udon – firm yet chewy, like it bounces back against your teeth with every single bite. It might not be flavorful, yet every mouthful of it only makes you yearn for the next. ‘Sho’ is really a bad idea, but I am on a mission.
Still, I suppose ‘zaru’ is best left for the soba. Udon should go with its shoyu broth.
I hit the street again immediately after round two.
I walked for two reasons: one, of course, is to look for the next udon. Two? I had to freakin’ walk off all the udon just so I could have more.
This time, I was more surprised at what I stumbled upon. My favorite Paul! And another one. So many Pauls!
Honestly? The stomach was still not quite happy after round two.
The search had to speed up.
And then, I saw it. A very homely-looking shop that had some smoke coming out from the window that doubled up as a walk-by storefront.
It would have been awesome if I’d stumbled upon some really homemade, traditional udon. But it wasn’t. Takoyaki it was instead.
No, no takoyaki. This is a udon mission. But it looks so cute. It smells good too.
Okay, just TRY SOME. Don’t fill your stomach with it. Just TRY. SOME.
There wasn’t any technogically advanced system working in the shop. Just a granny. And she’s probably a granny who drives a Nissan March cuter than my car. I had to wait a long while for my eight tako balls, and I wished she sold some biru in the meantime.
TRYing was only the devil’s advocate. Those takoyaki are probably the best ones I have ever tasted. Chewy chewy chewy chewy, with giant bits of tako. No mayonaise like the Japanese, just the sauce, thank you very much.
I gobbled up all eight balls in a flash.
By now, it was already two in the p.m.. I had only about two hours to go, before I had to seriously figure my way back to the main station.
The takoyaki made my stomach rather happy. But I wasn’t. I had only two bowls of udon, far off from my target.
Two more hours, two more bowls. That will be it, that’s the plan.
I found the next bowl in an ugly shop. I can’t describe it, I don’t know how to. But it’s just ugly. Looking like an old school tuckshop, the shop had a stern-looking woman serving the udon, it played cheesy Japanese music that sounded like it came from the ‘80s, the walls were beige and completely bare, and the ugliness stood out more because it was way past lunchtime and I was the only patron. It was just ugly.
The kake udon was probably its only saving grace. And that’s all that really matters, no?
Quarter to three.
I had ventured too far out, or so I thought. The heat wasn’t the only thing that was making me sweat now.
The final plan? Start making my way back to the station and keep my eyes open for any interesting udon shop along the way.
I think I did the second part pretty well, but not the first. Because an hour later, I found myself back at the takoyaki shop! I had been following not the road signs, but anything that might look like an udon shop, and ended up walking in one big circle.
It was almost four, and I was really fucked.
No more mood for udon.
I haven’t mentioned the finer details, but I was getting really tired. My back was really breaking, my knees were really burning, I was getting really burnt from the sun.
By now, I really didn’t feel like walking one more step. I just wanted to sleep.
If I still want any more adventure in my life, I’d better start getting serious about my strength and endurance training.
The one thing I’m still proud of, though, is my navigation skills. Very important for adventures like this.
In no time, I was back on track toward the station. I just had to keep my eyes focused.
Last round: right outside the station itself. And it turned out my favorite of all. Maybe because I could finally sit. Or maybe, it’s just that freakin’ egg.
I zonked out completely on the 45-minute bus ride to the airport. COMPLETELY. I hadn’t felt this tired in a long while.
It sounded only appropriate if I followed by saying I zonked out all the way on the plane and on the train ride back to the hotel, and I crashed into bed till the next day.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I looked for headphones in Akihabara, got hungry (YES, after four bowls of udon and eight tako balls, hunger struck) and thirsty, settled for yakitori and biru in a cheerful crowded standing (fuck) bar, got my nose pinched umpteen times by some weirdo who proclaimed his love for me, before I finally crashed in bed.
And I crashed big time.
I love my udon.
I love my adventures.
Sapporo’s next.
*****
I can’t believe I have so much to say about udon today, when I usually have only two lines about my life otherwise.
It’s now three in the morning, I have only less than two hours before I troop out again for my final mission.
I really, really, really don’t wanna go home.
*****
Seriously seriously seriously?
My real reason for getting away from the Honks?
Just so I can wear illegal shoes everyday.
No comments:
Post a Comment