Let's talk turkey

With Halloween now nearly a month behind us, it’s time for those of you back in the US to shift gears and engage in another one of those mystical American traditions: the Thanksgiving Day feast. I have to admit, while it’s always seemed rather odd to me why we have two harvest festivals in short succession – one to decorate pumpkins and the other to eat them, I suppose – I have never been one to shy away from generous portions of food (as those who know me can attest). It is therefore with some disappointment that I have discovered no direct equivalent for our American habit of stuffing turkeys with which to stuff ourselves, accompanied by copious amounts of sleeping and watching of televised sports events.

It has, however, been something of a pleasure instructing my first-year students these past couple of weeks on the many and varied foodstuffs we shovel by the mouthful on this day, among them the aforementioned turkey and stuffing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes and gravy, salad, string bean casserole, a variety of vegetables, and a plethora of pies (but chiefly apple, pumpkin, and sweet potato). They are interested in my own pictures of the event, as well as the impossibly large feast that Japanese people rarely indulge in at home. But they are mostly curious about the food itself.

It may not strike people in the US as unusual to eat things like turkey even year-round, but the bird is native to the Americas (the name comes from its general air of the exotic when first introduced to Europe, not an Ottoman pedigree). Other items, such as pumpkin, are also technically from the Americas, but the general unavailability of turkey here gives it an air of mystery to the students, perhaps not unlike that which greeted it when it first arrived in the Old World centuries ago. OK, so maybe I’ve exaggerated the size a tiny bit – they are big birds, after all – but I think they’d still be fascinated otherwise.

Of course, all this talk of Thanksgiving has left me with pangs of longing for a home-cooked meal, and to be around family and friends back in the North Country. Last year, my experience was still too new for me to be all that concerned, but for this time, I’ve requested (and my parents have obliged) a shipment of stove-top stuffing and cranberry gelatin dessert, just to give something of the proper feeling. Obviously a turkey is out of the question, but maybe I can find a smallish chicken to substitute (and to fit inside my microwave that doubles as an oven). We’ll see.

Of course, Japan is not totally bereft of feasting; the main concern is simply one of space and adequate kitchen apparatus. With the typical apartment not being very conducive to large gatherings, and the typical kitchen lacking anything like the requisite number of burners or oven space for proper cooking, these events are usually held at restaurants, where the food is plentiful and the elbow-room more generous.

These feasts come chiefly in two varieties. The first is enkai, which most readily translates to “banquet”. At a restaurant or inn, large groups of people are presented with a multi-course meal of a pre-planned menu, interspersed with important announcements, games (sometimes with prizes), and a slightly more formalized atmosphere. These are generally held to commemorate specific events (welcoming or going-away parties, celebrations, or other similar milestones), and are either paid-for by the group in advance, or through a predetermined contribution from each participant. The second kind is the uchiage, or “party”, usually held after participating in some kind of event and through the voluntary attendance of its members. The menu is not set, but items are ordered by individuals for the entire table, providing a sampling of finger-foods that accumulate until you start wondering who ordered that last round of fried squid rings, or where the beer in front of you came from after you’d already decided you really ought to walk home under your own power that evening. It’s a lot of fun (and with the chorus, there’s some spontaneous singing mixed in there too), though when the bill comes, it always seems impossible that any one person could have eaten as much as they’re claiming you ought to pay for. Maybe the fun is calculated into the total, as well.

There is actually one meal for large groups that’s usually eaten at home, and that’s nabe, or hot-pot cooking. It’s something that can be had year-round at most restaurants, but it’s especially common in winter, and that goes double for the end-of-year party, or bonenkai. Basically, you boil vegetables along with some kind of meat (in Osaka, often a non-poisonous variety of pufferfish) in a special pot at the center of the table, throw in more ingredients when it starts to get thin, and repeat until no one can eat anymore. There’s also a point where you throw in rice to make ochazuke and use up the rest of the broth, but last year I didn’t make it that far. We’ll see how I do next month. Until then, I’ll just have to make do, and quietly give thanks for the many things I can do here.

Taking out the trash

In every person’s domestic life, there are unpleasant realities that must be faced every now and again. While overall, things may be quite decent, we are forced to come to terms with something that is distasteful, perhaps even disgusting. For me, this is more than a constant annoyance; it’s a fact of life. I am talking, of course, about what to do with my garbage.

I must confess, the Japanese system for dealing with one’s household waste is one of the areas of the country that truly mystifies me. While I do empty my trash regularly and take it out to be collected, those who have encountered me along the way have always told me that I’m doing it wrong (while, in typical Japanese fashion, neglecting to give me anything more specific to go on). I don’t think I could possibly be alone in this.

For one thing, there are very specific rules about how you are supposed to divide up your garbage. Ideally, you ought to have a bag (translucent) for burnables, abag (translucent) for non-burnables, a bag (translucent) for recyclable bottles (washed, de-labeled, and de-capped), a bag (translucent) for cans, bundled newspapers, and a somewhat-less-than-helpful category indicated by “other”. While I have tried to hold to this ideal, I have to admit that there are times when I maybe didn’t completely adhere to these rules completely, or occasionally, at all. I don’t think I should be blamed for this, though: Japanese laws on the subject of trash are complex, draconian, and above all else, somewhat arbitrary with regards to what fits in what category. Back when I did my homestay in 2006, I was constantly being hounded for putting something in the wrong receptacle, even if (to me, at least) it looked like it belonged there. I mean, where’s the harm, right?

The other thing that earns my constant ire is figuring out which day is supposed to be trash day. Apparently, there are several: one – or possibly two – day(s) for burnables, one (maybe more) for non-burnables, one for recyclables, etc. The only problem is, no one I know can explain to me which day is which. There is a sign outside my apartment (as well as many others) that threatens fines towards individuals who violate the proper trash day to leave articles sitting outside in plain view until the day they’re supposed to be picked up, but the chart which gives those days is either blank or faded to the point of invisibility. Someone I talked to told me it was somewhere on the city’s website, but I haven’t been able to find the schedule there, either. Maybe Japanese people just communicate this information by chemical signals or something, like some tree species. Sometimes, I can’t help but wonder.

One of my fellow ALTs, the Welshman, seems to have taken to the sorting and disposal of rubbish here in Japan a bit better than me, but even he is at a loss to try and explain what I have to do. Maybe he’s started picking up the chemical signals too. At the very least, we can both be slightly amused at an odd Japanese trend we’ve both noticed: while the US and the UK cannot agree on standard terminology for waste (we Americans prefer “trash” or “garbage”, while the British insist on “rubbish”), most Japanese trash cans we’ve seen use neither, opting instead for the (perhaps Japan-only) term “dust box”. Very odd.

At any rate, the supposed fines threatened by the sign have thus far failed to materialize, so I mostly just try to take stuff out with some semblance of regularity. After all, my apartment is by no means large, and small amounts of trash can quickly accumulate to a level I just can’t keep lying around. Against regulations or not, it ain’t staying in here. Just don’t tell the city government I said that – as a public employee, I should at least maintain appearances as a law-abiding citizen. One cannot always play the role of the oblivious foreigner…

I think I'm turning Japanese

When you live in a foreign country, there eventually comes a certain time where you realize that you have long passed the initial culture shock, and have more or less adjusted to the daily rhythms, expectations, and societal norms of the people around you. On an intellectual level, you may still regard the local customs as curious, quaint, or any number of other things, but on some level you have begun to internalize the unspoken assumptions, expectations, and even speech habits of your neighbors, which helps you get by. You may never truly “fit in” or “pass” as a local, but you have nevertheless been indelibly marked by the place you have made your home. (Then, if you ever move on, you get to experience the whole process of acculturation all over again, starting with a fresh round of culture-shock.)

I suppose it’s inevitable; stay anywhere long enough, even in the same country, and you begin to take on something of the local color. My parents, raised and educated in New Jersey, have spent the last twenty-five years or so in Clayton, and now their accents are much more North Country than Garden State. And while I may not have been here in Japan for nearly as long, I’m definitely exhibiting signs of having absorbed some Japanese habits.

Two recent incidents in particular have drawn my attention to this development. The first happened just the other day in class, as I was demonstrating a conversation with the Japanese-native English teacher. But at the end of the skit, as my character was about to say goodbye, turn, and walk away, I did something entirely unintended: I bowed. In Japan, it’s not out of place to do so at that particular moment; in fact, it’s expected. But the gesture is – from the standpoint of Anglophones – entirely unnecessary, and at any rate, it was completely involuntary on my part. I had simply become so used to bowing at that particular social cue that my spine, as if obliging some innate need, dutifully curved forward for me. As you can imagine, this was embarrassing, to say the least, and it drew some unsolicited laughter from the student audience. I just grinned sheepishly and told the students they didn’t need to imitate that part. But somewhere deep inside, I was thinking, “I just know I’m going to be that guy who bows to the pizza delivery boy years after I’ve gone home.” If, years later, you do see me deferring a little too much for any sensible American, please be kind.

The second incident happened just the other day at Mister Donut, as I was sitting, drinking coffee, and reading (as per my usual custom). My coffee was just about to run out, and I intended to avail myself of the free refills. But when I looked over at the counter, they were swamped. A big crowd of people had just come in, and the staff were evidently preoccupied. Now here’s where a funny thing happened: I actually caught myself thinking, “well, I don’t really need another cup of coffee right now, do I? They’re obviously busy enough as it is; far be it from me to bother them about some trifling need.” For an instant this seemed perfectly rational, but then I remembered, “waitasec, you’re the customer here! It’s their job to serve you! And what are you hesitating for, anyway? You’re an American, aren’t you? Just go up and say something, already.” I did just that, and the staff were happy to refill my cup even as they juggled multiple customer orders at the main counter. A little American directness goes a long way, but that I had to remember how to use it caught me off-guard.

And while I’m ashamed to admit it, there are even times where, walking down the street, I’ll spot someone who isn’t Japanese and think, “Hey, a foreigner. That’s something you don’t see every day,” before regaining my senses and reminding myself that I’m a foreigner too. I don’t think it’s entirely my fault, since Japan tends to be extremely homogeneous – the society tends to promote sameness in whatever isn’t inborn – to the point that anyone who bucks the trend becomes a visually interesting novelty by comparison. Nevertheless, it’s embarrassing to be caught staring, especially when more than a few Japanese people have been guilty of staring at me while I go about my business, for no other reason than the fact that I look different. Luckily for me, resident aliens in Japan share a secret code for when they pass by one another on the street: a flash of recognition, followed by a knowing nod. It’s not much, but it seems to suggest, “I know what you were thinking, because I just thought the same thing. We’re in the same boat, you and I.” It’s conspiratorial, subversive, and in an odd way reassuring. Lots of foreigners in Japan have had similar experiences to mine, and that one look tells me that I’m not the only one on whom Japan is slowly, almost imperceptibly, working its strange magic. I may be turning Japanese, but at least I’m not the only one.

Architectural malaise

By the time you’re reading this article, the 2008 Elections will have already concluded. It’s certainly a relief, considering the way they dragged on, and no doubt everyone back home is breathing a sigh of relief. For my part, I’d like to extend my congratulations to [ELECT], our next President, as well as my sympathies to [RUNNER-UP], who ran a disciplined and hard-fought campaign but came up short this time. Here’s to the next four years. This article, however, is (mercifully) not about politics this week. Instead, I’d like to turn your attention to something that bugs me.

As I’ve mentioned previously, I have decidedly mixed feelings about the urban sprawl that characterizes much of Japan’s major metropolitan areas. The public transportation and the conveniently-located shops are certainly a plus. Nevertheless, the unbroken lines of buildings can get depressing at times, especially when I can only find the time to get out of the area on weekends. Even this wouldn’t be all bad, though, if not for one, little thing: the architecture.

Don’t get me wrong – I think traditional Japanese architectural is fantastic. The exteriors of contrasting dark wood supports and whitewashed walls topped with decorative tile roofs, and the interiors with their high floors, tatami mats, sliding doors, and rigid geometry are all nigh-inseparable from the notion of Japan itself. The problem, here, is that traditional Japanese architecture makes up a relatively small part of the makeup of any given town, and it is steadily shrinking. What exists in its stead is something that I view as just plain ugly.

Japanese buildings constructed over the past 50 years or so, both dwellings and commercial space, are afflicted with what I like to think of as “modern-itis”. There’s nothing wrong with building to a modern aesthetic in itself, but Japan’s problem is the tendency to rely on two things: boxy prefabricated construction and wildly incongruous architectural styles. The first grows out of simple cost concerns. When building a new house, business, or what have you, it is easiest and cheapest to build something whose plans already exist, rather than design it from scratch. You don’t have to work out any serious design flaws in revisions, and since the constituent parts are already made it’s much faster to construct. But the upshot is that most of these buildings are unimaginatively ugly at best, and completely out of place at worst.

The ones on the “completely out of place” side of the scale grow out of the second sin of Japanese building, which is the wildly incongruous building style. I have nothing against a stately brick house, or a Southwestern-influenced stucco look, or even something vaguely neoclassical. But none of these things belongs in a Japanese neighborhood, and the “brick” houses (thanks to cost concerns and earthquake codes) aren’t even real brick. And if it’s not something new and ridiculously out of step with its surroundings, it’s often being left to decay until it can be replaced with one of these styles. When I walk down the street, I just have to shake my head.

It is entirely strange to me that Japan would have so little attachment to its own signature buildings, but in some ways I guess it makes sense. After all, this is a nation where since time immemorial, periodic floods, tsunamis, fires, earthquakes, wars, and bombings have regularly leveled entire cities. Combine this with the wabi-sabi aesthetic that celebrates flaws and impermanence, and you get a recipe for the seemingly random distribution of new and old, Japanese and Japanese-idea-of-foreign. People are looking ahead instead of back; it’s part of what makes Tokyo seem so futuristic. But at the same time, is it really so much to ask to take better care in preserving what historical buildings remain for a new generation? There are nice old neighborhoods in places like Kyoto, Nara, Kanazawa, and elsewhere that show it can be done and well, but at this point I’d be happy with reasonable facsimiles. You can’t convince me for an instant that a nation as technologically advanced as Japan is incapable of mimicking the traditional architecture with modern materials, safety features, and accessibility. If anything, it seems to be more a matter of building preference than anything else, and to me that’s just a shame. Change and progress are all well and good, but there are some things that are better left not tampered with. It’s too bad more Japanese people don’t see buildings the same way.