Thursday, August 27--Don't wanna be a fool

An old Japanese saying goes, “A wise man climbs Mt. Fuji once. Only a fool does it twice.” (The axiom does not mention women because they were forbidden to climb it until 1868.) Given a choice, I’d always prefer to be wise than a fool, so we have made plans to hike to the 12,388-foot summit on this, the last official weekend of the 2009 climbing season. Hoping to beat at least some of the crowd, Jim, Pat, Angela, Aaron, and Patrick all took a day off from work so we can climb most of the way tomorrow, spend the night on the mountain, then see the sunrise and descend on Saturday (when, we hope, the majority of the foot traffic will be headed up).

A little background info on Mt. Fuji. This nearly symmetrical volcanic cone is the tallest peak in Japan at 3776 meters (12,388 ft), on a circular base 126 km (78.5 miles) in circumference. It is only open for climbing during July and August, because that is when the weather is the least forbidding (although we are still prepared for the possibility of gale-force winds, torrential downpours, icy fog, and freezing temperatures at the top). The mountain has always been considered sacred among the Japanese, especially to those who practice Shintoism, yet only about 1% of the population ever climbs to the summit. (Guess that means many of the 200,000 people who climb each year are crazy gaijin [foreigners] like us.) Fuji-san is a dormant volcano, which last erupted in 1707, spreading 4-6 inches of ash over Tokyo, some 60 miles away as the crow flies.

We’ve talked to many people who have made it to the top of Mt. Fuji and lived to tell the tale (in fact, Jim is one of them, although I didn’t want to broadcast that too widely since this weekend’s trip will officially land him in the “fool” category). I’ve been critically comparing their physical fitness levels to my own so-so status, factoring in my always unpredictable rheumatoid arthritis, weighing the stability of my surgically-repaired knee, and praying my determination to say, “I did it” will outweigh any physical shortcomings I may have. I’m excited and nervous at the same time, and almost have that giddy night-before-Christmas feeling of anticipation.

The whole gang is coming over for a carb-loading spaghetti dinner this evening, and we’ll discuss final preparations for our adventure—what clothes we’re taking, how much water to bring, what snacks will travel well. After dinner, Jim and I will charge the camera, raid the pantry for granola bars, beef jerky, peanuts, and M&Ms, lay out our clothes, load up the essential gear in our backpacks, then try to catch a couple hours sleep before our early morning departure.

Wednesday, August 26--Seriously, you want me to eat that?

Two of Jim’s most outgoing and sociable office mates are leaving Japan this week, so they arranged a farewell dinner for themselves at the Officers’ Club. Somehow they convinced the management and chefs to offer an Escoffier Dinner smack dab in the middle of the week, on the condition that enough of their coworkers made reservations to make the endeavor worthwhile for the chefs. These sorts of things are normally reserved for the weekend, since each course is paired with a suitable wine, which could make getting up for work the next day difficult for some people. (Normally, I would fall into this category, but since I am the designated driver this evening, the point is moot.)

For those of you not familiar with this type of meal, “Escoffier” is French for “gross things people wouldn’t normally eat if we called them by their English names.” The chefs prepare elaborate dishes of amazingly tiny proportions, combining ingredients that are aisles apart in the grocery store for a very good reason. In the past, Escoffier dinners at the O Club have been chock full of seafood, making them an automatic pass for Jim. Tonight’s menu was light on seafood, but ingredients in four of the seven courses still worried me. Amazingly, Mikey’s words of advice from the Life cereal commercials were very appropriate this evening—“Try it, you’ll like it!”

I like salmon, but am not a big fan of smoked salmon, so I had my doubts about the appetizer, a “satiny-smooth mixture” of smoked salmon and gelled consommé. The taste was not bad; the texture was a bit weird, and probably not something I’d order again on my own. You can’t go wrong with the second course, a salad, unless of course you add foie gras to it. In my book, there is nothing you can do to liver—blend it up and mold it in a pretty shape, add exotic spices, give it a fancy French name—that will make it palatable. I wasn’t holding out much hope for the soup course, either, a chilled watermelon soup garnished with goat cheese and basil. Never in a million years would I have thought to mix those three items together, but the combination was surprisingly delicious, and something I probably would order again.

The first entrée, and the fourth worrisome dish, was quail with soba noodles and asparagus. I've only seen quail on the hoof in my grandparents' yard, never on a dinner plate, and I was taken aback by just how small a bird it is under those feathers. It should have been served with a scalpel and forceps, because trying to get the meat off tiny fragile little quail bones with a traditional knife and fork caused unspeakable carnage. Maybe it was meant to be eaten with your fingers, but that just seemed wrong for what could have been a meal served in a five-star restaurant. Guess I’ll have to see what Google says about quail-eating-etiquette.

A palate cleanser of mikan (Japanese tangerine) sorbet was served next, and I gladly would have eaten a bucket of it. Not only because it was so refreshing and delicious, but because every course so far had been so small. I realize that you can’t have full American-size servings of every dish when you are eating a seven-course meal, but with only two courses to go, I was planning a McDonald’s drive-thru run.

Just from the description on the menu, the second entrée initially held the most promise for me as most likely to be liked. The seared beef tenderloin with shiitake lived up to my expectations, and I even got to snitch the uneaten mushrooms from Jim’s plate. However, with about three bites to go, everything we had eaten so far finally caught up with me, and I began scaling down my McDonald’s order. And by the time I finished my dessert of grilled pound cake covered with vanilla yogurt and fresh peaches, I hadn’t room for even a single Chicken McNugget.

As a culinary adventure, this was certainly a memorable night. As a farewell dinner, it left a little to be desired since there was no time between courses to mingle with the guests of honor. Nevertheless, thank you Adam and Brenda for the opportunity to expand my gastronomic repertoire. Your willingness to try new things, and your encouragement for others to join you in such adventures will be missed!

Monday, August 17--Hindsight is 20/20

Dragging out our trip until the last possible moment seemed like a good idea at the time. Since we’d been in Japan a year, we wanted to spend as much time as possible with friends and family, not knowing when our next trip home will be. Kind of rethinking that decision this morning as we drag ourselves through the normal Monday routine. Even though we left the States on Saturday, we didn’t get back to our house in Japan until late yesterday evening. The few hours we had before bedtime were filled with trying not to step on the cat (who was sure we had abandoned her forever) weaving around our feet, unpacking suitcases and doing laundry, taking stock of the grocery situation, and laying out clean clothes and other paraphernalia for work this morning. No time for overcoming jet lag or easing back into the daily routine. Will remember today’s unpleasantness when planning the next trip…

Thursday-Tuesday, August 6-11--This is the life for me

So much to do on this visit to the States. After two weeks of somewhat frenetic activity, including cross-country visits to friends and relatives, doctor’s appointments, a class for Jim, and marathon shopping for me, we spent five gloriously relaxing days in the cool mountains of North Carolina. With not a single obligation, no schedule, and only spotty internet service, we were able to enjoy some much-needed down time.

If you ever need a place to get away from it all—traffic, phone calls, summer heat and humidity, kitchen duty, whatever—I highly recommend the Cataloochee Ranch in Maggie Valley, NC. For 75 years, the Alexander family has welcomed guests to the ranch and treated them like family—at least one member of the family sits down with guests as the host at every meal. We rented one of the ranch’s twelve cabins, The Pond House, named for its proximity to the trout pond (whose residents were intentionally well-fed to dampen their enthusiasm for baited fishhooks), and only a short walk from the main ranch house and its home-cooked meals.

Our days started with a huge country breakfast of eggs, meat, oatmeal, biscuits and fruit. Then we headed out on whatever adventure we had chosen for the day—hiking, horseback riding, a ride on the Great Smokey Mountains Railroad, a trip down the mountain into town (don’t waste your time or money visiting “Ghost Town in the Sky”—its days as a B-grade Wild West-themed amusement park are numbered). Then back to the ranch for an afternoon nap before a just-like-Grandma-used-to-make dinner. After dinner, there was usually a campfire where we could enjoy the cool evening air and chat with other guests, some of whom had been coming to the ranch every summer for thirty years or more.

I dread this morning’s final mountain descent, and the ensuing return to the real world, where the humidity is high, the temperatures are higher, the dentist awaits, a 14-hour flight back to Japan looms on the calendar, and there are no good smells coming from the kitchen.

Friday, July 24--Goodbye Granddad, I Love You

Today we said a final farewell to my grandfather. Having served as a sergeant in the U.S. Army during WWII, he was eligible to have his ashes inurned in the Columbarium at Arlington National Cemetery. When we were kids, Granddad never talked about the army, or the time he spent in Africa during the war. When we got older and he showed us the pictures he had kept from that time, although he could name all of the soldiers whose faces looked out at us from the faded black and whites, he had very few stories to share. I’m not sure if he thought we wouldn’t be interested, or if he just chose not to recall the details of that period of his life.

The stories my grandfather did tell were anecdotes from Arlington National Cemetery. That place was alternately his pride and joy and his greatest burden. You see, he worked for twelve years as the Facilities Manager at ANC, which meant any time someone needed preparations for an upcoming event or a solution for a middle-of-the-night crisis, Granddad got the call. His responsibilities were varied, from maintaining roads, to fixing electrical glitches, to supervising movie crews, to planning new construction (including the Columbarium in which his ashes now rest). Once during a torrential summer rainstorm, Granddad had to go relight the eternal flame at the Kennedy gravesite—the call to report its outage had come all the way from Japan! (Granddad figured a Japanese tourist noticed it and called home to tell friends and relatives, “You’ll never believe what I just saw.…”)

In my heart, I believe it was his service to the cemetery and not his service to our country during the war that prompted Granddad’s wishes to be buried in Arlington. He could have still received military honors had he chosen to be buried in the family cemetery on the Eastern Shore. But for twelve years, Arlington was his family, demanding his time, his energy, his attention and his affection, just like a child. Looking through the pillars of the Columbarium, across the endless rows of pristine white headstones while the bugler played Taps, the riflemen fired their 21-gun salute, and the chaplain presented the folded flag to Granddad’s wife, I felt Arlington open its arms to welcome my grandfather and return all the love he had invested there. Granddad has gone home.

Thursday, July 23--Have you driven a Ford lately?

If I hadn’t been so tired when we arrived yesterday, I would have refused to even take the keys from the rental car agent. What the heck were they thinking, giving a pull-me-over red Ford Mustang to a sleep-deprived, lead-footed, been-gone-for-a-year driver who isn’t even sure which side of the car to get in? Never mind the fact that I have no proof of insurance to show police should the need arise, since my only coverage is provided by the credit card I used for the rental. Might as well just put a big sign on the roof asking the cops to pull me over.

After having dinner with Jenny and Mike, I drove VERY carefully behind Jim’s rental car as we negotiated our way from the Chinese restaurant, through the shopping center parking lot, towards the highway that would lead us to Mom’s house. I may have been tired, but I knew I wasn’t breaking any traffic laws at that point. So when the whoop of a siren made me look back to see flashing blue lights in the rear-view mirror, I thought my moo goo gai pan was going to make a return appearance right there. “You have got to be kidding me. What in the name of Pete could I have possibly done wrong in this parking lot!? Jim, wait…don’t leave me!!!”

Thankfully, the cop drove around me, and pulled in behind Jim’s car, with a second cruiser close behind. “Well, sheesh, what did Jim do?” Turns out, neither of us were their intended targets. They went on around both of us and screeched to a stop outside a jewelry store a little farther up in the shopping center. That was too close for comfort, and there was no way I could handle the pressure of driving that Mustang for three weeks. Before lunch today, we found the Hertz closest to Mom’s house, and exchanged the attention-grabbing muscle car for a less conspicuous Honda Accord.

Wednesday, July 22--Homeward Bound

Just nine days shy of the one-year anniversary of our arrival in Japan, we are headed back to the States for three weeks. My grandfather’s inurnment at Arlington National Cemetery and a class Jim must attend are the over-riding reasons for our trip, but I admit I have other priorities. Seeing our moms; catching up with friends; bass fishing in our favorite pond (and slurping down a strawberry slushie when we’re done); shopping for American-size clothes; and chowing down at Chick-Fil-A and Cracker Barrel. Other things I am looking forward to are reading roadside billboards, walking into an unfamiliar restaurant and being confident that I am not ordering a dish that contains unidentifiable fish parts (a real hazard here when you can’t read Japanese), and chatting with the cashiers when I go shopping. While I haven’t felt really homesick since we’ve been here, there are lots of little things I took for granted in the States that I miss and will be glad to experience again.

Things I am not looking forward to…the fourteen hour plane ride and learning again how to drive on the right-hand side of the road.