Shop Till You Drop

The other day I found out that some grocery stores deliver. And, some will actually deliver for FREE if you spend at least 10,000 Yen (about $100). Spending this amount of money at the grocery store is not a problem: I am raising three growing boys, one who's nickname is Big Country; and I currently live in a country where prices are double and serving sizes are halved, so a box of cereal here lasts about, let's see, about two seconds. Just one second more than a liter of milk. Although carrying two bags of groceries home from the store every afternoon is exercising arm muscles I didn't even know I had (Oh my goodness! Is that a tricep?), I am here for an adventure and decided to give delivery a try.

In my USA life, the shopping routine went like this: drive up to the curb of the supermarket on Sunday afternoon and basically fill up the back of my minivan with every item from aisles 2-10. Eat well until Thursday. Go out to dinner Friday night. Pick through peanut butter, leftover pot roast and pie crusts on Saturday. Repeat on Sunday.

This time, I rode two trains; carried 25,000 Yen cash (about $250-just in case); walked past the Russian Embassy; and strolled down a few blocks to the 2-story grocery store. Inside, I found bratwursts, Doritos, ginger ale, big packages of meat, plus aisles and aisles of great local food with English signs, so I was able to write English on the label so I knew what I was bringing home. So, that's cream cheese! Look! Microwave popcorn!

And, that's when the adventure began. I didn't realize that once you purchase your groceries, it gets bagged, boxed, dri-iced, and delivered. Basically, I didn't realized that I had to beat the delivery van home. So, he had to fight Tokyo traffic and find limited parking space, but I had to travel back on two trains wearing Comfort Mocs and a puffy periwinkle winter coat. This was not a fair race. I wished I hadn't skipped breakfast.

I tried to remember the running skills my friend Ming has tried to teach me over the years. I paid with my left hand, while pumping up my right arm and turning my feet to the door. Eyes on the prize! Go!

I ran across the street and up two blocks. I ran past the security at the Russion Embassy. I ran down the flights of stairs. I put my tickets through the wicket. I caught the train and my breath. I caught the second train and a break--a seat. When I got to my stop, my grocery-carrying-toned-triceps helped propel me down the street into my apartment building, up the stairs and into my apartment. I made it. And, I definitely earned my Haagan Daaz Green Tea Ice Cream treat.

Ding! Dong!

I deliberately greeted the delivery man with an overly polite graceful bow, so he wouldn't notice how sweaty, grimy and out of shape I was. But just in case he did, I've decided to avoid the store for a week or so. No worries, I've got plenty of microwave popcorn.

Fire Queen

Yesterday I went...wait for it...wait for it...grocery shopping. OK, so pretty much for the past 6 weeks I have gone grocery shopping every day, but shopping is a true adventure and yesterday was a true milestone.

When I entered this grocery store the first time, I felt like I had landed on Planet Tokyo. Everything looked different, even the vegetables. All the labels were in Hiragana or Katakana, so I couldn't read them--instead I had to study the pictures on the labels to see if I could figure out the item or what you would use it for (Oh! Is that Tony the Tiger!! I think this is Frosted Flakes). The meat comes packaged in small 200 gram portions and very thinly sliced. My head instantly hurt. It actually felt like I was taking the SATs: How many grams in a pound? How much is 3,000 Yen and is it enough? How many thin slices of meat can be smooshed together to create a hamburger? If one train leaves the station at 9 AM going 45 mph carrying a bushel of apples and the other train leaves station B at 11:30 going 60 miles per hour....

"Honey," I said to my husband in a panic. "I think I need a #2 pencil."
My husband, who did much better on his SATs than myself, did all the shopping that night.

The second time I went grocery shopping, I was a sucker for anything--any box, any liquid, any thing, that had English written on it.
"Hey, Mom," my son said. "What's for dinner?"
I held up a box with bold English letters.
"We're having TACO KIT and we're drinking AQUARIUS." I actually don't know what Aquarius means, but it is a cool song.

"Hey, Mom," my son said the next night. "What's for dinner?"
"Dinner," I answered. "Seriously, the label on the box says DINNER."
The DINNER spice mix was actually curry. Hot curry. Hot hot curry. Very hot, hot, hot curry.

"Hey, Mom," my son said after he took his first bite. "I think from now on, I'll call you Fire Queen."

The next time I went grocery shopping, I confidently filled a basket with vegetables, bought 400 grams of thinly-sliced chicken, and a bag of rice. I also closed my eyes and randomly picked out a liquid of black sauce. I was hoping for soy sauce, but it easily could have been dark corn syrup. Or Cola.
"Hey, Mom," my son said. "What's for dinner?"
"Stir fry," I answered.
"Didn't we have that last night?"
"No, son," I answered. "Last night we had Chicken, Broccoli, Snow Peas and Mushrooms over Rice with a Soy/Corn/Cola Sauce."
My son looked at me. "What's the difference?"
I looked at him. "The name."

But yesterday, with 6 weeks of education and experience under my belt, I passed the Grocery Store Test. I can now identify and appreciate many of the ingredients. I know where to find what I need and how many grams to buy. I can buy the appropriate weight to carry home by myself. And, thanks to a cooking class, I can read the soy sauce label and serve at least one non-curry dinner Japanese style-lots of smaller dishes filled with tasty, fresh, healthy food.

Mr. Miyagi, I believe I have earned the rank of orange belt.

Fuzzy rice and Tonkatsu

Well, we've been in Tokyo just over a month now, so we decided to celebrate in true Tokyo style. Oh yeah, we bought a rice cooker.

It's not just any rice cooker mind you. It has many buttons, displays and beeps; it looks like a little R2D2 and probably can even show a hidden message about the Force, but all I do is push the one English button.
"Mom," my son asked. "What are you doing?"
"I'm making rice."
"No, Mom," he said. "You're making fuzzy rice."
He was right. The one English button that I pushed to start the machine actually says "Fuzzy" on it. (I'm thinking that it should probably say "Fluffy" instead??) Anyway, we had rice for dinner that night and many nights after and it tastes perfect every time...and not at all fuzzy, to the great disappointment of my six-year-old son who wanted to write about fuzzy rice in his school journal.

The other update is that we are learning how to read.
"I know what that says," my husband said last night. He was looking at a sign at a restaurant. He's been taking Japanese lessons.
"Me too," my oldest son said who is also taking lessons. "I can read it too! I can read. I can finally read."
"So," I said, after a few minutes of high-fiving and fist-pounding to celebrate with them. "What does it say?"
"Tonkatsu!" my husband and kids yelled. "Tonkatsu! Tonkatsu!"
"So what does that mean?" I asked after a few minutes.
Awkward silence. The ol' translation buzz kill.
Here, you need to do a triple translation. First, figure out if it's hiragana or katakana, then read it, and then translate to English.

I looked up tonkatsu in my dictionary when we got home. That's right. We were fist-pounding on the streets of Tokyo about "pork cutlets." Yes!

Pondo-san

Call me Pondo-san.

And, if that doesn't work after a few minutes, please go ahead and smack me on the back of the head.

We've been here in Tokyo a month now and we are starting to settle in. I can actually say a few phrases in Japanese: "excuse me," "good day" (before 11 a.m.); "good day" (after 11 a.m.); "thank you" (formal), "thank you" (informal), and "I'm sorry for thanking you informally when I should have thanked you formally. Excuse me. Sorry. Good Day. Thank you. Sorry. Good Day. Sorry".

I've also invented the Sumimasen Shrug. "Sumimasen" means "excuse me." You use this when you accidentally bump into someone, if you are trying to get out of the subway or if you need attention at a restaurant. However, if you add a helpless shrug with the phrase, I have found that you can gain some sympathy while grocery shopping (my biggest challenge). "Sumimasen (with shrug)soba noodles?" "Sumimasen (with shrug) chicken?" "Sumimasen (with shrug) stain stick?" "Sumimasen (with shrug) my rock?"

Oh, yes, my rock. I love my rock. Due to the fact that I can't read or write Japanese signs, that the charming streets twist and turn, and that many of the streets still look the same to me, I've had to become vigilantely visual to find my way around. (I had thought about leaving a Hansel and Gretel bread crumb trail when I leave the apartment, but because of the hungry crows that hover and the fact that a sleeve of bread only comes with 8 slices and costs 400 Yen, I decided to find another strategy.) So, for now, I am memorizing routes by sights and smells: a faded blue punch buggy and an immobile scooter guide me to the school bus stop and back; colorful springs on a tree means the 100 Yen store (Dollar Store) is near and my rock means home is right around the corner.

"Hey," a mom I met at the bus stop said to me the other day as we both idled at a train crossing. She was in a car. I was walking. "What are you doing? Allergies?"
"Oh,no," I said. "I'm just sniffing around for the pine smell. If I can find and follow the pine smell, it will lead me home from here."
She looked stunned. "Wow," she answered. "You already figured out The Pine Smell! You're doing great!"

I wasn't sure how to answer, so I just did my kind of cute Sumimasen Shrug.