The ol' Song and Dance Routine

Here we go again.

Last time I was at this store I was looking for soba-long, thin buckwheat noodles (As a side note, oh man, do I wish I was long and thin like a soba noodle). A mother at our bus stop had mentioned that foreigner kids like soba. So, I wanted to give them a try. But first I had to find them.

"Can you tell me where I can find noodles?" I asked the clerk at the grocery store. From the look on his face, I instantly knew that this would be a lost in translation moment. A lost-in-aisle six-translation moment. And, just before I started to pretend to slurp imaginary noodles, I decided to try my favorite phrase and frequent savior: "sumimasen" (excuse me).

"Sumimasen....soba noodles?"
"Hai!" The clerk said. ("Hai" means "I understand" and I understand how much I love hearing this answer). He showed me the soba...and then curiously watched as I took a digital picture of the package.(Hey! Every foreigner has his or her own survival system. Mine is to shop with a photo album and camera....which usually means I shop alone.)

And now here I am again.
"Frosting?" I asked the clerk. "Cupcake frosting?" I had found cake mix and muffin tins on my own, but I couldn't find the frosting. It's got to be here.
"Sumimasen...frosting?" I asked again. This time no "Hai." No Hai? No Hai? Oh no.

Oh no. Here we go.

I had remembered to bring my camera, my train pass, my yen, my id card and my metro map, but I didn't remember to bring my translation dictionary.

Here we go. Time for the ol' song and dance routine. I pointed to the frosting part of the cake on the cake mix box. I cleared my throat, blew out imaginary candles, and started to sing: "Happy birthday to you...happy birthday to you..."

"No. No. No," the clerk said.
"I know. I'm sorry," I said. "I'm a terrible, terrible singer. My family cannot carry a tune. But what we lack in talent, we make up for in enthusiasm." I enthusiastically smiled.
"No. No. No," he said again as he pointed to the picture. "In Japan, we do not import icing."

What? No. No. No. No. No. No. It's my son's birthday and he was planning to bring cupcakes to school for his first grade class.

OK. OK. OK. At this point, some may have gagged or groaned or grimaced.
But, I googled. And, I was able to find a frosting recipe and a conversion table for the wet and dry ingredients.

"You taste it," my son said to his older brother. "You're the oldest, you go first."
"No," my son said as he looked at the cupcakes. "It's your birthday. You have the first bite."
"Mom," my birthday boy said after the first bite. "It tastes good, but it looks...weird."

He was only 7, but he was right. I had never made homemade frosting before, but it did look weird. Very weird. Maybe it was the butter? The milk? Maybe it was converting the recipe to metric? And maybe, just maybe, with a little creativity, the cupcakes could actually look appetizing?

And, that's why, in case the school asks, that's why my son went to school with cupcakes completely covered with chocolate candies.

Hai!