What I Felt in America

It was 10 years ago that I last traveled to the United States. This time, I wanted to go to some major league baseball games. I visited three cities in all: Dallas, Boston and New York, with their own baseball teams — a Japanese player or two on each players’ list — the Rangers (Darvish), Red Sox (Uehara and Tazawa), Yankees (Ichiro) and Mets (Matsuzaka).

In Boston and New York, in between games, I visited some sightseeing spots but, everywhere I went, Chinese group tours rudely violated the borders of my view, without fail, bubbles of their gratingly high-pitched prattle spouted out of their coarse-mannered mouths, filling the air that I happened to share with them. Their ill-timed babble filled even the tranquil spaces of the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and such and such places. The voice of the tour guide, too, was loud, imposing on me the necessity of avoiding being in the same section as groups of Chinese for a comfortable viewing experience. I cannot but wonder if there ever is any way to keep their mouths sealed shut.

The U.S. plays second fiddle to Japan in any genre of cuisine, except stadium hot dogs. I had heard beforehand that one famous steakhouse in Dallas owned its own ranch and served meat of the first water, but what realization should vivaciously jig on my taste buds but that the Japanese beef was far more dainty! It was inferior to even standard Japanese beef, still more to the more famous Matsuzaka beef, Kobe beef, etc. The word “inferior” may have been too dagger-sharp, so I would consider myself satisfied by just saying it does not agree with the Japanese palate.

Recently, faux and mislabeled food has ruffled the feathers of our sensitivities. I seldom avail myself of hotel restaurants, since their dishes are extra-expensive, and they charge a service gratuity at that. Among those accused of food mislabeling was the only restaurant where I had been a customer, a Western food restaurant calling itself “Grill Manten Boshi.”

By all accounts, the beef on the steak bowl of choice had been laced with a food additive called a binding agent, making it processed meat, which was not supposed to be labeled “steak.” However, I do not consider myself a victim. Its sauce and shiso, a kind of herb, went well with the rice, dancing inextricably linked with the partners of meat juice and buttered soy sauce, much better than the “authentic” steak of Dallas. It is not as if they misrepresented pork as beef. That delightful reflexive burst of “Tastes good!” is the rule of thumb, I say.

If they dishonestly use banana shrimps in the place of prawns, Japanese tiger prawns in the place of Asian tiger shrimps, our indiscernible eye will, without a doubt, gloss over the differences, if served as part of a Chinese chili sauce, terrine or gratin. I highly doubt that any customer had filed a complaint with any restaurant saying, “This is not the shrimp on the menu!” Indeed, the Mammon-serving, acquisitive restaurateurs should be held accountable for filthily saving ingredient expenses off of our naiveté. However, we the exceedingly credulous diners, bear some responsibility as well.

What does it say that they are demanding that the money be returned, such shared responsibility notwithstanding? Most of the restaurants involved announced that they would respond to such requests, if their claims could be corroborated against the receipts, credit card histories, etc. However, Hankyu Hanshin Hotels Company, the first company to have been embroiled in this latest string of food imbroglios, announced that they might repay the money, even without the receipts. From what I hear, that prompted snaking lines of people demanding repayments at its affiliated hotels. It turns out we had a bunch of ill-mannered hayseeds among us!

Eating at an American restaurant drives home to me how meticulous the Japanese service industry is on the whole. Across the Pacific, there were so many brusque and curt waiters. I do not know if it comes from their kvetches about their benefit packages, but they were engaged in their work in a lobotomized manner. In contrast, Japanese waiters are fully engaged in their interactions with the customer, as well as being kind. They also welcome foreign guests with a beaming smile. The employees at the hotels and restaurants accused of food mislabeling must be working with that hail-fellow-well-met attitude etched in their heart. So, why not cut them some slack? It is just mislabeling, after all. It is a case of barbarism to shriek, “That was a rip-off!” “Egregious!”, “Give me back the money!”, yada, yada, yada — never mind your helplessly unrefined palate.

As someone from the world of rakugo, I can recount a similar story. Hakushu Togetsusan’s bon mot at the beginning of his routine comes to mind. Here is a brief summary: Most of the shows touting themselves as meijin kai or rakugo by masters are just so in name only. Not a single master comes up on stage!

“The world of rakugo can’t put in a two cents’ worth with a patronizing air about the scandal,” he said. Indeed, at such shows across the country, no customer will blow a gasket at the no-show of a single master. Still less will there be hecklers who spew out such vitriol as, “Give me the money back!” They know that it is barbaric behavior. We have so much more pressing social issues wracking our national psyche than the food mislabeling issue. Let it pass into the rear view mirror now.

Last but not least, what I felt in the U.S. is its lack of a revered being, but for the God that each American personally believes in. We have an imperial family, and an emperor, the subject of everyone’s worship and respect. It has been observed that a trip abroad will reveal to you what is good about your own country. Our food, spirit of service and the existence of an imperial family, these have been my fresh awakenings.

However, we recently had a boorish politician, called Taro Yamamoto, hand over a letter of request directly, no less, to the emperor. In the Edo period, whoever did that risked seppuku. This is a democratic nation we live in, so I would not go so far as to suggest that he needs to expiate his sin with his blood, but he should take responsibility with the political equivalent of hara-kiri: A letter of resignation should be in order.