We stole a Geisha’s taxi. And then she kicked us out. Well technically she had her lackey kick us out. True story.
We rented an amazing traditional tea house near the river in Kanazawa. Next door was a Geisha house. Literally. Real. Live. Geisha’s coming in and out. Am I the only one that thought this was a thing of the past? So cool. Josephine and I were dying to peek inside. “Salarymen” belted out Karaoke tunes within, laughter rippled through the walls. What exactly goes ON in there!?
Thuper Thecret Thushi Thpot
The best story from our entire Japanese experience was our sushi night in Kanazawa. We tried to go to Sushi Ipei based on the boys Trip Advisor research (it’s #1). When we arrived, clearly underdressed, the chef came out to tell us, unnecessarily apologetically, that they were booked. A smartly dressed Japanese man smoking a cigarette out front with his friend told us he’d had the reservation for over a month and drove an hour to eat here. Whoops. He was kind enough to entertain our request of a recommendation and after some back and forth with his friend in Japanese, he whipped out his cell phone. “Can you go now?” he asks us, phone to his ear.
Seeing how difficult it would be to explain the directions to us, he graciously escorted us back to the main road, flagged down a cab and explained to the cabbie where to take us. And we’re off. Back across the city to where we were staying…and into a dark alleyway. There at the dead end, under a single streetlight, stood a tiny chef. In green Crocs.
We exited the cab and he started walking, wordlessly motioning for us to follow. We dutifully followed as his crocs scuffled along the dark side streets until we arrived at an unmarked house. He took us around back, slid open the Shōji door, and we stepped inside to find a tiny, brightly lit, 8 seat sushi bar.
The head sushi chef smiled as we took our seats at the bar and said “Is there anything you do not eat”. Always up for an adventure we said in unison “Nope!”. “Then it begins” he said with a bow.
One by one, the notes of symphonic perfection played on our pallets. Toro. Unagi. Mackerel. Uni. Raw Ebi. Abalone. King Fish? Fifteen pieces in all. No wasabi, no soy sauce. We ate it as served, eyes closed in ecstasy, conversation momentarily paralyzed as the next piece was announced.
As the last piece was served, he bowed again and said “Game over.” Handed us a $400 check and we were escorted out.
We stood on the sidewalk, dazed from our 45 minute sushi extravaganza looking at each other asking “What the hell just happened??”. I don’t know, but it was awesome.