We Arrived
at a building with a set of stairs leading down to a passageway illuminated only by a single yellow tinged tungsten light. What was it with Japan and all of these scary looking entranceways? This time when I rounded the corner it wasn’t rows and rows of hentai that greeted me, but a dimly lit bar with square tables meant for intimate dining. A couple, on a date from the looks of it, stared at the new arrivals.
“Irasshaimase” yelled the man behind the counter. “Nan-mei sama desu ka?” having held the door I was in the back as I watched our leader count how many people we had. There was another employee scrambling to arrange some tables in order to seat us. Having worked in a restaurant earlier that year, I understood what it was like to have to hastily prepare tables for a larger party. The noise level of a bunch of foreigners walking and talking disturbed the atmosphere of the quiet looking restaurant.
The Start Of Misfortune
When everyone started to take their seats, the normal thing for most people would be to just simply sit down, but the way my brain worked I worried about choosing where to sit. Flashbacks to all the times we were told to make groups in high school hit me like a truck, as I was always the kid who was twiddling his thumbs in the back until there was the group made from all the misfits. Taking the only seat that was left, I was thankful Tom was in the seat that was right next to mine.
After we settled down and the waiter came to take our drink orders. Tom confidently recited one of the few Japanese phrases he’d learned.
“Biru onegaishimasu”
What came next was the start of our misunderstandings at this indian restaurant.
“Biru Ga Nai” said the waiter. Tom looking puzzled leaned a little closer.
“Umm. . . he said that they don’t have beer here” Tom kinda froze as the golden elixir after the long journey look like it would of cheered him up. It looked as if he was trying to maintain a smile whilst being extremely disappointed, after an awkward pause and turned to me with a disappointed smile saying
“we should of just got beers”
I could almost visualize the tears rolling out of his eyes.
Mourning Tom’s inability to drink beer I asked for just a water.
Looking At The Menu
It didn’t take long for me to decide what I wanted to eat, at Indian restaurants I always had Garlic Naan bread with any kind of curry. Thinking of the vegetable curry, I kept looking at the menu but my mind once again drifted off to another place. No Indian restaurant would ever taste as good as my favorite one in Federal Way. Knowing a little bit of how humans biased things, another restaurant might have objectively better chefs or ingredients, but I would still prefer what I’m used to. Every time I tasted that food it reminded me of all the times my family had gone to the buffet. No one ever complained because there was something for everyone, in addition there was salad and soft serve.
It was similar
to the times when I would eat Kraft Mac n’ Cheese and it reminded me of all the times my older sister would have to prepare dinner during the rough phases of our childhood. Karina and I had been protected from growing up too fast because Cristina would shoulder most of the responsibilities. I had felt like my childhood had been cut short, but I never thought of how Cristina’s was even shorter than my own.
What snapped me back into reality were Rachel and Amy checking to make sure everyone was ready to order.
“I know what I want. . . .I just hope they don’t use lima beans in their vegetable Curry”
I sometimes feel like I want to die. . . but I didn’t want to go out by allergy attack
“I don’t want to die like that” after saying something so morbid I felt as if the room was quiet and everyone was looking at me, so I only looked down at the table.
“I have allergies to” said the voice sitting across from me. “I even have an EpiPen just in case anyone needs one”. This caused me to look up and see Rachel smiling, “I’m allergic to peanuts”.
“Me too I said, I have three EpiPens in my backpack. . . and I had to use one earlier this year. . . but I don’t know what it was that set me off. . .” Amy looked panicked all of the sudden.
“Wait sometimes these places use peanuts in their sauces. . . we should tell them not to.”
The Waiter Came
and started off on my side of the table. Things went relatively smoothly, but the waiter and I had to triple check that I wanted Garlic Naan due to the pronunciations being slightly different. It was definitely my inner bias but it was strange to be talking in Japanese with an eastern Indian person. All the eastern indians I had met or seen on T.V. spoke in english or in Hindi, I had even become a fan of Shahrukh Khan during my Bollywood Film Class.
Everyone began ordering, but we had some hitches when we wanted to know if we could substitute things in certain sets. I learned one thing about Japan that day. . . they don’t substitute things in set meals. After learning that we brought up the peanuts thing this is when the waiter and our party got on separate pages. Using a mix of English, Japanese, and gestures Amy and Rowan tried to explain to not use peanuts or ask if they did. All we recieved in return was the “huh” face, which caused Amy and rowan to panic a little bit. The nervousness caused them to talk faster and faster, the waiter talked faster and faster. . . once again my social circuits became overloaded and all I saw were mouths and arms moving. Rowan feeling frustrated yelled
“Peanuts Jyanai Desu” directly translated that means that’s not peanuts. . . and then everyone was silent for an uncomfortably long time.
Ethel who had been quiet for a good five minutes calmly talked in perfect Japanese. Telling the waiter that a couple of us had allergies and she was wondering if they used peanuts. After the waiter responded leaving with our orders, Ethel then turned to us and said.
“Everything’s fine guys, I don’t think they use peanuts”
I was just thinking “naan ni” she just spoke perfect Japanese, the only other thing I thought of was how she should have done that much sooner.
In japanese Nani is how you say what. The bread in India is called Naan bread. . . hence the joke and the title
