Genetically-modified Fruit

I wrote last time about recent visitors I’ve had here. Aside from being thrilled to have visitors for the obvious reasons, I enjoy my friends’ visits because they are able to see all the thousands of eccentricities about Japan that my eyes have long since adjusted to.

One such eccentricity concerns the fruit in this country. Japanese fruit is freakishly large. Consequently, perhaps, it is laughably expensive, and so fruit—or, at least what Americans think of as fruit: apples, strawberries, grapes, melons—is not a part of the daily diet. As I noted in my September 19 posting, apples and oranges are replaced in the food pyramid by things like persimmons and Japanese plums (which, I should say, are pretty unlike non-Japanese plums). Strawberries and melons and what not can be found in the grocery store, but they are luxury items. They are given as gifts frequently, just as flowers are often given in the U.S.

These fruits, as I mentioned, are abnormally large in size. I haven’t read anything on this topic, so I don’t know for sure that the fruit is genetically-modified, but I think it’s a safe assumption. I can think of no other explanation for softball-sized apples. I’ve tried discussing this theory with a few Japanese friends, but they have all unequivocally insisted that Japanese fruit is entirely natural. I’ve filed this claim away with the other myths about Japan that I’ve debunked since being here, like “Lots of people in Tokyo speak English,” and “It doesn’t really matter whether you throw your wasabi wrapper into the burnable or non-burnable trash can.”

Generally, the bigger and redder a piece of fruit appears, the more expensive it is. I noticed a while ago that there are specialty fruit stores around Tokyo that sell nothing but watermelons priced seemingly on the value of their weight in gold. I was a bit surprised recently, however, to come across an entire upscale restaurant in Shinjuku that has nothing on its menu but dishes made from fruit. A friend and I decided to give it a try. I figured the restaurant, located inside a Gucci store, had to be good because it took 45 minutes to get a table. You could actually order an entire full-course meal with each dish made from fresh fruit. I ordered some kind of special strawberry dish, though it was a little bit of a hit on the wallet. I even took a picture of it. I’ve since learned that taking pictures of your food is a very Japanese thing to do.

P.S. If you don’t believe me about how expensive the fruit is in Tokyo, try googling around for a bit, or watch this YouTube video.

Visitors

If you haven’t noticed, the blog is badly in need of updating. The last 6 weeks have been a bit crazy—but mostly in a good way. I’m going to try to make a good-faith effort to start updating the blog again. Major events of the last 6 weeks include:

• Sam’s visit, which included my first major visit to a museum in Tokyo, the Yebisu Beer Museum.

The museum was a bit light on English signage, but beer tasting transcends the language barrier, so all was not lost. The museum also had some really weird exhibits, including what my English-language pamphlet describes as a “magic vision theater.” Here’s the blurb right from the pamphlet: “Here, a wondrous 3D ‘Magic Vision’ cut will tell of the mysteries of the good taste of beer in an interesting manner. In this allegorical fantasy, Gambrinus, the king of beer, engages in a desperate contest of wits over the good taste of beer with The Evil One of the forest. To the victor goes to the hear of the beautiful Beer Fairy.” It was sorta like A Midsummer Night’s Dream meets The Big Lebowski. This is one weird country.

• Some personal traveling, which was a much-needed break from temple life.

• My family’s visit to Japan, which included lots of temples, shrines, and amazing cherry blossoms.

• Ellen’s visit, which included one of the best nights out in Tokyo I’ve had.

I’m just going to go ahead and say it: Japan can be a racist place. I like it, however, when the racism works to my advantage. The particular nightclub we decided to go to in Shibuya was charging as a cover the equivalent of $35 for guys, $25 for girls, and $10 for foreigners. This seemed outrageous, and I couldn’t believe such a practice could be legal, but who was I to complain? The thinking goes, apparently, that Westerners are really fun, know a lot about hip-hop and dance music, and are excellent dancers. The irony was not lost on me. Living here can really feel like one giant, very weird Twilight Zone episode. The club was awesome, with one hip-hop floor and one techno floor. The only downside of the night, thanks to the lack of public transportation between 12:30-5:30 a.m., was not getting home until 6:30 in the morning. Big props to Ellen for managing to go out hard right after a 14-hour flight from New York.

A scene from the "magic vision theater" at the beer museum.

Ellen and me at the gardens in my neighborhood.