This evening I am sorry to say, my affair with japanese food ended. Heres how it began a love, end ended a horror, story:
Lucy and I, hungry from a hard days work, decided to go to try one of the resturants down the road from us. Welcoming lights and (what I now think may have been warning signs) menus out we thought it looked charming. Seated in a cosy corner, we ordered some drinks with the tried and tested method of point and wait. They arrived, non descript cocktails with a fruity flavor. Lovely.
Here comes the bit where they decide to go into the tunnel, pick up the phone, investigate the dodgy neighbour's basement. We ordered the pictureless, plastic food replica-less SPECIAL.
Then we waited. An hour and a half. I think I became slightly delirious from a combination of lack of food, remember I'm still starving, and so thought I might get a bit fuller from next doors second hand cigarette smoke. Nope, just a coughing fit. Eventually, the waitress spotted us in our out of the way corner, and realised she had forgotten to place our order. Whoops, honest mistake, right? No, this was the warning signal, the fallen down sign with 'danger' on it, the local who tells the children to stay away from the basement. Did we see it, no. Ofcourse we still wanted the special. It arrived.
A bowl of pig skin, fat and onion in a brothy soup. Tried and fryed.