Leaving Stuff on Memory Lane

There is a sushi shop in Ootsuka, North Tokyo, where I did a few laps of heavy drinking in the pre-AA days. Its one of those places where most of the customers order alcoholic beverages before midday: beer, sake, Shochu, or Soju. No one orders food there, only Jinro, gali (pickled giner), and “just one more for the road”. Even the sushi chef, Taisho*, has had a few by 1pm.

Ootsuka, a rough, working class neighbourhood, is close to my old, old, old, flat I lived in nearly 6 years ago. I had not visited this area for ages until recently. I was there doing some spot “language consulting” work which involves me introducing potential English language students to teachers who can teach in their neighbourhood. The agency sets the time and place, and I am just there to explain the payment system. Nothing to it, but it takes one hour, on mostly weeknights after 8pm, or 9pm.

On Thursday last week I found myself standing outside the Ootsuka Sushi “Bar” at 9:45pm. Its peak drinking time for most of the punters. I know, for I was a long standing regular there at the turn of the last century. A year or two ago, had I found myself standing in the same place my mind would have jumped straight to the thought of a nice Go of Hakkaisan sake, but that day my intensions were clear: have some dinner, and head off home to my nice, middle class suburb.

As soon as I walk in the Taisho asks me what I'd like to eat. I order tea and begin to shout out my order one by one Toro (fatty tuna), Uni, Engawa, Hamachi, etc. I ordered nine items all together just to test if he could remember it all.

“Hai-yo” (sure), he exclaimed, his hands moving up and down the display case picking out the various fish in my order. Some of the other punters, already on their third or fourth drink, started to laugh. “Taisho, how many orders can you remember all at once?”

“I can remember about 11, or 12.”

“Taisho, how about how many drinks you've had today?”

Taisho, never missing a beat with his hands moving smoothly through his rhythm of putting together my raw fish dinner, said, “I remember only important things, and how many I've had is irrelevant. Oops, it's nearly 10pm; I better catch up to you guys! Hey, I'll have some cold sake”.

A minute later he has a glass of clear, slightly thick liquid, and is almost finished with my small order of nine.

Amazing. It truly amazes me how some people are functional alcoholics. I know one when I see one, for I used to be one of them. The dude remembers 11 items at once – must be rote memory – but can't remember how many he's had that day. No wonder I used to enjoy losing track of time, sipping my next one for the road, and eating nothing but pickled ginger and a few slices of sashimi in a grubby little neighbourhood. It's so easy to leave the outside world and to sit down on a stool opposite the tipsy Taisho ordering food after drink after food.

You leave your wet your wet umbrella and the day's trouble outside the sushi bar in Ootsuka; and you never have to worry about remembering what you ordered, so long as it's only 12 items or less. (Hell, no one there would order that much food. Drinks, perhaps, but never food!)

After finishing the last piece of salmon sushi in my mouth I stood up asking for the bill, paid, and bid the happy punters and the Taisho goodbye leaving them with their next one for the road. It was a nice little trip down memory lane, but on reflection it's easier to see that some things are best left where they are: in the past.

I slid the wooden door behind me, smiled to myself and left Ootsuka, booze, and Taisho too – my memory lane – to take a train back to my new house in the middle of a squeaky clean, family oriented, quiet neighbourhood in Southwest Tokyo.

*Taisho has the same meaning as “Governor” or “Gov” as loosely used by people from the southern parts of Britain.