Chapter 226: Seeing the Sights of Japan

I bet Hinata’s siblings and cousins would go crazy if I took them to a nudist resort.

When sure that we had secured a place to sleep, the kids dragged me all over Tokyo to see everything from Pachinko palaces, to various Japanese arts, and anything else that one of them was into or wanted to see. We did a lot of shopping too, with me picking up the tab because I could.

When we started getting hungry, Hinata called the sushi place her mother had said had the sushi eating contest. The loser had to be able to pay twice the price of the sushi platers. He called her back to ensure it wasn’t a prank. I went to their website and provided a credit card for the contest. They would authorize it for the price charged for a loss, plus a forty-percent tip they split between the serving staff and sushi chefs. None of the others with me had any clue that my gold credit card was real gold and not colored plastic. We had ninety minutes until our reserved time, so we started walking in that direction to do window shopping along the way.

“I hope none of you mind hanging out while I show the restaurant that they should have asked my name before agreeing to let me complete,” I said.

I told them all about how I loved sushi and that I could eat it non-stop for hours while being hungry for more. I did notice some of the older kids look at me in surprise when I mentioned the name of the master sushi chef who made my takeout when my school was on the trip to D.C.

So he is known well enough that they heard of him out in their small town.

To be sure they didn’t try to cancel our reservation, we arrived fifteen minutes early. That seemed to make the manager happy. It let him swipe my credit card, versus punching it in over the phone and give me some forms to sign that detailed the contest. I tried very hard not to laugh. According to the rules, I had to eat a one-hundred-fifty-piece platter with Maki, Sashimi, and Nigiri, in under an hour. I looked at the pictures he showed me.

They aren’t serious, are they? These are all over-priced, under-sized tourist sushi. The Maki isn’t even as big around as an American Golden Dollar. The grocery stores back home make them bigger around than these.

Before I signed the forms, I did ask to go check out the sushi bar where the sushi chefs were working away on the various orders. The only thing they didn’t go light on was the rice on the nigiri. I could see through the pieces of fish they put on the nigari because they sliced them that thin.

In the area where we were waiting for my contest meal to be ready, I asked the manager. “Just curious. What is the prize for eating two of the contest platters in under two hours? Looking at the pictures and the sushi prepared by your chefs, I may need at least two of them to fill me up. I eat a lot of sushi. If I can’t do it, then I must pay twice as much. But why don’t we start with one, and I will let you know if I want to have a second platter. We can negotiate what you are willing to give if I can eat two, or maybe even three, of these large platters.”

I could probably do three, but I don’t want to make the kids have to sit here while we wait for them to make the third platter.

The kids ordered some of the bigger mixed platters to split between themselves. I had some soup while I waited for my contest boat. I knew when it came, before the kid’s order, that I was going to be able to eat two before the kids finished their order. A large clock set on a ledge across from me. The manager started it as soon as I dipped the first piece.

Their sushi chefs don’t have any skill or creativity. The only thing with any seasoning is the rice.

I got a dirty look when I requested a bowl of the fresh ground Wasabi, versus the green-dyed Japanese Horseradish they had the gall to serve at these prices.

By the time the kid’s orders began arriving, I was two-thirds of the way through the first platter. I saw an older man come to watch for a few seconds, look at his phone, look at me, and then pulled the manager aside. When the manager returned, he was surprised to see that I had finished the large platter, and more so when I told him that I was ready for a second one. The owner asked if I would speak to him away from Hinata and her family.

“Mr...” he started. “I am unable to believe you have eaten that much sushi in such a short time. None who have won the contest ever requested terms on continuing with a second round. We have no concerns that your credit card will cover the cost of your loss if you lose. What terms would you require should you complete the challenge a second time.”

I gave it some thought before saying, “I have two items that I feel is fair should I finish a second contest platter, within the allotted time, as if I was restarting the contest again. First, I would want the costs of the meals of my guests to be paid by the restaurant as well. We can discuss the second part of my terms, which you may agree to or decline at that time, once I finish my second contest platter.”

“If you, please give me a few moments, I wish to have this modification to our standard contest rules detailed so that we can both sign each copy,” he told me.

The kids found they ordered way too much and were trying to do their best to finish not to make me mad for wasting money on food that would go uneaten. I just told them I was waiting on the owner to write up our new deal and was still hungry, so I would make sure what was left didn’t go to waste. You should have seen the surprise on the manager’s face when he checked our table to see me working through about thirty pieces of Maki and twenty-two pieces of Sashimi. I saw him talking with the owner before the owner came in with the forms he wrote, in Kanji, for the new terms. I had signed both copies. I kept one, and he held the other. The manager went to get another platter prepared.

I know that everyone else at the table was full, happy, and getting sleepy. I suggested for the kids to return to the hostel to get some sleep, and I would return when I finished eating. They were having none of that. It was a big adventure for them and their parents via chat and video, to see me doing the contest after already having beaten it once.

It took them so long to prepare this second platter than I noted that my stomach felt empty again. Then again, I had been eating with Hinata’s family, so I only ate the same size portions as everyone else, sometimes taking less so the others could have more. I knew better than to offer to contribute to the groceries to ensure everyone had as much as they could eat and some leftovers for those visitors who may not have a meal for the next day.

Really? Rice is cheap! Do you even get that you are trying to fill me up so I won’t finish, not make it easier than the first round?

It didn’t even take me as long as the first platter, and that was with me eating slower than I usually would when having sushi. The owner and manager were staring as I ordered a sixty-piece boat since I was still hungry. I asked to speak with the owner again about the second requirement I had for beating this contest once again.

“Before we get to that discussion, I must tell you that I can demolish your inventory of sushi-grade fish you have on hand. I wouldn’t mind doing so if I didn’t feel it would be rude to ask my friends to wait for your sushi chefs to notify you that they have depleted their inventory. It is also unfair to your customers who came to dine in your restaurant specifically,” I told him. “As for my second condition, which is entirely up to you as this is your business, and I have no grounds by which to make this a demand. As you must know by now, I’ve eaten a lot of sushi. I’ve cleaned out buffets when only a small boy of eleven years. Based on my experience, you need to fire your sushi chefs. Not a one is worthy to prepare the sushi rice, much less able to claim to have apprenticed under a master or senior Itamae. At my home, we have Maki with a centimeter square of fish twice the diameter of yours. Nigiri has fish covering the ends of the rice and no less than four millimeters thick. Eight pieces of nigiri or twelve pieces of Maki sell for less than fifteen-hundred yen, at a grocery store. I’ve never once, not even at the least expensive buffets, had paper-thin slices if fish in Nigiri, Maki, or Sashimi. The Maki has so little rice that the roll is smaller than an American Quarter, a Euro coin, or a cheap imitation Cuban cigar. If this the best you can offer your customers, then you should hang your head in shame.”

Wait for it, David. It is coming. He must first process that he got bitch-slapped by a teenager.

Fortunately for him, and his business’s reputation, the man-in-the-machine had contacted three retired Master Itamae who lived near the restaurant. They brought with them the master Itamae they had trained, who brought with them a few of their apprentices. Each had been made aware of exactly who I was and why they should come to see what was about to be quite embarrassing to the owner.

I stood by waiting patiently for the owner to no longer be able to contain his rage. He started going off on me with Japanese curse words that were a deeper form of an insult than curse words in the states. He was keeping his voice down, but it didn’t matter. When he stopped himself to try to form the next round of cursing insults toward me, one of the Master Itamae leaned over to say something in the owner’s ear that stopped him cold and made him go pale.

“David san,” that same master Itamae said as he bowed to me.

When I bowed back, he said, “Fate has allowed me to meet a boy of legend among Itamae. When someone informed me of your having taken up this man’s challenge, twice, it was my destiny to meet you in person.”

Another master Itamae turned to the owner and said, “You have dishonored your family’s name. Fortune has smiled upon you this night. David san chose to invite others to witness him beating your contest, twice. Had he no honor, he would have ignored them as he proceeded to exhaust your entire stock of fish and meats.”

The owner started to get red in the face again. I could see he was about to burst a blood vessel when he turned pale before dropping heavily into the chair beside him. I immediately went to him to make the expected motions and ask the routine questions to see if he was ok. I connected to the man-in-the-machine, through the implant in my head. He told me the man was fine, health-wise, but screwed in most other ways.

An aged woman, who was either his grandmother or mother, came in with a woman I knew was his wife, based on pictures of the two together.

“David san,” the oldest of the women said as she took my hands and bowed slightly. “In our culture, a boy is not wise enough to speak to their elders regarding their elders’ failures. When I look upon you, I see a boy as my son-in-law had also done. When I stared into your eyes that I see you possess wisdom and knowledge of scholars many decades senior to myself.”

To her son-in-law, the discussion was much less pleasant.

I knew that was a private discussion, so I stepped out to return to my table. Hinata saw what was going on. Her sister said they were going back to the hostel to shower and get ready for bed. They would see me when I returned, and I could tell them about it then. The older girls knew pretty much what was going on since they knew at least one of the men with me was a Master Itamae.

The serving staff had done an excellent job, so I asked the manager what an excellent tip was for only them. I wasn’t going to tip the sushi chefs for their piss-poor efforts.

“David san,” one of the old Itamae said, “The one who called me about your visiting this restaurant said that you hadn’t had the training under an Itamae, but were very skilled at preparing sushi. If we provide you proper sushi chef attire, would you like to show their sushi chefs how to prepare sushi properly?”

“Sure. I am now free from my duty-bound obligation toward those with whom I had invited to share a meal with me. I know teenagers back home that make sushi for their parties and special events. Once they found a perfect seasoning method for the rice, they were golden. Even their learning attempts surpasses every one of the three-hundred pieces of sushi provided as part of the challenge.”

I made sure the last part was heard clearly by the three sushi chefs working behind the sushi bar.

Someone produced a sushi chef outfit that showed symbols that I took to mean I was better than the ones working here. The manager told the sushi chefs to go on break or could sit and watch from the other side of the bar.

Each had smug, arrogant faces as I checked out their setup. A quick scan around found me the larger pieces of fresh fish and the rice cooker with the already prepared sushi rice. Not wanting to trust anything they had done to prep, I quickly peeled around a cucumber to get a long roll of the thickness the place in my head told me I needed for correctly prepared Maki rolls. Off in the back, I found a few nice-sized pieces of real wasabi root. I quickly ground it up to make a good bit of paste to put on plates and everything I was going to make. With that ready, I used the crock stick from the knife holder and sharpened the knives that were almost too dull to cut a single grain of rice. I didn’t slow myself down either. It looked like I barely touched them against the crock stick.

Deciding I was ready, I used the place in my head scan for fish of questionable freshness in the cabinet up top, and in the refrigerator under the bar. Some of the salmon and octopus were bad on the bar, so I threw them out and restocked them with fresh.

Looking off to the side, I found a lot of orders hanging out of the printer. The sushi chefs watching me get ready had smirks on their faces as I got all the tickets, looked them over, and then got them where I could get to them. It didn’t take me long to figure out a system. I counted how many pieces of nigiri and sashimi I could cut from the chunks of fish someone already cut. I planned everything out so that I had large portions of sashimi, a suitable thickness cut for nigiri and then have some nice-sized strips to go in the Maki.

When I was digging around, I found that they did have a rice ball tray.

Maybe they think themselves too good to have anyone see them using it, but I didn’t care who saw me use it.

. I got a technique down that had the rice packed tightly into the rice ball molds without breaking the grain. With rice balls ready, I was killing it. I don’t know what proportions of the real wasabi root I was mixing with various bottles behind the sushi bar because the place in my head guided me in making each mixture to perfection. I used those preparations when making the Maki and Nigiri. The Master Itamae who were watching seemed to be interested in my blends.

As I worked through the orders, I made eight additional pieces of each item, except for sashimi, that I put on plates on the bar for each the owner and each of his sushi chefs. The remainder went on a boat for the master Itamae, and those they brought with them to sample.

In my head, I heard a Japanese man telling me how preparing each piece was only a small part. How it appeared on the boat or platter mattered most.

When did I start becoming so creative with only that which I had on hand?

Not even aware of myself doing it, I found I used various knives to create shapes form cucumbers, carrots, orange slices, lemons, and ginger, along with using rice noodles in creative ways. I found myself taking cut rolls to push two of them together to form hearts. Then there were rolls I arranged to make a smiley face. When that didn’t seem to impress the restaurant’s sushi chefs, I looked over to see each master Itamae smiling.

Time to get artistic!

Focusing on it now, I created butterflies, intricate flowers, and then I found a girl here celebrating her tenth birthday. I arranged their nigiri and sashimi over a bed of rice to make it into the shape of a birthday cake. I cut some triangles out of some salmon and rolled them up in a small-diameter roll so they looked like birthday candles. I didn’t slow down to see the family’s reaction as I continued to work through the orders.

The more creative I became, the faster I got orders. For a platter of fifty or more, I started carving whales and sharks out of cucumbers that gave the appearance of they are swimming on the large boat I placed their order on. Smaller platters got dragons from carrots, cucumbers, wasabi, and ginger, each separated from the others with rice noodles. Out of the blue, I remembered the cook from the triplet’s island that made something unique.

Now I’m having fun. Forget the wannabe sushi chefs that work here. I want to do this because I can.

Each time someone ordered a hundred-piece, or more, mixed platter I required the waiter or waitress to point out the group of customers. If I couldn’t see them clearly from the bar, the man-in-the-machine got me an image from security cameras or from phones everyone had out all over the place. I did my best to take what they ordered to make a portrait of forms, using what I had at the sushi bar. I found some multi-colored roe off in the corner of the refrigerator under the sushi bar that helped my artistic vision a lot. After three hours, I bowed out noting that I hadn’t come here to make sushi, but I have a great time letting my imagination run wild.

“David san,” the owner said after firing his sushi chefs. “My arrogant pride has caused a public dishonor to my family’s name. To have a boy prepare sushi in ways that impress the masters is quite humbling. I know that should I even be able to hire your services, it would not be taken well to have a non-Japanese sushi chef.”

The master Itamae were asking me for some tips on what I had mixed when making different pieces. I told them that I just knew what to do without really thinking about how I was doing them. I thanked each of them for their time. As I was leaving, the oldest of the woman related to the owner stopped me at the door. In her hands, she had a large stack of Yen.

She told me, “You mustn’t leave without that you are due. In the time behind the bar, you earned more in tips that the imposters make weekly combined.”

As soon as she spoke, I picked up that she knew various languages and dialects spoken exclusively by my new families and business associates. One was a common one spoken between these families to do business. The only way she could have learned it was by once being part of one of the families. The families don’t speak it when servants are around.

“Please. Share that with the servers,” I told this woman, in the language of the elite families. “I only took on the challenge as a favor to the family who insisted I stay with them during my visit. The woman of the house explained how the manager and owner were both being arrogant, as well as acting cocky, without anything by which to back up their attitudes. I wouldn’t have even noticed the cost of the amount of sushi it takes to sate the bottomless pit of my stomach. The master Itamae who said I could deplete your entire sushi inventory for the weekend wasn’t exaggerating.”

Uh oh. Now the owner, the manager, and two of the retired Itamae have just realized I was speaking in the language of the elite families. So what? They are all wearing brownish pants. It is good her vision had gotten bad enough that she can’t tell the color of my hair.

The old woman thought for a few minutes before she replied, in the same language of the families, “You are the boy who has the honor and wisdom of a man senior to myself, as the rumors have claimed. An older woman discounts such talk as exaggerations with no facts to back them up. One senior to the elder being arrogant, cocky, demanding, and even outright rude, is your right. Instead of the path of one drunk with power, you have chosen the noble path, again as I’ve heard through rumors. None within that elite circle care enough about a stranger’s happiness, especially those well below them in the world, to do as you have done tonight. You had no way of knowing that your arranging the platter to look like a birthday cake brought joy to the child who has known very little in her life. Her family has saved for three years to be able to grant her wish of coming her to have sushi for her tenth birthday. It has been the only thing she has asked from them after her miraculous survival from the tsunami that destroyed Fukushima. When those around their table heard her words, as she shed tears of joy, they paid for the family’s meal, paid for a very nice hotel room for them to stay the night, and provided them with a rail pass to return home so they did not have to take a bus or ride in the back of trucks as they did to get here. If you hadn’t been here tonight, I know the pitiful meal served to her would have broken that child’s heart in ways that turn angels into demons.”

At least that is one more person who knows people in the elite families to speak well of me to convince some of the morons that I’m not some uncaring bastard who was put in the highest position by the Elder to thumb his nose at them. Why can’t those in that world see that small things done in kindness does so much more than expensive ones done to create fear?