teppanyaki

Posted on Posted in journal, pre-crash

Last night I experienced the joy that is teppanyaki. For future reference, I caught everything the chef threw my way, including the scrap of scrambled egg I had to catch in my mouth. (Although I won't stretch the imagination by denying that the chef was a very kindly chef, and neither will I claim to have looked either graceful or dignified in my attempts.) And yet despite this amazing feat, I still wound up at the end of the night picking crumbs of egg out of my clothes and hair. Because I was right in the firing line of the great egg-crepe-chopping spectacle. (Which might more accurately be named the great "splatter egg at Deb in the guise of chopping it up" spectacle.)

Even more amazing than all of this is that every single photo taken that night contains me pulling a very strange face. I shudder for all you people who actually have to look at me on a daily basis, because apparently I look quite strange while I'm talking. Sorry, never realised, myself.

What amazed me most about the teppanyaki experience was — aside from the fact that there are people who so enjoy cooking and are so comfortable doing it in front of other people that they've turned it into a spectator sport; and besides the really startling way squid curls into a roll when it's cut while cooking on a hotplate — what amazed me was the way the chef wrote "Thank you" backwards and upside down using the salt-pourer.

In very nice cursive script, I might say. My cursive writing isn't that nice forwards and right way up using ink on paper. The table next to ours got the full multicultural experience: their chef thanked them in Japanese.

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