Hiroshima, Japan – “I want the know world through a meal,” said the e-mail.
Kozue Tashiro, one of the Japanese participants in the WorldSmart Leadership Program, messaged me before we began our journey around the globe with people from 21 different countries.
Like Kozue, I find that sharing a meal is the best way to build community, bridge differences and challenge your levels of comfort. Usually, a good story follows, to boot.
In Hiroshima, Japan, our city sponsor, the Hiroshima Lion’s Club, invited me and three colleagues to a Saturday afternoon dinner in a hotel ballroom.
The tables were intricately set and centered with an ikebana arrangement of sakura (cherry blossoms), tulips and budding branches of willow. Waiters delivered to our table large, laquered bento boxes with an assortment of potential “Fear Factor” treats inside.
In this international program, we have a phrase to remind ourselves of how we want to experience life: “Dunk your doughnut” full in the milk. Immerse yourself in the culture, trying everything, rather than just dipping one corner (of yourself) and nibbling politely.
I open my box, dunk my doughnut in and eat the squishy brown square garnished with salty roe of some strange fish. It jiggles on my tongue before gravity takes it down. I must admit, the presentation is fabulous. Every detail is carefully planned and executed with beauty and balance of color, shape and texture. It’s the texture part of this that gets me sometimes as I’m dunking.
Next, I go for onigiri with ume, a traingle of rice stuffed with a pink, shriveled, tart plum. The other corner of the box has an assortment of meats, egg squares, cod and what looks like a blue, shriveled body organ, like a Smurf pancreas, which I think actually belongs to the mushroom family.
I try to dip them in the soy sauce reserved for the sashimi, and am gently scolded by my table mate. “Not for that.” A slight bow and “sumi ma sen” (Excuse me) usually smoothes over mistakes. I can say this phrase in my sleep, and I mean it, too.
In corner number four rests a bright pink rice ball with a sliver of fishy flesh and five green peas. I eat the peas and mince up the rice with my chopsticks. By now, my doughnut is soggy, and I must pass on this one.
Then the sashimi, which I really like, comes on its own block of ice for each person. Sashimi is sliced raw fish that you dip in soy and wasabi, a Japanese horseradish.
The tuna melts in my mouth and tastes like pure protein. The translucent whitefish with the grey edges I am not so sure about, but I dunk again, and this one feels like I am chewing a rubber bathmat. I am thankful for the sake that keeps magically appearing in my glass after each sip.
The tempura course follows. How scary can this be? Tempura is tasty. But then I get to a squarish blob which is not vegetable or animal, and I am thinking about texture again and how it can ruin a perfectly beautiful bite that looked nice on the plate…
Next, the miso soup arrives with an unfamiliar white blob submerged in it. I learn this is a shaped ball of fish pulp. I sip around it.
If you are thirsty in Japan, it is impolite to refill your own glass. You must pour a beverage in the glass of another first. This is a signal that you are thirsty, and can be considered polite or indirect, depending on your cultural goggles.
I kindly offer my Miss Manners neighbor a refill of hot tea so that I might get some in return. I hope he thinks I am really considerate, and not just using him to get something to wash down the fishball.
While we are dining, we are entertained by a quartet. One of our hosts asks (in Japanese) if any of us plays the violin. The answer is no. Then I hear over the speakers, “Ms. Alli-son Myersu, dozo.” I am waved to the stage. I point to myself, mouth the word, “me?” and look around to find the other Allison Myers in the room.
They mean me. I am ushered into the violinist’s chair. She places the instrument in my hand, manipulates my fingers, and points to the part of the strings on which I am to play. I screech a bit with the bow, obliging the humor of my hosts. Then it becomes clear that I will play the lead violin on “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Just think second-grade recital and you’ve got it. Everyone has a good laugh.
Then they pass out the paper Bingo cards. I look at my colleague and say very seriously, “I am going to win this.” I never win anything, but I think it is my due after “Twinkle, Twinkle.” I am behind, but then lucky number 13 is called, and I have BINGO!
I collect my prize, an orthopedic pillow. The elderly Lion’s Club men are envious, but they graciously allow me my hard-earned prize. (Who gives an orthopedic pillow for a Bingo prize? But then again, who plays Bingo?)
Throughout the meal, our hosts have been more than gracious and so eager to know more about us. We struggle through the language, but together we laugh a lot.
Somehow, we understand that they also want to find ways to connect, to find our common ground. They believe in Up with People’s mission. After dessert, we hold hands in a big circle and swing our arms and sing with gusto something in Japanese.
I can’t help but think that I am lucky to have shared this once-in-a-lifetime experience with these elderly Japanese men who believe in many of the same things I do. It’s all about perspective. And good sense of humor.
Dig in, and dunk your doughnut wherever you are!
Allison Myers, a Denver resident with a passion for food and culture, writes an occasional journal about the people she meets around the table on her travels as external relations coordinator with the WorldSmart Leadership Program. E-mail her at amyers@worldsmart.org.
