Asia Travels

It is with some trepidation that I enter the building; my friend had taken us off the main road and down several small streets. There was nothing to suggest it was a restaurant, I doubt any foreigners have ever come here.
The remarkable structure had been constructed with wood inside and out, right down to the tables and chairs, creating a vision of golden pine. We sit opposite each other, we haven’t met each other for a long time and now he is my opponent. Since meeting at the Shinkensen station in Fukuoka he has had time to gauge my improvement in Japanese, but no amount of studying can prepare someone for a Japanese menu. The test begins.
My opening salvo is to order beer for us both, he acknowledges the point to me with a nod of approval, I had quickly ascertained that the food was likely to be fried and best suited with a piping cold Asahi beer. As expected the food menu offers some typical dishes like yakitori and karage, but others I’m not familiar with, we agree on some dishes including his recommendations, I don’t admit to not knowing exactly what he has ordered. Pouring the beer for him into his ice cold glass wins another point, but I am sure he is giving away these easy points in preparation for a surprise ahead.
I decide upon an offensive, I call over the waitress and ask for her recommendation from a section of the menu; I am rewarded with smiles of delight both from the waitress and my opponent. It is a proven tactic which always works, perhaps because a foreigner doesn’t always ask this in Japanese.
As the outside darkens the inside brightens with the lights shining off the golden pine wood, the food arrives along with the still smiling waitress. Thanking her earns a wider smile, but perhaps costs me a point as it isn’t usual to thank the waitress for every little thing in Japan.
My opponent looks on eagerly as I pick up a fried chicken wing; I am suspicious as to where he is attacking from. At his urging I bite into it, my eyes widen as I taste egg as well as chicken, to my disbelief somehow a fried chicken leg has a quail egg inside it. The battle is now in earnest.
He asks me if I like crab meat, I answer in the affirmative and soon after it arrives. Contrary to my expectations a perfectly formed crab is put before me, my opponent quickly digs in, cracking legs and sucking the meat out. My paltry attempts are smiled at; in quick fire succession I have been overmatched.
I lost this fight, but I gained a new sense of Japanese humility.