October 21st, 2001. Brian goes to a Japanese restaurant.

You know, there are heaps of Japanese restaurants in Toronto, and I suppose that my girlfriend and I have checked out at least half of them in Scarborough. I love Japanese food...or so I thought. See, the stuff they serve in Toronto is not really Japanese food. Rather, it is an interpretation of what foreigners think Japanese food is or should be. The fact that the restaurant has Chinese or Korean owners should be the first sign that it is not authentic. Either way, I enjoyed what I was eating back home.

Imagine my surprise when I got to the restaurant and they didn't have California Rolls. No Cali rolls? What kind of place is this anyway? Well, it turns out that real Japanese food doesn't have the word "California" nor does it have colourful salmon roe sprinkled about it. I was a little apprehensive to try this new stuff, as I had no idea what I was getting into. The food looked weird, all sorts of green tofu dishes and fried stuff, but it tasted great. I think at that point, I made up my mind to try anything and everything here, at least once.

This restaurant was really cool. It is near Ikebukuro station, on the Yamanote line and is one of those deals where you have to sit on the ground. It has sliding doors and a waitress appears if you press a little button. You know, I could get used to living like this.

Part way through the meal, there was a loud bang against one of the walls. The room we were in was partitioned from another room with these flimsy sliding doors that cannot stand much of an impact, from the looks of them.

We were peering through the cracks of the sliding door and saw a bunch of old salary men being entertained by a crew of 20-something Japanese girls. I don't know what was going on exactly, but these guys were getting rowdy.

Craig and Brenda. Attempt #2. Yay.