On Wednesday I strode confidently back into the izakaya. Though I’d said I would come back on Friday, I’d had enough fun there the week before that I decided to return early and see what the place was like during the week. To my surprise it was pretty lively, even at ten. When I walked in the two chefs (one being Tomi and the other being Kenta, the man who had been sitting at the bar the last time) gave me a surprised look and then beckoned me to sit at the bar. But to my disappointment they didn’t really have any time to chat. In fact, I found Kenta rather bashful and unwilling to engage in the kind of bawdy conversation we’d had before. I suppose being at work tends to have that effect on just about anybody, though.
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I had the name of the place written in Japanese on a little slip of paper. I’d made sure to have my Japanese teacher (who recommended I try this particular izakaya) write out the Chinese characters so that I’d be able to identify them later. Pubs in Japan tend not to be overly conspicuous, so the more clues the better. So on this night I was with my new coworker Kate, whose belief in the “hip little Japanese pub I heard about” was rapidly dwindling. It was about ten o’clock on Friday and I’d suggested we stop in for a drink on our way home from work. But finding the place was proving more of a challenge than I’d expected.
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