Last weekend, we wandered through the Shibuya neighborhood, looking for something to eat. My husband Mason was on one of his epic quests, pinballing from one menu to another, looking for the perfect takeout meal.
It’s one of those quirks of traveling with Mason that I have had many years to get used to. I’m the sort of person who can look at any menu anywhere and find something on it that tempts me. Some of that is because I’m not especially picky. In contrast, years ago, Mason dragged me all over Rome, looking for a meal on a Sunday afternoon, until I collapsed on a curb in tears, unable to take another step without a bite to eat.
I try not to let my blood sugar drop that low these days.
Our daughter hasn’t had the same practice in dealing with her dad. “What’s wrong with him?” she whispered to me, furious. “Why can’t he just pick someplace?”
In this instance, it was because I wasn’t hungry after the epic bowl of ramen I’d devoured at lunch. Sorrell had gobbled up a teriyaki chicken crepe earlier in the evening while we watched the taping of a TV show through a window. After that, Mason didn’t want to take us into a restaurant where we’d occupy a table but not order a sufficient amount of food. He was hoping for some kind of takeout, preferably tonkatsu.
The problem, of course, is that Tokyo isn’t a snacking-while-walking city. There’s takeout food in every Family Mart or Lawson’s on every corner, but none of the restaurants have takeaway windows.
Mason led us in widening circles through the crowds of Shibuya in a futile search for something Japan does not have.
This post was inspired by the WordPress Photo Challenge of the Week: http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_photo_challenge/contrasts/