Tacos! They Have Tacos!

I had walked into the grocery store three times only to wander around aimless with this dazed expression on my face that was only displaying confusion and bewilderment at first but by the third go round it was exuding blazing red frustration. I could do this, damn it, I could grocery shop! Sure, I haven’t done so in about three months but the selection of produce is not something you forget. Like everything in a land where you don’t know the language the simple tasks become much more difficult to accomplish. When eating out at a restaurant here I have relied heavily on the abundance of places that either show large photos or even displays of their menu or those wonderful godsends, the vending ordering machine places. Pointing and amusing grunts have taken me far but my powers were useless when left to shop alone. Yes, I was surrounded by not photos or plastic displays but by actual items but damned, in most cases, did I know what they were. At least on my first glance and, really, all I did was glance. I didn’t pick anything up those first two times. I just was in and out in a panic as the realization of a few things I had not thought of came to light: a) The I Think That’s Chicken Problem: I am having to go by my gut on what’s what in the meat section because there are a lot of cuts that look the same. What I think may be chicken could very well be liver of hamster. This is a small issue, though, as mainly, with some comparing, I can figure out my meats; b) Cooking Conundrum: You know how easy it is to read the labels or bags on things back home that tell you to just add milk? Well, what if you can’t read the world milk or eggs or any other word or can even figure out where the cooking directions are? The packages here rarely show photos of what you should be adding to the mix so cooking becomes trail and error; c) The Scavenger Hunt: I look up and I see signs hanging over the aisle but I can’t read them and, thus, finding things becomes more of a scavenger hunt because if you want noodles you have to go into every aisle to find them and where, oh where is the peanut butter?; d) High, High Prices!: Fruits and vegetable here are ridiculously expensive as you have to pay about $5 for two oranges and a bag of apples could be up to $10 and don’t even get me started on the bread (if you can find it) where four slices are a dollar a piece…maybe it is just this store but yikes that’s gonna’ dent the pocket book.

Okay, so you walk in and the Japanese grocery store is so very Japanese. You are hit had on with the smell of fish. Fish is front and center here, the main event. All sorts of dead smelly fish at the front entrance and I barreled passed them, nose held, into the thick of it. The place, like everywhere in Japan, was overflowing with people. Add to the mix the shopping carts and the design structure and you find yourself moving in slow motion to try to get around the store. In Canada grocery stores are neat and easy to maneuver about. Man, my last one even had wide aisle lanes! You have your lined aisles running perpendicular to all the others and everything is so well organized from back to front. In Japan you are the rat in the maze and the same guy who created the subway system must have been the architect of this place. Here it is a cluster of mini aisles and displays mixed with longer aisles and large counters placed at intervals across the floor space. Things can be placed in multiple areas. Fruit may be on this side of the store and the other side of the store with conflicting prices, for example, and the cereal may be stowed into a small corner on the bottom of some shelf on the side of some aisle. The stores are very loud with advertising playing over loud speakers and people bowing to you each time you pass their counter shouting in their high sales pitched voices. From my three experiences these counters are manned by pretty young girls so I will always stop for free samples which are always on display at this place. A little smile, pop whatever that was into my mouth and hope it wasn’t squid or fish eggs or some poor animals testicles. This grocery store, as I mentioned, has large counters that sell individual products not found on the racks in the store. These could be chocolates and other sweets, baked goods or cooked meats and fried wonders. All of this is hand made and you can watch them cook their wares right in front of you, even the chocolates and bread. These quadrants are my favorite part because they are all different from one another right down to the uniforms. Japanese sales clerks are very polite and, just as the business people on the trains, are always well groomed and made up.

Something to get used to here is that portions are quite small. In McDonalds a large drink is our medium. This trend keeps up in the grocery store where things look like they are all single serving to me. Jam bottles are smaller, cereal smaller, bread you only get a few slices, soup cans small and so on and so on. You don’t even get twelve eggs in a carton. You get ten. Try finding multi liters of milk. You can only find slim cartons. Big ol’ bags of chips are reduced to a touch larger then snack sized convenience store bags. In Canada we really do go big or go home. I’m wondering those huge ass Hungry Man diners would fly here? Hell, you might upset the mass populace if you placed a bulk box of Frosted Flakes next to a pint sized box of whatever that is. Sweet and petite is the way it is here, I guess. The prices don’t change, though, with the smaller sizes and, in fact, they go up. I wanted those bananas but I’d rather wrestle them from the hands of a hungry gorilla before I paid that price. Sheesh!

On my third try in I vowed not to wander and finally purchase something even if I didn’t know what it was. I would not gawk at everything around as aliens of the grocery store. I would pick things up and try to comprehend what they would by other means. First stop milk. It had a cow on it, it has to be milk. What percentage of milk who knows but it is milk. Now to find cereal. Zigzagging around I find three brands of what look to be cereal but they are unique to Japan, no Fruit Loops and Count Chocula here, so I grab something with strawberries and in the cart it goes. Sugar or salt? Smelling reveals nothing. Ah, those are definitely sugar cubes so in they go. There was a small section in this place devoted to IMPORT items. Ah, something I recognized and in ENGLISH. I grabbed some Old El Paso Tacos, some Campbell’s Soup and, oh sweet mama, a Snicker’s bar! Chicken? Shrug…toss it in anyway. That is hamburger so in it goes. Coffee. Check. Tea. Check. Bacon and eggs. Done. Oh, some hot sauce….that is a must. I realized I was just snagging everything I new by sight. I realize I came to Japan for a new experience but on this grocery outing I stuck to what I knew. Besides, I couldn’t find any Japanese noodles but they seemed to have an entire separate store devoted to Indian food. Maybe if I went to India I’d find Japanese noodles.

I brought my stuff up to the case and things clocked in pretty steep but I had groceries now to last me until the end of the month. I could cook for myself again. Paying in Japan is another strange experience at first. You do not hand your cash to the clerks but place it in this little tray from which they will take your money. They tend put it back in the trey, always using both hands, as they bow slightly and thank you for your patronage. I mistakenly started bagging my groceries at the counter with very little room to do so. I was quickly pointed to a separate bagging area where tables were set up. Okay, not such a bad concept.

I got home and unpacked proud of this minor accomplishment that seems like a major one. Next time I will be bolder and reach for the unknown but tonight those tacos look mighty good. Pass the Old El Paso!