Night of the Living Dread

Like most married women, I dread being asked the question “Where did you spend last night?” - particularly when the answer involves drinking sake from a beer mug and belting out a sloppy rendition of “Livin’ on a Prayer” at 4 in the morning. In the face of such shenanigans, a confession of infidelity would have probably been easier for my husband to countenance.

But one does learn from these kinds of experiences. Take, for example, the fact that, aside from Plate of Pie, most of the bars in Shibuya close before 4am. Unfortunately for my companions, I’d forgotten this tidbit of information, and we ended up wandering the streets like orphans for half an hour, before finally settling down to a bowl of udon and yet another unnecessary beer. While my failure to possess intimate knowledge of all the bars that stay open until dawn may not be such a bad thing per se, from a professional standpoint, I find it difficult not to feel a touch of chagrin.

Funnily enough, the night had begun in a most civilized manner. I’d joined the 19 participants of John Gauntner’s sake professional course for dinner at Sakanatei, a homey little izakaya hidden amongst the side streets off Dogenzaka. The place brims with old school charm; the kimono-clad mama-san pours drinks and chats with customers while her husband runs the kitchen. We sampled a line-up of 6 fantastic sake – including a light and lively Usunigori Ginjo from Nanakanba made especially for this restaurant – alongside a lovely meal of fresh sashimi; creamy kasu stew made with sake lees, chicken, and mushrooms; deep-fried fritters of tiny sakura ebi shrimp; a steaming pot of nabe filled with pork and vegetables; and earthy Shizuoka-style oden.


It was the group’s last night in Tokyo and someone (possibly me) suggested going for another drink, so a few of us headed over to Nemuro Shokudo for a couple of beers, more sake, and a bite of uni. Now, here is where things get murky. One minute, we were having caipirinhas at Blen Blen Blen, and the next thing I knew, we were fighting over the remote control at karaoke. Songs were sung, toasts were made, and dignity was lost. Barry Manilow's "Mandy" will never be the same.

So I apologize to the 2 poor souls who got trapped with me last night, and to all the future victims of my drunken enthusiasm. Don’t laugh so soon: it might just happen to you.