Once a month or so I have to get down to the International District (aka Chinatown in every other city that has one) to get my Uwajimaya on. It's a Japanese market that has expanded over the years, going from a humble grocery to an entire block with a food court, bookstore, and four stories of apartments above. I get my tea there to avoid the alt.yuppie teahouse down the road, too many sandals and hairy people scribbling in journals, you know? Uwajimaya is a bad place to take that friend of yours that only has Asian girls beside him in the photo album; he might never leave. I always end up in line behind some Chinese granny with a basket of fish and octopus and unidentifiable vegetables that is about to become the best dinner ever. I've thought of introducing myself and following one home with a bib on, but hey, there's always grape Pocky. And, yes, grape Pocky is the shit.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Uwajimaya
Once a month or so I have to get down to the International District (aka Chinatown in every other city that has one) to get my Uwajimaya on. It's a Japanese market that has expanded over the years, going from a humble grocery to an entire block with a food court, bookstore, and four stories of apartments above. I get my tea there to avoid the alt.yuppie teahouse down the road, too many sandals and hairy people scribbling in journals, you know? Uwajimaya is a bad place to take that friend of yours that only has Asian girls beside him in the photo album; he might never leave. I always end up in line behind some Chinese granny with a basket of fish and octopus and unidentifiable vegetables that is about to become the best dinner ever. I've thought of introducing myself and following one home with a bib on, but hey, there's always grape Pocky. And, yes, grape Pocky is the shit.
