Food for thought

There are many of us, me included, who might wonder why in this age of the Internet and click and book, one would ever use the services of a travel agent and pay the necessary fees. Inside Japan, the Bristol-based company I have been working with on this trip, are a perfect example of why a travel agent can get it so right for you.

There has not been one single day on this holiday which has not surprised me.

I work very early this morning. In fact, as things happened, I could’ve had a whole further 45 minutes in bed, but jet-lag had decided that wass not going to happen so I was down for breakfast with Una Stubbs by 7:30 am and pushing my case through the light drizzle across to the Ferry terminal by 8:15 am.

Having got the train back to Hiroshima, I then had nearly two hours to kill, but luckily train stations in Japan are nearly always huge shopping malls with fabulous cafes and restaurants. I found a really nice coffee place to sit and have a pastry and a coffee and catch up on what happened last night in Sheffield.

In fact, while I was doing that, the party in Sheffield was still going on. Nice to see that the newspaper of my youth, The Sheffield Star, was first with the pictures and reactions seem to be favourable.

This series drops in its entirety next Wednesday, the 14th of June by which time I will be on the Amalfi coast with Marc. He’s keen to watch it so we will probably make our way through a couple of episodes at least during long evenings in the Mediterranean sunshine.

My bullet train was a little bit more old-fashioned today. That’s old-fashioned in a relative way compared to the 16.23 to Doncaster. It still had highly comfortable reclining seats, and this morning, I fell victim to them almost all the way to Osaka.

Thanks to my travel agents booklet, no taxi for me, but straight onto the subway, with a hitherto unheard of confidence, and six stops later and a short walk brought me to the Cross Hotel.

It’s certainly an improvement on Una’s place on Miyajima, and with the Japanese yen for perfection. There is no check-in until 3pm so I have a couple of hours to kill. Mercifully the hotel backs onto what appears to be Osaka‘s main shopping arcade.

It’s not long before I’ve acquired a piece of jewellery, a department store lunch, and a couple of pieces of plastic equipment that only Japan could have for sale on the High Street and which certainly don’t merit mention here.

I arrive back at the hotel at exactly 2:49 pm, and present myself with my luggage tag at the desk only to be told by a young woman whose grandmother obviously went to school with Eva Braun, that check-in isn’t until 3 o’clock. She might be the reason it’s The Cross Hotel.

The room is nice, and as I’m only here for one night I don’t have to do any major unpacking as I’ve just packed a backpack and my suitcase can stay intact. Slowly but slowly I’m mastering the idea of

touring. Each time I lift my brand-new large orange case onto the upper luggage rack of the bullet train, I live in terror of squashing a small Japanese chartered accountant if it falls.

Tonight’s food tour, and I leave the hotel to travel the short distance to the meeting point. The short distance doesn’t stop me picking up another pair of trainers from a rather swish Japanese boutique, and I arrive just before 5 o’clock to meet our guide, Spencer.

Spencer is a jolly type originating from Houston Texas, who has been schooled and then at University here in Japan. He’s looking for something in international business relations. Well, he’s going to get it tonight, because he’s only got me on the food tour, plus a charming girl who is Japanese, but who is been living in India, and only recently returned, and who is called Inami. And that’s not correct. and she is reading this, then please accept my apologies. I’m pretty sure its Inami, as I’ve learned that Unami is the fifth taste….but then I could be wrong.

The evening is great fun. Just the three of us. It’s like three friends going out for dinner. First stop, octopus balls. In the spirit of this holiday, I promise myself I’ll go straight for it. I am presented with a tray of four types of October’s balls. Who knew genitalia could have such variety?

So, in answer to questions I’ve been sent on social media; “No, they don’t pop”; No, they don’t crunch” and No they don’t smell fishy.” - Always a worry with balls.

In fact they are creamy and quite delicious, and although I’m not going to start a lifelong culinary relationship with the octopus, they’re a pleasant surprise.

We wander round hidden parts of central Osaka. Tiny alleys, and hidden byways, to find ourselves directly opposite the octopus balls restaurant for the second course, Katsu.

Now I’m not unfamiliar with Katsu. I have Chicken Katsu every time I visit Wagamama -which interestingly enough is Japanese for ‘selfish’ - Who knew?

The katsu is in the main, delicious, though who ever though of putting a chunk of pickled red ginger on a stick and deep frying it in breadcrumbs needs a little Hari Kari. It was vile.

The conversation flows as does the alcohol free beer in my case, something Japan seems to have mastered rather well. We finish the evening of the street stand with little pastry cases filled with vanilla ice. It’s been a real treat to get to know two strangers, in a new town.

And to put a little icing on the cake, several of my Monty colleagues have sent texts and social messages complimenting me on my work.

What more could a boy want?

Another octopus ball anybody?