THINGS JAPANESE: MORI-AWASE!

Food. Japanese people are fixated on it. When you first arrive in Japan, you will be asked a million times, "can you eat...?" While this might be quaint at first, it rapidly gets annoying. Yes, I can eat rice. Yes, I can drink sake. And no, although I am British, I do not drink tea and scones. I have been known to, but I try to avoid making a habit of it. Yes, I can drink coffee. We have it in Europe too, you know. And it's better (well, it is in Italy).

After the basic rice/coffee/spicy foods, a gleam comes into the eye. "Umeboshi?" they ask expectantly. "No I don't." They laugh in triumph. "Sashimi?" they ask grinning evilly. "Yes, I love sashimi." Disappointed looks all round.

Sashimi is, as I am sure you know, raw fish sliced in various arcane ways to maximise the flavour and is generally best when very fresh. I was once told very authoritatively by a Japanese person who seemed outwardly normal that foreign people could not eat raw food like the Japanese (steak tartare?). The reason, why didn't I think of it myself?, is that the average Japanese has 15 centimeters more intestine than the average Asian or Westerner. The comment that sprang to mind made me burst out laughing.

So, as a challenge, I am taken to a fairly well-known and popular izakaya, where we wait in the lobby for thirty minutes to get a seat. We finally sit down. Mori-awase is a fairly harmless collection of sashimi you can order anywhere, and arrives looking innocent (other than the fairly obvious fact that at least eight of the fish, squid and octopus I was watching in the aquarium in the lobby while waiting gave their lives to make it up). There is also a little basket woven out of something natural, looking pretty next to a pile of grated daikon and a pile of seaweed.

I open the basket, and nestled inside are two large prawns, shells removed but heads and tails still on. Hmmmm, I think, looks fairly unappetising. "Oishisou" I say. With encouragement from my persecutors, I reach in and lift one out by the tail. At that, the little nipper does a quick backflip, spears me in the hand with a mandible (he was angry. Who wouldn't be?), causing me to shout in surprise and drop the prawn. Everyone stared at the strange gaijin, then burst out laughing. I put the lid back on the other prawn and became vegetarian while my friends tucked into the incredibly "fresh" delicacy that is shelled raw prawns. The preparation, I hear, is an art. The eating seems to be a torture. Or is it the other way around...