Pomegranates are so many kinds of delicious that the fruit gods had to apply for a special permit to import them directly from heaven.
The man pictured to your right is the funniest man alive. He speaks Japanese with this hilarious Chinese accent and fusses around the kitchen whenever anyone's cooking. He speaks some English, but the phrase he says best, and most often, is "Stew is my life!" Picture this tall, skinny Chinese man bellowing "STEW IS MY LIFE" with no provocation in a deliriously thick Chinese accent, and enter hilarity, stage left.
Dinner tonight was ridiculously elaborate to celebrate... nothing really, but Teresa informs me that today was the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Pope's inauguration and possibly Mother Teresa was canonized as well. I could pretend that was why, but really it was because I wanted deliciousness to rain down like pennies from the top of the Empire State Building, penetrating three feet of concrete with the sheer force of their scrumptiousness. With that goal in mind, I had edamame, pomegranate, fresh French bread with camembert and mustard, yakisoba, and sake to drink. It was ridiculous for just me, but extremely good. I'd never had fresh pomegranates before, but thankfully I used the power of The Internet to look up the easiest way to unlock their delicious secrets. They look like stiff red sacks with a vaguely pentagonal shape, tied at the top with a little stem. Inside they are literally, yes literally, stuffed to the gills with these incredible jewel-like seeds that are basically faceted sacs of juice. I felt like I was tearing an alien brood from the nourishing walls of the colony ship; it was great.
Yesterday I went out to try to eat at a ramen shop, but when I asked about eggs in the noodles, zannen nagara, I was informed that they had eggs in them - but, no problem, they used only the whites, and the whites are no problem for people with allergies! Hooray! It took me about five minutes of arguing to convince the lady that, in fact, any part of the egg would actually kill me. I'm sure that by the end she was convinced of nothing more than that I was some uppity foreigner who likely eats nothing but wheat germ and 73% dehydrogenated marijuana.
I bought the second Cowboy Bebop manga today. I reaaaaaally hate shopping in the manga section of stores, because it's always just me and then even parts pervy salarymen and pervy punk kids. It also inevitably involves wandering confusedly around the store until I stumble into a section where all the covers show way too much of way too many naked people hugging way too many other naked people/animals/things and I decide that maybe wandering isn't the best way of finding what I want after all. Manga fanboys are stereotyped for very good reasons.
Those of you who asked, I've got knock-ups of kanji names for you all here.
