Every morning Jiro wakes at 4AM

And heads to his restaurant in Ginza

His kitchen is a blank canvas

For which he paints his culinary art

Sliced sashimi bursting with sunrise colours

Dipped in the sea green of maki

Temaki rolled with precision

Splashes of nigiri inked into the easel

Completing the masterpiece

For the daily rush hour

Served with pride  



On a night where anything can happen

follow the trail of red lanterns

into backstreets heavy with anticipation

where the pulse of society crackles at your fingertips

Otoshida arimasuka?

Ikura desuka ka?



Come, come

Down into the rabbit hole

To worship at the altar of crooners

Humming to jazz on that old jukebox in the corner

Watch salarymen rub shoulders with wastrels

Bonding at the banquet fit for a shogun

Yakitori, yakisoba, yaki-get me another beer

No, make it sake

Gingo, schminjo

Drink until the break of dawn

And stagger back into the half-formed world

Called Monday

Japanese Cuisine · Poetry

Soul Food

Did I ever tell you about the time

I discovered the meaning of life

in a bowl of ramen?

I mean it’s not like I planned it

I was hungry, that’s all

So, I ordered this big plate of tonkotsu

with noodles long enough to

stretch back to my childhood

The tomango bobbed up and down

winking at me like a crystal ball

I ate that first

Tasted of the future

with a side of nori

and before I knew what was happening

The broth was parting like the Red Sea

revealing secrets of the universe

 more enlightening than a thousand conversations

To this day I only eat ramen

because everything else is a disappointment