Obligatory Sakura Photos

Spring in Japan is the time of the sakura (cherry blossoms) and so, here are a couple of shots from the Sumida River park. Global Tito has also been updated with photos of the ubiquitous trees.














Nothing says Japanese tradition like sitting under the sakura, eating a donner kebab.

Economic indicators

Despite the decade or so of economic malaise that followed the bursting of Japan's real estate bubble in the early 1990's, Japan has retained its place as the world's number two economic power. Over the past few years Japan has been going through a prolonged period of recovery. And the signs that it will continue remain prevalent.

Much focus is given to the Japan Business Federation's (Nippon Keidanren) tankan survey of business sentiment. Business publications hang on every word issued by the Bank of Japan governor. The consumer price index, the value of the yen, and consumer behavior and myriad other indicators are also scrutinized at length in an attempt to predict if this expansion will continue. One area of anecdotal evidence of Japan's economic health, however, seems to be left unnoticed.

Trade shows in Japan offer a view of the economy's state that is rarely reflected upon. There are two elements to the Trade Show Indicator of Economic Health (tm). The first is simply the number of trade shows and exhibitions held and their size. In the last couple of years, trade shows have seen an increased interest from companies looking for opportunities to exhibit their products and services. New trade shows have also been springing up to focus on up and coming industries. The types of new trade shows should also be included here, for example the holding of Japan's first Gourmet Food Show this year.

The second part of the Trade Show Indicator of Economic Health (tm) is the number and quality of the "Campaign Girls". For those unfamiliar with trade shows in Japan, these are the young women typically dressed in short skirts or the like employed by companies to attract visitors into their booths, encourage visitors to fill out their surveys in exchange for cheap give-aways, and be photographed prominently displaying the companies' logos. (Sometimes more effectively than at other times - see below.)

A couple of years ago only the biggest, most free-spending of the Japanese companies had campaign girls prancing in front of their booths; and then only at the biggest exhibitions. This year the number of bubbly women in short, logo-ed apparel has increased.

As an aside, you can also tell the relative health of a company by the quantity and quality of the campaign girl(s) employed at any given booth within the exhibition.

According to the Trade Show Indicator of Economic Health (tm), it should be a good year for the Japanese economy. And for the hundreds of guys who only attend trade shows to photograph campaign girls.

And the winner is...

Since only one person actually left a guess (Thank you!), the gin goes to Allie. Congratulations, despite being totally off the mark with your answer.

That bit of promotion (see photo of model on a motorcycle with a side car) was actually for a digital camera.

What's being promoted here?

As part of my job here, I spend a good deal of time at trade shows and exhibitions. The photo was taken at a recent trade show. (Not a great photo, I know, but I did not feel like waiting from the throngs of Japanese guys with professional grade cameras to move on -- they don't.)

Can you identify what is being promoted?

Leave your answers in the comments section. The winner, should ever we meet, will receive a gin & tonic. The correct answer will be posted next week. Good luck.

The Neighbors

When I first moved to Japan several years ago, an apartment was arranged for me in Kawasaki City. My new employer, which had hired me without so much as a telephone interview, was kind enough to locate and pay some of the more ridiculous fees on the apartment prior to my arrival.

After landing and getting in touch with the company, I was given instructions on where and how to meet a representative to take me to the apartment. As we walked from the station, he pointed out some of the neighborhood’s highlights – numerous restaurants, department stores, and just down the block from my new residence, a building full of yakuza.

“Don’t worry about them,” I was told. “They do not mess with people in their neighborhood. You don’t bother them, they will not bother you.”

Fair enough, I thought.

In the 15 months that I lived there, I only had two instances of direct interaction with my neighbors. The first occurred as a friend, who also lived in my building, and I were walking passed the yakuza’s place. An eager young gangster sidled up next to us and stated with great pride and careful enunciation, “I...am...Japanese...gangster!”

My friend replied casually, “yes, we know.” At that the young man dropped away and walked back to the small group of associated that always stood outside the building. They greeted his return with a verbal haranguing clearly audible as we proceeded toward the station. Although my understanding of Japanese was limited, it was clear that the young man had breached some article of protocol.

Over the next several months, that young gangster would scurry quickly inside at the sight of my or my friend’s approach.

Across the street and just around the corner from the yakuza’s place was a small coin-operated laundry which I used because of it was nearly always empty of patrons and it was close to my place. The shop held only washers and three driers. Unusually for this place, all of the machines were engaged, so I was shuttling back and forth between my apartment and the laundry. This was quite common and I had no experience with or fear of anyone taking my clothes. I returned to the laundry to find one of the other patrons emptying his clothes from a drier. I thought my timing was quite good since I was on my last load and needed the drier. He finished and I began moving my clothes to the now empty drier. Just as I finished and slotted the coins to start the drier one of the yakuza came into the shop.

He watched as I started the machine, then looked up to the top of the machine. I had not noticed, but on top of the machine was a blanket resting comfortably atop the half inch of dust and lint. I tried to explain to the best of my limited Japanese ability and, seeing that fail, through a series of grunts and pantomime that I was not responsible for the current location of the blanket. Thinking I had conveyed the my meaning adequately, I returned to my apartment.

At the time I thought my laundry should have been dry, I returned to the shop. The machine in which I had left my clothes was empty. They were not on top of the washers, as would sometimes happen on particularly busy days in the laundries around the neighborhood. I looked through in the other driers, but could not located my clothes. Then I glanced into the trash can at the rear of the shop. There were my clothes, still wet. I surmised that this was the result of the phone call the young yakuza was hastily making when I left the shop earlier.

Morning commuter 3.16.07

On the campaign trail

In a couple of short weeks, Japan will hold local elections at the city level. Fortunately for the residents of this country, the campaign season is mercifully limited to a few short weeks for each election cycle. That is not a lot of time to prepare the electorate for the day. Thus, the politicians have been on the campaign circuit from morning to night "debating" the issues. To the left is the debating platform of choice for local elections. When you get to the national level, you get a bus with bigger and more speakers.

Politicians or their designated mouth-pieces spend the day cruising the neighborhoods of their district, screaming "good morning", "good afternoon", "good evening", "elect (insert name of candidate here) and "thank you" through their sound systems at the unsuspecting citizenry.

Any resident within a six block radius is well aware of this message. Those at 100 meters endure a ringing in the ears for a few minutes. Any closer and you would probably just go deaf.

Local elections are over in a couple of weeks, at which point the din of Tokyo returns to normal until the campaign season for the upper chamber of parliament kicks off in June. They get the buses -- there's something to look forward to.

Shameless promotion in my own self-interest

This article is a nicely done piece about the group I attempt to play hockey with whenever possible.
http://www.fitnessjp.com/025_58_we+don%60t+need+no+stinking+skates%21

(The views expressed in the article are not necessarily those of the Idle Monkey Trainer, including the quotes.)

Also, Global Tito has been updated.

Signs of Spring

The indications that winter (entirely snow-less in Tokyo for the first time since modern records began in the Edo Period) is soon to be behind us are emerging. Distinctive to Japan, or at least Tokyo, the approach of spring is not heralded by the arrival of the first robins, as it is in North America. Rather, it is the sprouting of lights on the cherry trees that mark the nearing change.
The other sure-fire indication that spring is on the horizon, is that fake sakura line Nakamise in Asakusa, Tokyo.

Resurrection

Thoughts of an Idle Monkey Trainer has gone without an update for a long time. At the suggestion of a (geographically) distant friend, it has been resurrected as a companion to Global Tito, which is updated approximately monthly. The thoughts of idle monkey trainers, however, occur more frequently, and thus require more frequent updates. Those thoughts will be found here.

Mourning light

The body was found an hour ago. It had been hastily covered by a few boughs broken off nearby firs. In the early morning light the night’s dew shimmered with each passing step. There were now about a dozen onlookers walking around the body in measured steps. Each kept his eyes fixed on the motionless mound, seemingly hoping to discern something, anything, about it. None so much as made a single sound, which lent the scene an oppressive, nearly ritualistic, air. As the hours passed, more onlookers arrived and joined the circular procession. The newly arrived took on the inquisitive look of the rest and soon blended easily into the group. All were dressed in long dark robes with hoods pulled over their heads. They formed a nearly solid wall around the body, leaving only the tiniest glimpse between them as they circled. When more came, the circle expanded outward, but was unceasing in its counter-clockwise rotation.

Left alone with the body, one may have crouched beside it to examine it more closely, to smell the last traces of perfume. Perhaps one would be so bold as to brush back the hair that fell into the face. But in the group, none dared get any closer than another. The sun rose higher and cast a harsher light upon the forest floor and dried the dew from grass, bough and body. The march kept on. Through the hot afternoon the pace slowed only slightly and a few heads hung lower, but never did any of their eyes move from the lifeless form in their midst.

As the sun began to drift behind the distant mountains and the few clouds above began to turn pink, a low murmur started low from the pack. From my perch on a low rise a few hundred yards off, it sounded at first like the distant growl of an avalanche. As darkness crept into the woods, the volume rose. The rhythm of a chant reached my ears, but the words remained elusive. The pace of the mourners – as I had come to regard them – neither increased nor decreased. Their voices matched their steps. With the cooler temperature of the night approaching those that had hung their heads in the heat seemed to regain their strength and now walked erect.

The first stars appeared above and the monotone rhythm of the chant was punctuated by guttural shouts that conveyed much feeling. Each shout was accompanied by the singular motion of the right arm thrown quickly into the air and instantly recalled. As the sky darkened the pace quickened, the rhythm of the chant sped up to match it and the interval between the shouts shortened. When the moon could first be glimpsed above the treetops, shrill yelps came from the previously unnoticed women who had joined the group. The chant continued with the yelps of the women and the shouts of the men alternating and reverberating through the low valley.

For several minutes more there was no change. When the moon came fully over the horizon, however, the women broke the ranks from the four points of the compass and jerked the boughs from the body. They rejoined the march, tossing the boughs high above them and into the shadows of the surrounding forest. Over the chant of the procession the crash of the boughs could barely be discerned. Again the pace quickened and the volume rose.

At last the moon reached its zenith and bathed the mourners in a dull glow. Four of the more stout men stepped to the inside of the circle but continued to keep pace. The four circled closer and closer to the body until they nearly trod upon it. They stopped suddenly and dropped to a knee, each taking hold of a limb. With fluid motion they rose and lifted the body toward the heavens. The outer circle let go a cry – a mix of anguish, jealousy, pain, and fear – then resumed their original chant, the punctuating shouts and yelps now absent. In the center the four men, held the body high. They faced the south; the two under the feet standing side by side so that the ankles touched, the two with the arms so that they extended out like wings. The head, perhaps braced under the neck, did not fall or roll. Long curls of dark brown hair cascaded down and swayed slightly. Loose white fabric from the body’s dressings hung like sails from the arms and legs. Slowly the men turned the body, clockwise, never allowing the hips of the body to stray from above their original position on the ground. By nearly imperceptible increments they turned the body faster until the rotations of the two circles were identical.

From the west clouds rolled in above the trees, but split curiously above the mourners. The clouds, dark and menacing, circled the moon in the manner of the outer circle flowing around the body. The moon continued its journey across the sky, becoming masked by the cloud. The scene darkened, but the chants continued. In the diminished light it was difficult to see, but the revolutions of the mourners did not slow. When the moon was fully behind the clouds a flash of light came from the clouds. It came not in discernible bolts, but rather in a flood from every direction. So powerful was it that the entire forest glowed and lost all shape, leaving only a blinding white. Just as suddenly darkness plunged back in, as if filling a vacuum. The clouds parted without so much as a breath of wind. The mourners stood, with arms and faces raised to the heavens, their eyes closed and lips sealed tight; the body conspicuously absent. Slowly, and in synchronized fashion, the mourners lowered their arms and faces to the center of the circle, turned and parted ways, each walking in a straight line, no two walking together.

This is the Army...

Given my geographic location, one of my primary sources of current information has become the Armed Forces Network (AFN) on radio broadcast from a somewhat nearby air force base. This has certain advantages over local radio. Significantly, it is in English and carries hourly news updates from AP and CNN. When sports finals roll around, they broadcast the games live.

Because of rules governing AFN broadcasts, there are no commercials. This is also good. In their stead they broadcast a type of public service announcement. It should go without saying that these announcements are intended for the military community. What they offer to those not in the military, however, is a glimpse into what happens behind the secure gates of the area facilities.

Now, if these broadcasts were the only insight into the life of the military, there are a few impressions one would get. First, military personnel that get into radio are not nearly as funny as Robin Williams made them seem in Good Morning Vietnam. In fact, they are not funny at all. Ever.

Second, they have problems – lots of problems. Here are the most serious problems military personnel have, as determined by the frequency of announcements encouraging them not to engage in the activities:
 Drunk driving
 Sexual harassment
 Shop lifting
 Allowing breaches in base security
 Driving into jet fuel trucks
 Driving motorcycles in an unsafe manner
 Suicide
 Allowing themselves to get out of shape

The station twice a month also broadcasts call-in shows with commanders, or other officers, from the various bases in the area. On these shows they encourage people from the bases or other areas under their command to raise various issues that are affecting them. It seems that most of their problems involve parking, or the lack of it.

Otherwise, it would seem, at least, all is well.

Rock for Regime Change

“Rock for Regime Change”

Saturday, May 28, Tokyo Japan – With an eclectic mix of musicians performing jazz with tap, hard rap-rock, DJs, and jam bands, the Democrats Abroad (Japan) staged their “Rock for Regime Change” to register overseas voters.

Co-sponsors for the event included a local restaurant and Red Hook Beer, both of whom donated part of their sales that night to the Democrats Abroad. Despite the event name and the organization by the Democrats, the political aspects of the evening were somewhat muted. Other than a couple of brief speeches, the only thing that really gave it away as a political event were the small John Kerry for president signs in the lobby and the visuals projected on the walls next to the stage. The most prominent of the images was a collage of the current Bush administration hawks, plus George H.W. Bush, superimposed over images from Iraq or Afghanistan. The elder Bush actually seemed more prominent since his image managed to stay on the wall longer as the picture zoomed out.

The night opened with a brief speech by someone who was somehow involved with the organization of the event making a 15-second political note and introducing the first band, a local band by the name of Ebel (or something like that). The smallish female lead singer managed to hold her own over the high-volume guitar and base work. They were followed by Heya no Mori (Peace Forest), a combination of three tap-dancers, a weak bass player, a jazz pianist and a scat singer with little soul.

Following the jazz and tap came another short political appeal, something which had been thankfully absent so far. This one proved to be a stirring plea for action. The emcee held a beer high and announced that the Red Hook being sold would benefit the Democrats Abroad and the quest to remove George H.W. Bush from office, and as such, everyone should do his or her part by drinking much. It was obvious the emcee was doing his part.

The third band of the night proved the best. Going by the name Sonica, it was a collection of foreign and Japanese musicians, including what are perhaps Japan’s best drummer and bass player. The band was rounded off with two other guitarists, a saxophone and an angry sounding “singer,” in the style of Rage Against the Machine. They performed well, with energy and tight musicianship, despite this being their first performance.

Fourth up on the stage was perhaps the group having the most fun. The lead, not really a singer as such, but definitely in the lead, made numerous reference to and chants for Ralph Nader, as well as goading the audience to move closer to the stage. The stage itself was crowded for their set, borrowing the bassist from earlier, two guitars, four horns, a rapper, a fair drummer and a couple of guys who seemed only to scream into the microphones a couple of times per tune.

The true highlight of the evening, however, was located at the back left of the venue. Baird Beer, a microbrewery located in Shizuoka prefecture, about two hours by express train from Tokyo, had a variety of what must be Japan’s best beer. As one gentleman commented over a pint of Angry Boy Brown Ale, “This is the best beer I’ve had in about five years. It is so hard to find a good beer in this country.” Interestingly, Mr. Baird learned his craft at Red Hook, and after a sipped announced solemnly, “Red Hook doesn’t travel well.”

What the expectations of the organizers were, or if they met them, are hard to tell. But, it was obvious that those in attendance enjoyed themselves immensely.

Sakura, sakura...

Spring in Tokyo, as most places, is a time of renewal. The gray skies begin to give way to a softer, more inviting blue. Trees that once offered only charcoal skeletons now nearly glow with blossoms. The hemlines of skirts climb in increments best measured in feet. Offices of the bigger, more traditional firms nearly bubble over with newly graduated recruits. And the event known as hanami greets them all.

A celebration of spring, hanami (literally flower viewing) is the official harbinger of spring. The government launches an official website to track and forecast the blooming of the cherry trees. Schedules are made and changed according to variations in the weather forecast.

On the days when the weather is warm and the trees are in their prime (which usually lasts about an hour), space in a park is at a premium. During the week the spaces are rigorously defended, often by a recent graduate embarking on his exciting career in business. Whether they are also responsible for lining up Peach Girls (escorts specifically engaged to provide company for hanami parties) may depend on the company’s culture. Each company or hanami party may even be so bold as to mark off their territory days in advance. The ingenious may pay a few of the homeless in booze and food to reserve a spot. Availability is on a first come, first served basis.

To properly enjoy the season, one must be prepared, and observe the traditions of hanami:

A blue tarp – preferably large enough to shelter a small nomadic tribe, spread on the ground for claiming territory and later seating; remember to remove your shoes before stepping onto it

Cardboard boxes – for use as tables for the buffet

Food – any assortment of snacks – dried fish and squid, seaweed, chicken skewers, fried noodles, octopus balls, meat on a stick, peanuts, etc. – in large quantities, lest you have to later order pizza from the delivery guys wandering the park

Alcohol – more important than food, one must be prepared to drink until the flowers which you are ostensibly viewing no longer come into focus. Beer and rice wine are the staples, but don’t be afraid to bring the entire bar with you – you will not be looked up with scorn, but rather with envy

Remember also to carry a camera (easily done in Japan, where every phone has a camera and everyone and their dog has a phone), for if you have done the above, you will need some evidence of having seen a flower.

Those who are ill prepared are forced to pay inflated prices for snacks and beer from the myriad of vendors set up around each park, and scrounge newspaper and the dismantled buffet boxes to use as seats.

But as quickly as the hanami season begins, it ends, and one is left to wait for hanabi (fireworks) to start before indulging so conspicuously in the park again.

Recommended reading

Nothing new from me, but others are keeping busy. Check out "the hard drinker" by Court Merrigan.

Olympic glory

I can now say that I've boarded down an Olympic run. Two actually. Over the weekend the company took a trip to Shiga Kogen, Nagano Prefecture, which was the site of some of the '98 Winter Olympic competition. After struggling through a 30km (18.6 mile) traffic jam leaving Tokyo, we arrived just before 1:00 p.m. Skipping lunch, we strapped on the boards and headed up the gondola. Snow was falling lightly, and occasional patches of sun poked through. The snow could have been better, but was not horrible. The half-inch of new stuff was not bad, but the base was fairly solid and icy. (One co-worker sustained a broken wrist in a bad fall on a steep run.) After the skiing came a huge meal, and the onsen (hot springs). The bath, referred to as a rotenburo, was situated outside at the back of one of the hotels, at the base of a forest slope. Ringing the bath area was a moat of snowmelt. Very cold snowmelt. The night was capped by a mediocre display of fireworks launched from the top of the mountain, but still managed to draw the applause of the guests assembled in the large-windowed restaurant to watch. The next day was a beautiful spring day, with clear skies and a view from the top of the Southern Japanese Alps. As the day warmed (and the slopes crowded) the snow softened and became slushy, but remained hard and icy in spots. The two Olympic runs, by the way, had been for the Giant Slalom and Super Giant Slalom and are well marked.

Four Days of Board-ome on the North Island

Days 3 & 4

The last two days were pretty much the same. Dinner the final evening was a huge feast - a buffet covered in snow crab, grilled king crab, mountains of raw shrimp, grilled squid, a bucket of salmon roe and a variety of other things. The snow remained good, and it was snowing hard as the bus pulled out for the airport.

Four Days of Board-ome on the North Island

Day 2

From deep slumber to painful aches, the day began much as the previous had ended – light, fluffy snow drifting down around the hotel. On the ground lay a new, if not especially deep, layer of powder. Breakfast in the traditional Japanese style – rice, a small cut of salmon, natto (fermented soybeans) and crisp nori (dry seaweed).

At the summit of the smaller of the two peaks, just above 1000 meters, the sun was shining and the wind was whipping. Near and in the trees, the snow remained soft and light for the first few runs, turning heavier as the day went on and the temperature rose. A fine spring day ensued.

From mid-afternoon the onsen (hot springs) beckoned, cutting the day short in avoidance of the icy conditions that would begin to form. The water steamed in a large room with baths of different description. The largest in one corner near a window looking out to a forested hill was shallow and mostly mild. A small bath waited at 20C (68F) to greet those emerging from the sauna. Nearby, a shallow bath held reclining bathers as air pulsed and massaged from below.

The most enjoyable of the baths, however, was found out a sliding glass door. A small, round bath deeper than those inside sat in the corner below a roof. It looked out, unobstructed, over a wooded hill. Had it been snowing at the time, it would have been picture-postcard perfect.

The dinner that followed was not the grand feast of the first night. Owing to financial considerations, an izakaya (a Japanese style bar) was found to be quite suitable. The fare varied, but mostly consisted of rice topped with sashimi and, being Hokkaido, salmon roe.

With muscles relaxed from the baths, and stomachs full, sleep came swiftly.

Four Days of Board-ome on the North Island

Day One:

The alarm started its usual noises at 5:00 a.m., far earlier than most rational people would have preferred. The city was still dark and still, only a few dedicated workers making their way toward the city center. The train to the airport showed only a little more liveliness.

The terminal building at Haneda International was buzzing with activity, travelers in suites carried black briefcases and overnight bags, others in jeans and ski jackets sat next to their boards and skis, sipping coffee and looking both tired and excited. The plane, a Boeing 747-300 was full for the hour-and-a-half flight to New Chitose Airport.

Outside the warm confines of Chitose’s airport, the sun reflected brightly off the snow. The bus wound its way out of the airport and onto the highway, headed toward the mountains to the south and west. Rising up into the foothills, the sun was masked in cloud and a thick snow was falling. It would continue to fall in waves for the next few days.

By one o’clock the gondola reached the summit of the Kiroro resort, 1,200 meters (3937 feet). Visibility at the summit was no more than 20 feet, the snow and wind combining at times in complete whiteout. The temperature was –15C (5F). The snow was thick, light and dry.

With no crowds on the slopes, the conditions did not deteriorate, and being Japan, not many are inclined to be the first into the trees or even onto the edges of the runs. Throughout the day and until the lights came on there was fresh snow to be explored. The runs were peaceful by Japanese resort standards – no J-pop, gansta rap, or other music pumping constantly from the lift speakers, only the droning repetition of announcements for the ski and snowboard school.

Dinner was taken in the ski village surrounding Hotel Piano (Kiroro is owned by Yamaha music, thus the hotels are named for instruments). This hotel serves as the main resort area, and is five minutes by shuttle bus from the mountain base. The hotel itself houses two restaurants – one Italian, one offering the foods of Hokkaido. Surrounding the hotel are other restaurants of various description – Chinese, sushi, izakaya, etc. This first night’s meal was had in a restaurant adorned almost exclusively in Beatles paraphernalia, with the occasional Elvis poster thrown in for variety. The food, however, was distinctly Hokkaido – tender strips of barbequed lamb, accompanied by bowls of rice topped with salmon roe.

Sleep that night came quickly and easily.

Land of the Setting Sun

The sun has set on what is one of Japan’s proudest cultural institutions, at least to judge from the media coverage.

Following the discovery of BSE in a Washington state cow, the Japanese government imposed a ban on the importation of American beef. This has in turn caused the end of Japanese culture as it is currently known.

As American beef supplies in Japan began to dwindle, and the prices rise, major fast food establishments that rely on the cheap beef to serve as gyudon (beef-topped rice bowls) began to announce the end of an era. Newspapers and television news programs lined up and began feeding the public the dire news.

One by one the major chains removed gyudon from their menus. Finally the most venerable of the gyudon chains removed gyudon from its menu in all except its flagship store in order to preserve the 105-year-old tradition of gyudon at Yoshinoya.

The media reported daily on the fall of gyudon chains and the impending demise of the dish. Extensive reporting was done on what the firms were doing to replace the American beef. Sadly, Australian beef does not lend itself to the dish and costs more. Newspaper and television reported on the final shipment of American beef to Yoshinoya’s outlets. TV crews reported live from the midnight departure and stood in the way of the deliverymen making their final rounds. Newspapers carried full-page articles on the event.

Fed by the reporting on the imminent demise of a cultural staple, consumers lined up outside Yoshinoya’s shops to get one last beef bowl. Reports were full of people who had frequented gyudon shops expressing a sense of loss. Other reporters found some who had never tried one in their 25 years’ of life who had rushed to stand in line to sample one before gyudon was consigned to history.

In interviews, long-time gyudon eaters derided the new menu offerings of spiced pork on rice and Japanese curry. Nothing can replace their beloved beef bowl. This weekend, the beef bowl died in Japan.

From the extensive coverage the demise garnered one would think that gyudon has gone forever, and with it went a piece of Japan. Doubtless the government will eventually accept the steps taken by America in certifying its beef safe and once again allow the importation of beef. However, this is not a possibility that has been raised by the chains’ management or the media. When the government does reopen the market, gyudon will rise up from the ashes like a phoenix and a new dawn of Japanese culture unrivaled since the Meiji restoration will commence.