My uncle Yasuhiro taught me the joy of indulgent consumption. I once watched him squeeze an entire tube of condensed milk onto a bowl of strawberries and eat it up. I also once watched him cover the entire surface area of his katsu with mayonnaise before consuming it. At one point he smoked a pack a day (I think he’s cut back over the past few years.) He is also a cycling fanatic. I am not sure if all of his habits cancel out but as far as I can tell he is quite healthy.
The last time we were in Japan he drove me, my brother Mark, and my fiancé Nayan up to the base of Mount Fuji. We took the the long way around because he wanted us to try horse sashimi. Horse meat consumption is illegal in America, primarily due to the things Americans put in horses. It made the boys want to try it more.
Yasuhiro’s English is pretty good, my Japanese is elementary. Ultimately it did not register to we Americans that we were going to a butcher shop — or, as it said on the sign, a “meat deli.” We thought we were going to a café or bar or something but nope, it was a butcher shop on the side of the road. Yasuhiro discovered it on one of his long bike rides and became pals with the butcher.
I went inside with him. Everywhere we go together, I am introduced as American. They always say “ah, soo desu ka.” “Ah, is that so.”
The sashimi was served in a styrofoam container. The butcher also provided a styrofoam tray filled with soy sauce and a fat squeeze of pureed garlic. “I have a place we can eat outside,” Yasuhiro told us. He took us around the side of the building and put the trays down on the curb. Snack time.
I ate one piece to say I tried it, which was… fine, as far as my mouth could tell it was an ambiguous raw meat thing. I am not so big on any type of sashimi, anyway. Then Mark “neigh”-ed at me and I almost gagged. I let the boys finish the rest.