Grand finale, part II

Our multi-course meal lasted over the span of five hours. I was so stuffed. So very stuffed. And yet the food just. Kept. Coming.

In between courses everyone chatted merrily and the men in the household chain-smoked like there was no tomorrow for any of us. The next course was shabu-shabu, and as they placed paper-thin slices of beef into the boiling water, Pearl nudged me and whispered in English, "Kelley, that beef is just as expensive as the beef we saw on that TV show last night!" And indeed, it was amazingly delicious.

They brought out more food, delicate slices of sashimi, duck soup with cubes of fat floating in it, lotus root with horseradish filling, beef tongue, green noodles in soy sauce, an enormous crab, and other dishes that I can't remember.

It was a feast. And yet I felt sort of queasy. As gourmet as it was, the food was just too exotic for my American taste buds. I was putting things into my stomach that I wasn't used to and/or couldn't identify. Everything sat in my stomach with an uneasy feeling, not really sure what it was doing there.

While the next course was being prepared, and in between my frequent trips to the bathroom, Mr. Yamagawa explained his various collections of treasures to us. An extensive collection of antique china from around the world sparkled from inside glass cabinets. In other cases, mounds of jewelry were lovingly laid out on display: a necklace of real pearls, a Tiffany bracelet, a gold Rolex watch.

The little boy who earlier had called me beautiful crawled into his father's lap. I heard the man and his wife mention video games.
"Do you play video games?" I asked him.
"Yes, I play an online game called Everquest," he replied.
"Ah, Everquest," I said. "What level are you?"
"The highest one." He said, a little sheepishly.
"How much do you play every day?" I asked. He stuttered. Here his wife butted in,
"From when he wakes up until he goes to sleep!" She said.

The evening reached eight o'clock. We had been eating since three. As the next course was being brought out, I prepared my aching stomach for the next round of Fear Factor. Then Mrs. Yamagawa emerged from the kitchen with a platter of strawberries, cakes, and raspberry tea. The clouds broke and in that moment, the world was beautiful. I gulped down strawberries despite the protests of my full stomach, my taste buds in desperate need of relief.

After that night, I decided that I didn't want another bite of Japanese food. I was never more looking forward to the belated Thanksgiving dinner my family in the States had promised to cook for me. "They'd better not pull a joke on me and bring out sushi," I thought. I would not be amused.