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The most common causes of this issue are: It’s the best! I’m filled with nostalgia now.Your IP address has been temporarily blocked due to a large number of HTTP requests. In Kyushu it is drunk pre-mixed with fruit juice out of a 1-liter can on your back balcony while throwing rocks at the 5-inch-long cicadas. In California, in Korea, in Tokyo, it becomes elegant and trendy. So you reminded me of my favorite thing about shochu, even more favorite than it being the moonshine of southern hicks in Japan: that it takes on a totally different cast once you remove it from that environment. It’s just such a great image it can’t not be true. But I was convinced that my school’s vice principal, who was missing teeth, did in fact probably make it in his back yard. That’s not to say I don’t like it! I like shochu too much for my own good. After living there for a while (finding out that it can also be made from potatoes didn’t help) I couldn’t dissociate shochu – the Japanese pronunciation of the same word – from liquor made in a bathtub. Korean soju is also consumed in vast quantities in the south of Japan, but it takes on an entirely different personality: moonshine.
Fish heads eat them up yum movie#
Yelling and Truth and Beauty: one of these things is not like the other.Īlso, one of our servers called the soup “vishy-swah.”Īlso, there appeared to be an amateur pole dancers convention in progress I hadn’t thought it possible for so many heaving rubber bosoms to so heavily predominate a given square footage except at the MTV Movie Awards.īird, your comment took me right back to southern Japan, where I spent a year poking around (okay, “teaching” English to 15-year-olds) a while back. And because it’s Austin, the expensive people were unable to stop yelling. “But Twisty,” you say, “why deduct points for that?” Well, precisely because it is so astonishing, the place was crammed to the rafters with expensive people. I would call it the best meal I’ve had in 10 years, except that Uchi’s chef is a fucking genius, and nobody within 1000 miles of Austin is doing anything remotely comparable. Buttery slices of snapper with tangerines Applewood smoked yellowfin with candied garlic, almonds, and taro chips a whole fried mackerel with fried peanuts and Meyer lemon curd grilled scallops with fairy-ring mushrooms and roasted grape tomato yes, and foie gras on a grilled brioche with papaya compote and some mysterious fresh herbs, and yes, I ate it, goddammit pinball-sized scoops of sorbet made from absurd vermillion mountain peaches with more unidentified herbs and tiny cubes of mint gelatin fried fish skin, nectarines, tangerines, Asian pears, New Zealand lobsterettes. Each of these edible tableaux was as close to an expression of Truth and Beauty as anything I’ve ever chewed. Succulent little sea-dwelling morsels which only 24 hours earlier had been swimming without a care in the world in and around Japanese waters arrived dressed with indescribably delicate emulsions and sauces and dice of fruit and vegetable and mineral. If I were writing a fantasy novel - and we should all be infinitely grateful that this is not the case, because I wouldn’t be able to put in a single faerie or Golden Sword of Zwyrrdnnflyr - I would describe what happened next as “we flew into transports.” But I am writing a blog post, so I will merely say that we became very pleasantly pisculent. Whereupon Jody, our server, brought us 8 or 10 courses in succession, at a pace compatible with the digestive processes of peckish epicures. Then we ordered the chef’s tasting menu (the actual name for it was a Japanese phrase meaning “I trust you”). Stingray and I waited an hour for a table at Uchi last night. Fried mackerel, peanuts, cilantro, lemon curd at Uchi on S.
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