Caffeinated and somewhat rested, we headed out to take Japan by storm.

The streets were lined with trees that seemed appropriately Japanese: carefully sculpted, ancient, majestic.

Even the manhole covers were works of art.

We found a playground which, as it seemed, worked pretty much the way our playground here in Chestertown works.

What goes up…

…must come down.

Though it is worth noting that dogs seem to get special treatment on Japanese swingsets.

After our walk, we returned to Reiko’s house and paid our respects at the shrine of her late husband, Katsuo.

The shrine is in a cabinet in the tatami room where we slept. Alden lit some incense.

The big event of the day was a lunch at a rather swanky sushi restaurant not far from Reiko’s house. We took a bus and then walked a bit to get there.

We were honoring Robbi’s grandmother, who has recently turned 99. Being 99, she was not up to actually attending the lunch, but Seiko’s three brothers (none of whom I had previously met) were there. In anticipation of meeting them, I had been practicing a phrase that means, “I am pleased to meet you for the first time. My name is Matthew.” After countless repetition, I was confident that I had it right. At the appointed time, I stood to address the room. Somewhat nervous, though mostly confident, I said, “I am Matthew. I’m pleased to be finished with my meal.”

I had to comfort myself that they were laughing with me and not at me. But in truth, the opposite is probably the case. I had not yet finished my meal. The food had not yet been served. But then it was. And it was magnificent.

We started with three small bowls of beautiful edible things.

Next, we were treated to a delicious piece of breaded fish.

At this point, I could have gone home happy. But then the sashimi plate arrived.

To further twist the knife into the backs of those of you who are drooling, here is a dramatic close-up of the tuna.

And look at this little fellow. In Japan, food is art.

We ate as much raw fish as we wanted. We ate with abandon. We felt satisfied and full. We were happy and content.

And then the shrimp tempura arrived.

I have only been alive for 35 years, but this was hands-down the best tempura I have ever had. I ate it and began to weep. It was the perfect end to a perfect meal.

I tried my best to convince Robbi that the shrimp tempura was a disappointment and that I would be happy to relieve her of the burden of eating it. Robbi, apparently, was not born yesterday.

I was delicately wiping the corners of my mouth, pleased to have made it successfully to the end of the meal, when the server brought us each an individual bento box with yet more sushi.

I started to get depressed. I was full. And yet there was so much more to eat. Had the dreaded moment arrived? Was I finally going to be defeated by food?

I dug deep. I found formerly untapped reserves of strength. I opened the compartment in my hollow leg. I finished my sushi in triumph, wondering if I’d won some sort of prize.

And then the miso soup with lobster arrived.

And what was Alden doing all this while? Why, eating her Happy Meal, of course.

In direct defiance of the artfully prepared wonders on her plate, she opted for liquid lunch.

I suppose I will have to forgive her. She is, after all, two.

After lunch, Alden spent some time with each of her great Uncles.

Takeo

Isamu

and Takeshi

And then, all of us stood together, reveling in the wonder of the feast.

It was the most remarkable meal I had ever eaten. It was one of those moments when I might have died fulfilled.

We found out from Seiko a few days later that her brothers had a different opinion of the food. It was so bad, in their estimation, that they were embarrassed to have taken us there. Sometimes, I argue, my ignorance is bliss. In fact, this is almost always the case.

After lunch, we walked back to Reiko’s, where various other friends and family were gathering for…

…yet more sushi.

It was demoralizing. I couldn’t have eaten another bite under threat of personal harm.

Fortunately, there were no such threats. The Japanese are very polite.

I got the chance to meet Seiko’s two best friends from high school (notice the photo in the foreground).

And spend some time with some other members of my extended Japanese family (from left to right: Yoshiko, Mayumi, Robbi, Kato, Ryosuke, Reiko, Ichiro, and Seiko)

The party was lively at 7:00pm. Reiko was just bringing out a plate of fresh gyoza (fried pork dumplings) when the will to remain conscious left me entirely. I apologized heartily, took my leave, and collapsed in a heap on my futon in the other room.

It was another day in Japan. I drifted off wondering if I possessed the gastronomic fortitude to make it through the trip.

SPOILER ALERT: I do. (And I did.)