Oh
Marina, Marina, Marina what on earth are you on about and where are you? You lose us in
your captivating though confusing knowledge of Japanese noodle
joints. You leave us open-mouthed and wondering quite how to
disseminate everything we've just read (and we read it thrice too).
Hang-on did we spell your name correctly? Oh good we did (got told
off recently by the bloke with bad hair for spelling his name wrong -
unforgivable we know but hey, these things happen).
OK, so we get that ramen is noodles and noodle otaku are nerds, your
knickers got in a twist and you squealed when you heard Ramen had
"hit the capital" but inhaling them? Do we sneak off to the
loo and spread them on the cistern top and roll a tenner for this? We
really really do wish you'd expand upon your hint at "dream-like
encounter in peculiar, intimidating Golden Gai" and the neon
"gulch" of the red-light Kabukicho district (sounds rather
reminiscent of a scene from that old film, Emmanuel).
We're
not sure if we're still in the capital or somewhere rather more
eastern but we follow you lamb-like into the "shonky, upstairs
joint". Thankfully you don't then treat us to an architectural
description of and from what the sodding bar is made but instead
treat us to mind blowing descriptions of tiny savoury sardines, thin
skinned dumplings, juicy pork and prawn ... trashy de-boned chicken
thighs ...
Not
wishing to detract a single minutest, tiniest ink dot from your gorgeous, ejaculation
bringing descriptions of the food you encountered - we like this
review ... except ... all three times we read it - we were and still are
not sure which country we were in or even which bloody continent we
were on for most of the time.
Oh
Marina we could listen to you slurp your noodles all day long. Tell
us of your experiences Golden Gai ... our elbows are on the table and
our chin is resting in our hands ... go on, one last slurp just for
us. Whisper in our ear - where are we?
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