Cowabunga! A Garbage Gut Herbal Remedy

Throw away your Daily Multis! The best general health improvement on the market is here. Guaranteed to increase your blood circulation, repair your lymph nodes, rejuvenate your whole system. Garbage Gut has never been concerned much with good health. Since arriving in Japan I've tried to turn that around though. I've taken great strides towards a better diet - tryin' to fuck with that food pyramid, got that five a day. I've been exercising regularly and watching Bruce Lee movies - I don't think I've been healthier my whole life. Garbage Gut will outlive every other food blog in the world. That's why we're sprinkling ground up turtle on our tea every morning.

I was running around Kyoto yesterday and I ran into a woman selling hot, dried turtles. I'll admit I was really hoping to try some grilled terrapin. Instead the lady was hustlin' obscure herbal medicines including: turtle powder, shark fin, and blow fish. Unfortunately everything was out of my Garbage Gut budget, but I was able to try a sample of green tea infused with turtle power.

Garbage Gut on a Budget: Dog Food on Rice

Quick, filling snack. One can of dog food on leftover rice. Throw it in the microwave for a minute or so and it's good to go. Nothing like eating on a budget.

Remembering a Very Garbage Gut Christmas

Last year at Ryan's Christmas party I brought brussel sprouts sprinkled with bacon and pina coladas. Neither of which is becoming of a Garbage Gut like myself. In order to maintain my reputation I brought ten McDonald's cheeseburgers lightly resting on top of 20 chicken McNuggets all of which was floating above a sea of Heinz baked beans. Needless to say it was a hit and a work of fart worthy of entry into the Garbage Gut Master Works collection.

I highly recommend this dish if you need something to bring to Christmas dinner and you only have two minutes to prepare.

And now for something simple and pleasant:

A beautiful lunch in Kyoto: tea and soba noodles.

RAMEN FEST!!!!!!!!

750 yen, 30 minutes in line, a bowl and a half of the most delicious ramen on the planet, and the realization of why bathrooms in Japan smell the way they do, ramen farts.

And now a special Garbage Gut edition of Culture Shock: Living with Seasons (the Joy of Seasonal Scatology)

In San Francisco it was nice to pretend that we could feel things changing. Some leaves would turn, it'd start to get slightly colder. Here in Japan the seasons are an event. We actually lucked out in September and found ourselves at Ise Shrine (a nationally renowned holy place) on the day when summer became fall. There was a big celebration, dances, performances, etc. The seasonal transition was abrupt too; T-shirt weather ceased on THAT day.

The food in the fall is amazing: chestnuts, sweet potatoes (at a BBQ I ate a sweet potato baked underground which seared the roof of my mouth and the thing is kind of sticky too so I couldn't get it off quickly either. I haven't had a baked sweet potato since, but they're delicious), tea, and mushrooms.

Those special autumn mushrooms are amazing, and they're not uncommon. Most of the time I end up purchasing a bento with 'em for lunch. There are even festivals that celebrate this mushroom.

These mushrooms are notorious for giving people putrid gas and similarly liberal bowels. But, they are so seductive no one can resist the temptation, so much so that scatology has become just as important a part of the festival as anything else. I was able to attend a festival in Gifu, famously toting itself as the most foul smelling of all mushroom festivals, and the most Western friendly*.

*An important announcement concerning bathrooms in Japan:

They can be wonderful, even glamorous places; very clean, fully automatic. All Western style toilets feature seat warming, bidets, perfume, and a button that triggers a fake flush noise to drown out people's personal pooping noises. The button was installed to prevent people from actually flushing the toilet to mask their moans and groans effectively conserving water.

I'd say nine out of ten times this is the type of toilet you will find in a Japanese public restroom. But do not allow yourself to be deceived by the ingenuity, the public bathroom is still a grotesque place to find yourself with the nagging suspicion of stool. While the Western style toilet may sound like the type of place you wouldn't mind finding yourself that sentiment is shared by everyone; it's not an exclusive club for foreigners, it's a public bathroom. This means that is is the most sought after location for dropping a deuce, and most public bathrooms are equipped with... one.

So when nature calls and porcelain heaven is posting no vacancies that leaves you with the alternative: a hole in the ground. Now, I'm not saying Japanese people have poor marksmanship. What I'm saying is anyone loses accuracy when you have to squat. The result is slippery soles, stench singed nose hairs, a skin crawling sensation, and the loss of the primal satisfaction attributed to relief.

Conclusion: A bathroom is a bathroom and a public bathroom is disgusting. Also, anywhere people are shitting in a hole is going to be olfactorily averse.

The festival itself isn't obscene. The whole poop factor isn't really explicit, it's just a pleasant companion to the mass consumption of mushrooms. Young mushroom distributors grin slyly, while the veterans try to maintain serious scowls and focus solely on the mushrooms themselves which becomes a difficult task after lunch time.

The mushrooms don't take long to settle and soon passing gas becomes rampant. No one is embarrassed by a toot because everyone is participating in a resounding choir of farts. I was wondering why the festival was held so far from civilization, but when I realized how inescapable a crowd of diarrheic people are it was hard to resist the joint effort the Dutch Oven an entire town.

The lines for the bathrooms begin to grow exponentially. Knowing this the festival has expertly planned entertainment centering near defecation headquarters. Why Disneyland hasn't taken a cue for this and made their lines just as enjoyable I can't fathom. While I waited I watched a couple traditional dances and a performance depicting the history of the mushroom and the festival. Although I couldn't quite understand the production I was provided with a pamphlet, in English, detailing a brief translation of the history.

The most significant highlight in the festival's history was the child born at one of the earliest celebrations A woman in the last stages of her pregnancy consumed such a vast quantity of mushrooms she backed herself up nearly to the point of bursting. After much tribulation she was able to let go of the force oppressing her insides, and upon firing realized she had loosed that which she held most precious. Spurred on by her maternal instincts she sifted, uninhibited, through the filth searching for her child. Whether by divine intervention, or more natural bonds, she was able to locate and unearth a baby born of feces. The festival proclaimed the child blessed by the most ordinary human agency.

Famously forgotten the "Shit Baby" is now only an afterthought to the Gifu mushroom festival.

The transition into winter has begun. We are starting to layer up pretty heavily. We bought a humidifier and spend most of our time under kotatsu (Google: Japanese table blanket). We're eating tons of mikans (mandarin oranges) and doing everything we can to prepare ourselves for the first winter I've ever lived in. Nobody told me it snowed in Japan.

Tom Always Catches Jerry

There's something about a smoking a cigarette while he's flipping burgers that is very reassuring. It's always easy to pick a place to eat in Japan because I always look for a smoking cook. This diner, modeled after some old school American diner, nailed it; one of the best burgers I've ever had. My favorite part was flipping through the Japanese burger magazines while waiting for my food.

Daimaru (Late Night Ramen Special)

Daimaru is a ramen shop (and by shop I mean closet) in Nagoya that doesn't open until three in the morning. Daimaru is legendarily in many circles in Nagoya for its low cost and enormous portions. It is very popular among students up late studying and bands on tour (Huck Finn, a punk venue in Nagoya is around the corner). Sabina and I's new friends insisted on taking us after a show which meant that we had to stay out all night drinking, waiting for Daimaru to open.

Our friends had varying opinions about the place:

- Charlie, (a tall, white guy from San Diego who has lived here for ten years) who was most insistent on going said, "Sauce! Sauce! I cover it in a lot of sauce," when explaining to everyone else how he could stomach it.

- Akira (a 40 year old punk promoter and label owner) told us it was, "made with dog meat." I'm still not sure if he was kidding, or if he was right.

- Others asked us if we were sure we wanted to eat there.

- Some said they only eat there because they have to.

After a long discussion Akira decided that Sabina wasn't allowed to eat there so she had to wait outside while I ate.

(This is one of the two photos I was able to get as photography is not allowed inside Daimaru)

At about three Charlie told us we had to leave the bar because Daimaru was open and we were supposed to meet back up with some other friends. When we walk up to the place there is a line of about three people outside. Daimaru is a hole in the wall, seriously, only six people can sit cramped in there at a time. You kind of have to know it's there because Daimaru doesn't really have a sign outside. The owner leaves a wooden sign outside when he opens, but it's been covered by so many layers of stickers and graffiti that EVERYTHING is illegible.

Daimaru's sole owner, employee, cook is an old man that has been running the shop for the last fifty years or so. He looks a lot like a creepy ramen monster. He wears all white, with a white skin cap on his head, and a white mask over his mouth. At first I thought he was wearing white, rubber gloves, but alas, it was just his wrinkly, pruned, old hands disfigured by constantly handling boiling water.

What happens is someone leaves so you walk in and take their seat. The old man croaks something at you, asking if you just want the regular, a bowl of ramen, and you reply, "Yes." The other options are irrelevant. There is a pitcher of water on the counter to fill up the plastic cup he gives you. Water looks gross, doesn't matter, it's so hot and humid in this place water is an immediate necessity. Takes about five minutes or so before he places a bowl of ramen on the counter that is nearly the same diameter as my chest, the ramen is topped with a pile of bean sprouts nearly half a foot tall. At this time you stand to receive the ramen, bow, and say, "Thank you."

(A friend receiving his ramen)

The bowl is scalding hot so you have to use two little towels resting on the counter to move the ramen to the shelf in front of your seat. Now you can get a good look at this monstrosity.

I have never been intimidated by a meal, I'll eat anything even if it's just to brag, "Yeah, I tried that." Daimaru was not an easy meal to conquer though. There was just so much of it, I mean, I had to eat through an entire packet of bean sprouts to even get to the ramen underneath. So I followed Charlie's lead and I slathered this thing in sauces. There are three sauces at Daimaru, none have labels, and none have a discernible flavor to hint at what exactly they may be. If you think you need more bean sprouts (you're mad), or "dog" meat (you're demented), there are extras on the counter to help yourself to. And if you don't think you've had enough noodles (you're crazy) you can always ask for more at no additional cost.

It probably took me twenty minutes or so of non-stop (there is no conversation in Daimaru, only eating) chowing down to finish that bowl. You think a big bowl of ramen can't be that bad, but there are many factors contributing to the difficulty of this meal. The primary challenge is the heat. There is no air conditioning, there are no fans, just heat. Stepping outside into the more than 80 degree humid Nagoya streets was a huge relief, I nearly felt cold trying to re-adjust.

When you have finished, or just can't take anymore, you stand, place your bowl on the counter, and give the owner 550 yen. In return he gives you candy and bows. Bow back, say thank you, and get the hell out of there because someone outside wants that seat.

Daimaru isn't the most ideal late, late night meal I can think of after drinking all night. But I will recommend it for anyone who wants to: fall asleep immediately, possibly go into a real coma, or doesn't want to eat the next day (either because you're too full or sick).

Garbage Gut approved.