Yaki-imo

I had a food meltdown today.  I sometimes get into these fits where I am finicky about food.  The problem is that usually when this happens, I'll be at home and I'll just decide not to eat because I don't know what it is exactly that I want to eat.  Tonight at least, I knew what I wanted: tofu.

My husband and I sat down in a Japanese mom and pop restaurant for dinner this evening (a girl can only eat so much Thanksgiving food without guilt...).  We had parked and walked around in the town for a little.  I could sense that my husband was a little annoyed (he had wanted a sub but I needed tofu in order to feel good about myself again).  We finally found a place with possibilities.  It wasn't fancy.  They had a menu on the wall with pictures (which was helpful) and signs translating the items into English.  This was the kind of place that was free of wait staff and you entered your food choice in a vending machine that produced a ticket with your meal choice.  You then handed the ticket to the cook and went to sit at your table to wait for your food's arrival.

The food came (after about 10 minutes, I think) and the tofu was really good.  (I need to learn how to prepare tofu like that.  I swear I only eat tofu in Japan because it doesn't taste the same in America).  My husband's yakisoba was a bit on the greasy side.  Almost at the end of the meal I heard a sound that I had not heard in about 7 months (Woah! where'd the time go?).  "Yakiimo... yakiimo."  My Japanese is nowhere near good enough to make out the rest of what goes in the jingle.  At first I didn't believe I had really heard what I thought I had heard (my husband likes to poke fun of my "auditory hallucinations" as he calls them).  When I heard it again I ran out the restaurant's door and into the streets of the alley in order to catch the Yakiimo Man (as I call him).

I think I shocked the other patrons of the restaurant (who were all Japanese, except for my husband).  I was completely dorking out because I was so happy.  Just imagine the reaction kids have when the ice cream truck comes by.  It's like that for me with yakiimo.  The van pulled up to a stop and I could smell the yakiimo roasting in the ovens in the back of the truck.  (BTW, yakiimo is roasted sweet potato).  As I was making my purchase and trying to contain my excitement, I felt the eyes from the restaurant on me.

I tucked my treasure into my purse and went to go back to my dinner.  As I reentered the restaurant the cook came up to the door and commented about how delicious yakiimo was.  I heartily concurred in my broken Japanese.  I sat down to finish eating and I told my husband not to judge me.  He sai he was already done judging.  I didn't care.  I had my yakiimo and he'd want some soon.

I finished my dinner and we left.  As we were walking back to the car, I dug in for a yakiimo.  I broke off a piece and it was heavenly.  I ate the whole thing, skin and all!  We continued walking to the car and my husband cleared his throat.

"What?" I asked.
"Aren't you going to share that?"
"I didn't offer you any? I thought I had."

I was lost in my yakiimo-induced euphoria and I swore I had offered him some... maybe it was in my head and my mouth was full before I completed my intent... It happens.

Right now I am full to bursting and I am too stuffed to stay awake to check this for grammar.  Long day ahead tomorrow but I'm looking forward to it.