God Bless the Burrito: Osaka Weekend: Part I

I've said it before and I'll say it again: burritos bring people together.

Example #1:

When I marched into Bank of America last year, primed to pull every last cent out of my account and move them all to a less sheisty institution, it was the love of burritos that kept me loyal to B of A. I sat down with one of the suit-and-ties, expecting the inevitably boring bank transaction, the lame banker jokes and the fake, forced, laughter. But then...

"You're from California?" he asked, squinting at the computer screen. "So am I!"

It's only logical that a conversation about California quickly turned to burritos: how we love burritos, how we miss burritos, how we don't love Seattle burritos, how we should run away together and eat burritos until sour cream pulses through our veins and we cry Tapatio tears.

The next thing I know he's reversing the charges on my account, permanently removing a monthly checking fee that had plagued me for years, moving my savings into a high interest account and giving me homemade chocolate chip cookies from his desk drawer. I considered canceling my afternoon plans so we could have cocktails in his cubicle. The other bankers ceased their fake guffaws. They were on high alert; they detected real laughter. They were suspicious as to how two people in a bank could be having such a good time.

It's the burritos, man. I'm telling you. They breed trust. They are a gateway drug to friendship. I would never trust a burrito hater and I don't recommend you do if ever in the unfortunate situation of being faced with one.

What does any of this have to do with Japan? Well, if you just calm down for a second I'll tell you. Jeez.

I'd been hearing about El Pancho, a Mexican restaurant in Osaka, for months. Two different people have told me that when they visit the city, they try and eat all of their meals here. I have to admit I was skeptical. One of these people is from England, the other from the American midwest. Not exactly the food capitals of the world. Uh oh. I felt a bad bad side of me start to creep in. I was morphing into my evil alter ego: Snobby McFoodie Pants. First I thought: "Pffffft. What do you bitches know about tacos? Have you even had real Mexican food?" Then I thought: "Pffffft. You're in Osaka! A food lover's paradise! Why would you eat that fake ass Mexican bullshit when you could be eating amazing Japanese food?"

Now, five months into my stay in Japan and desperate for anything wrapped in a tortilla, I was determined to track down this El Pancho during my weekend trip. Because burritos also breed good luck and sympathize with the directionally challenged, El Pancho turned out to be right down the street from the club where I was going to see an improv show. It was perfect! I'd treat myself to a Mexican dinner and head to the show. I managed to find the restaurant in the crowded Shinsaibashi district, walked into the elevator, and went to push the number 8, but it was already glowing.

"Are you going to El Pancho?" the Japanese girl asked in flawless English. I told her I was. "Are you meeting friends here?" I told her I wasn't. Two minutes later I was sitting at a long table with her and twelve of her chatty friends, most of them foreigners like me, ordering a Dos Equis and drooling over the extensive menu.

"How do you all know each other?" I asked the girl on my left.
"Oh, we all work for the same company here in Osaka. We're English teachers for AEON."

Dudes. Would you believe me if I told you that's the same school that I work for? Well, it is! Weird, huh? A very coincidental coincidence made possible by the magic burrito. So that is exactly what I ordered. Not a magic burrito, but a chicken one topped with red enchilada sauce, melted cheese and crowned with splotches of sour cream and guacamole. Some of the gals and I also split a quesadilla. There was Cholula on the table and two legitimately spicy homemade salsas served with chips. Admittedly, it was not the best burrito in the world, but it was pretty good (really good for Japan: the only other "Mexican food" I've had here involved cut up hot dogs floating around in a greasy cheese puddle) and I was in heaven. Not even Snobby McFoodie Pants dared to rear her ugly head. I was eating refried beans! There was hot sauce! It was like the crisis in the Middle East had finally ended. Time reversed and the earthquake in Chile never happened. People finally stopped saying "That's what she said!" Everything in the world was right again.

God bless the burrito.

27 hours and $270 in Osaka

It was in the months leading up to my departure for Japan that I found myself with a new, life changing, hobby. I slowly but surely become a bit obsessed with improv and was less than thrilled to be giving it up cold turkey. Nothing else has allowed me to feel so in-the-moment, so creative, so scared shitless, so silly - all in one go. So, after I cozied into my new apartment, the first order of business was finding some English speaking improv companies.

Our Lord and Savior, Google, led me to The Pirates of the Dotombori: an Osaka imrov group made up of improvisers from around the world. I emailed a bit with the lead pirate, and finally got up the guts to ask if I could crash on someone's futon the night of the next show. Five minutes later I had an email in my inbox. I would be staying with one Kwame Alexander. He even offered to pick me up at the train station. Michael Moore is right; Canadians are good people.

Traveling around Japan is not cheap. A one-way, 2 hour and 45 minute, train ticket cost me about $70. But, considering I'd paid $7 for a bottle of beer a few nights before, I figured this trip had to be more fun than chugging 10 Asahis.

Osaka is the comedy capitol of Japan, and the people are said to be the friendliest and most outgoing in the country. I liked it immediately. After dropping off my bag at Kwame's I was free to roam around on my own for several hours before the show.

I started my night at Shinsaibashi, a massive covered shopping arcade with eight bazillion shops and just as many people. It was a Sunday night but I couldn't walk an inch without bumping into a group of giggling high school girls or a thigh high boot clad woman dripping with shopping bags. I escaped onto a side street, passed a bakery selling cheerful slices of cake, and eventually found myself in the famous Dotombori section of south Osaka.

1. The streets are lit by huge, pulsing, neon signs, delicious smells flood out of every restaurant, and scads of takoyaki vendors compete for business by hollering at the passing crowds. It's a food lovers paradise and I spent a glorious 45 minutes wandering the culinary maze looking for the perfect dinner. I darted back and forth between ramen shops, packed with satisfied slurpers, to okonomiyaki street vendors, sushi restaurants and curry houses. I curbed my hunger with an order of takoyaki (octopus balls), one of Osaka's famed street snacks, before deciding on a surprisingly inexpensive sushi spot.

Please forgive me, but I can't figure out what this particular style of sushi is called. It's very similar to chirashi, but doesn't exactly meet the definition. Eh, who cares. I do know that each slice of salmon and tuna melted on my tongue, there was a big heap of coveted, chopped up, toro and the rice underneath was perfectly warm and sticky.


By the time I finished dinner it was nearly show time, so I pulled out my little homemade map and prayed that my naturally poor sense of direction was taking a nap so I could find my way to the correct location. I'm a little bit shocked every time I don't get lost, and this was no exception. I internally high fived myself when I arrived at Sam & Dave's in Nagahoribashi on time.

Long story short, the show was awesome. The first half was all improv games performed in Japanese and English, which were fairly easy to understand despite the language barrier. The second half was a part scripted, part improvised, all English, musical written and scored by a company member. I spent the entire second half of the show alternatively guffawing my face off and perma-smiling like a goon.

The show lead to after-show beers which lead to drinks at a nearby bar which lead to an after-party at Jaime-the-improviser-and-best-host-ever's apartment, where he and his girlfriend proceeded to ply us with hooch, snacks and a mountain of spaghetti. If there are sweeter, funnier, more hospitable people in Osaka...I'd like to meet them. And tell them to make me spaghetti and force them to banter with me.

The next day, after a thanks-for-letting-me-stay Korean lunch, I left Kwame at the train station and spent the rest of the afternoon at the Osaka Aquarium Kaiyukan. It is truly an impressive "fish museum," as one of my students called it, and I spent a couple peaceful hours gazing at schools of colorful fishies, whale sharks, dolphins, sea lions and pondering philosophical quandaries like "Is there such thing as a good looking penguin? Like, do penguins think 'Hey! That penguin is hot!' or 'I would never be caught dead mating with that penguin.'"

Apparently I pondered for too long, because I ended my trip to Osaka with a mad dash to the train station, and managed to hop on with literally one minute to spare. Phew. I kicked off my shoes, flipped on my iPod and let the train take me home.