Future Franchising A Definite Possibility

The hot has returned outside. For the past few weeks, I thought that heatwave was broken. It was back with a vengeance this weekend however. This didn't keep us away from our favorite yakitori place. Do you remember the one I told you about? The tiny room where the smoke from the grill fills the place? (Note the smoke stack that sends smoke out directly over the door... where it comes right back in.) Well, we are completely addicted and have been going almost weekly now. We have tried many other yakitori stands but the one in Yokosuka is by far the stand out number. Saturday night, we hopped on a train and headed there for a nice, fancy, romantic dinner. This time, I brought the camera. Miki, the friendly yakitori-griller girl, recognized us right away and handed us our appetizers, something like bruschetta but with more kick. We ordered draft beers (you never ask what kind of beer it is and I'm not sure they would know even if you did). A first at and they asked us small or large. I assumed we have always ordered large in the past. Oh, how very wrong I was. The beer was bigger than my head. But as the night was bordering on unbearable, those big mugs were a sight.

We ordered a large amount of yakitori, everything from the quail eggs to pepper to tomato to pork belly and back to the quail eggs. Miki started grilling away as the place got more and more filled with the smoky haze. We sat and watched her work and pondered the possibility of opening our own yakitori stand back home some day. I'm sure the United States government would totally let us open a business that is obviously breaking so many health regulations.

As the cooking continued, it also started to get even more intensely hot than out of doors. You know the scene in The Wizard of Oz where the wicked witch starts yelling, “I’m melting, I’m melting”… well Kimono Hubby was looking pretty witch-like (see Exhibit A and the disgustingly drippy forehead) so we ate as quickly as one can force hot pieces of food into their already overheated bodies. We slammed down the rest of the beers and scurried quickly to the door, pushing patrons out of the way in our haste to again breathe air. I honestly don’t know that I have ever sweat so much in my life (and I hate that word too... sweat...).

We quickly put the notion of stopping at a bar for another drink out of our heads. I couldn’t stand the thought of how I must smell musty from my own excessive nastiness mingled with the scent of fried liver… or worse balls… whatever unrecognizable meat it was that the next group ordered. We just went home and showered and watched TV instead.

It’s actually pretty great getting old and being completely fine with calling it a night at 9 and heading home to your pj's.