Tsukiji Market and Godzilla

Day One of Tokyo, concluded:

Just so you know, this is the Sententious Vaunter's 500th post. Somebody throw confetti.

So, after I finished with the Hamarikyu gardens, it was time for the next item on my Day-One-of-Tokyo itinerary: sushi. Real, actual, honest-to-goodness Japanese sushi. I've had California rolls, Korean gimbap, and quite a bit of whatever passes for sushi in other countries. But this was the real deal. Tsukiji Market. The largest wholesale fish and seafood market in the entire world. One of the largest wholesale food markets of any kind. The hub of Tokyo's seafood industry. Fishmonger heaven, in other words. And Sushi Central, with any luck.

Tsukiji as seen from Shiodome. Photo by Chris73 at Wikimedia Commons.

I didn't go to the actual market part of the complex, where they do goofy things like slice whole frozen tuna with band saws and auction off dead sea creatures at ridiculous prices. No, I wasn't coming here to bid on a blowfish or see the freshest catches at 4 a.m. Nope, I was here for one thing: SUSHI. All I could eat. Plain and simple.

I meandered up and down the restaurant area (stuck in the northwest corner of the complex, I believe). There were a lot of lines. Either the chefs here were very famous, or the fishermen had caught something particularly interesting that day, or there was a big sale going on, or all three. The waits looked to be hours long. It didn't help that these sushi shops were tiny: some of them basically an aisle with a bench and stools, and a tiny preparation area behind a counter. They'd fit only 10-15 people at a time. So I kept meandering. Eventually I found a larger sushi joint at the far end of the restaurant area that had no waiting time and several hardworking chefs in cylindrical hats bustling about behind the counter. So I stepped in.

I bet these two guys would make a fine Japanese reality TV show. They could call it Sushi Hour with Goro and Junichi.

I sat down at the counter and perused the menu. I wasn't looking at the words. I can't read a syllable of Japanese (though I would be able to figure out the character for "mountain" by the end of the trip). Instead, I looked at the detailed pictures—and the prices. Ultimately I decided on this little number, for about 1,200 yen ($12):

How's this for a slice of fried gold?

It was delicious. The fish was fresh, the rice lovingly molded, the seasonings just right. I tried to slow down and savor it but I wound up bolting the lot at record speed.

I spent a half-hour chatting with the American couple next to me (turns out they were from Los Angeles, and the woman had been born in Victorville, the next town over from Apple Valley...small world). Then I grabbed my camera, settled up (noting, thankfully, that my Visa card worked in Japan after all) and left the market. After a bit of wandering, and a very nice Japanese man stopping to help me, I walked west for a block, rounded the corner and found the next item on my to-do list. This:

That's right, folks: it's a statue of Godzilla. It was located in a small public square near a Starbucks that looked like it had been designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, just east of Hibiya Park, near the Imperial Palace gardens.

At the time, I was vaguely disappointed in this statue. It was a bit small, I felt. Diminishing. I mean, I knew it obviously couldn't have been built to scale. But nonetheless I was rather let down. The offices of Toho Studios were nearby, which explains the statue's existence, but you'd think they'd have a bit more respect for the original daikaiju than to just stick a tiny metal version of him up in a park in Tokyo.

Well, that was it! After my visit with Gojira-san, Day One of Tokyo had been completed. I adjourned to the Sotetsu Fresa Inn (just around the corner from my capsule hotel near Kyobashi Station) to meet Miss H and Miss J. We checked into our rooms, went out, had some Subway sandwiches for dinner, and then went to a pub for some sake and fugu. Yes, you read that correctly. Despite the insanely toxic nature of fugu (pufferfish), not to mention some dark rumors of nuclear contamination, I went ahead and gave fuguzushi a try. It was quite rubbery and tasted strongly of iodine. Nonetheless I toughed it out, ate all three pieces (for about 560 yen, I think) and washed it down a bottle of sake. Hang the detractors. Miss H and Miss J just shook their heads at me, but this was something I knew I had to do. We all went home happy and stuffed.

Don't miss tomorrow's post: TOKYO DISNEYLAND...and all that transpired there. Stay tuned, you won't wanna miss this.