A DINNER AT KITCHO

Under the spreading chestnut trees,
I like to take my Japan ease.

Just washed my doggie:
Got no fleas.
I likes my carrots,
But no peas.

How nice to be a Japanese,
Relaxing in the Eastern breeze,
My book upon my Japan knees,
Unlocking doors with all my keys.

I likes dat sushi,
Don’t eat cheese,
I play “gorufu”
From the back tees.

It’s rare to suffer Jap unease;
How nice to be a Japanese!

It was about 30 years ago that She Who Must Be Obeyed and I descended upon New York City, there to enjoy dinner at what was then one of the finest Japanese restaurants
in the country: Kitcho.

I have no idea whether Kitcho still exists, but it was a most excellent spot in the 1970’s.

SWMBO was, at the time, a virgin in the world of nihon-ryori - Japanese cuisine. It was still many years before she, Elder Daughter, and the Mistress of Sarcasm would develop into full-fledged sushi-hounds (much to the dismay of my wallet), so she approached the evening with wide-eyed wonder.

And one of the things we both wondered about was our waitress. She was obviously not Asian, but, strangely enough, she spoke English with a noticeable Japanese accent. WTF?!!?

A little gentle interrogation revealed why. The young lady was Colombian, only recently arrived in New York with zero English-speaking capability. Spanish was only going to get her so far in a Japanese establishment, so she took it upon herself to learn English.

Which she did. Quickly and flawlessly.

From the Japanese waitresses at Kitcho.