Salon Wanderlust | Retro burger

T A B L E_T A L K
February weather got you down? Fantasize about sunny paradises in Table Talk's Wanderlust area

R E C E N T L Y
Stoned on ice
By Gary Kamiya
Curling heats up Nagano
(02/11/98)
Après moi, de luge
By Gary Kamiya
Getting a half-second high from the sport that gives a whole new meaning to the expression "balls out"
(02/10/98)
Higher! Faster! Wetter!
By Gary Kamiya
Our half-Japanese man in Japan reports on the thrill of victory -- and the agony of Nagano
(02/09/98)
Mondo Weirdo
By Sarah Schmelling
Why I loved being lonely and sick and far from home
(02/06/98)
Soba, so good
By Koji Yoshii
Savoring Nagano's specialty food
(02/05/98)

Browse the
Feature archives

r e t r o_b u r g e r_______

OUR OLYMPICS CORRESPONDENT MUSES ON WOMEN'S
HOCKEY, JAPANESE ENGLISH, THE QUEST FOR TOSTO AND
OTHER CROSS-CULTURAL ODDITIES.

American Jennifer Schmidgall tries to backhand the puck past Chinese goalie Hong Guo while Jing Chen defends during Sunday's game, which the U.S. won, 5-0.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
BY GARY KAMIYA
NAGANO, Japan -- Wednesday, 1 p.m. Tonight I plan to initiate an exciting, Samuel Beckett style of reporting: sports coverage that leaves out the end of the game! The U.S. women's hockey team is playing Finland, the first non-stiff team they've faced after feasting on the pathetic likes of China and Sweden. It ought to be a great game, but in the middle of the third period I'll be running madly from Aqua Wing, trying to grab a taxi back to the station in time for the last train to Saku. Writing up a game I leave before it ends will be no problem: If Ronald Reagan, in his days as a radio announcer, could re-create baseball games using a little wooden block to simulate the sound of the bat, I can make up several vague alternative endings to a hockey game. "From this point on, the game was packed with interest and incident." "The final score of this hard-fought match was, ultimately, irrelevant." "The third period, featuring desultory play on both sides, passed as if in a dream."
I just said goodbye to my dad. He's flying back home today. This morning we decided to find the main drag in our mysterious burg and try to dig up some semblance of a Western breakfast. The hotel's Japanese breakfast is excellent, but my system rebelled at eating pickled vegetables, miso soup, rice and smoked fish at 8 a.m. again. In the unaccented but archaic and hick Japanese he's been using to confuse the locals with (he stopped speaking and studying Japanese when he was in grade school in Ballico, Calif., around 1932), my dad asked a taxi driver to take us to downtown Saku. This request seemed to puzzle our driver, but he headed out anyway, down what looked like an anonymous ring road -- except that it didn't ring anything. It was lined with car dealerships and nondescript buildings that could have been deserted stores. When informed that we were searching for an American-style breakfast with toast and coffee, he became still more confused: He started talking to his dispatcher, whom we could hear saying "Tosto? Tosto?" over the radio. We turned off one anonymous road and onto another just like it. No sidewalks, no central square, nobody on the streets -- nothing that looked like it might produce tosto. The meter clicked over to $12. I wondered if we were going to drive all the way to Nagano in search of a couple slices of Wonder Bread. Finally, we pulled up in front of a plastic Denny's-style franchise I'd noticed in Nagano, called Apple Grimm.
Now we understood why he hadn't known where to take us -- there was no downtown Saku. It was a real wasteland of a city, devoid of planning and charm, but for some reason it wasn't nearly as depressing as its American counterpart would be. Partly this was because of the beautiful sunny day and the snowy mountains ringing it. But there was another reason, too, one that was harder to put your finger on. Maybe it was the sense that exterior desolation here isn't matched by that interior desolation we Americans specialize in. Even the power lines and vacant lots and neon signs here seem well-behaved, polite. Nothing here is ever going to slip through the cracks and turn strange and evil -- perhaps nothing is ever going to turn strange at all. This nation of straight-A students may feel so weird to an American precisely because it's so universally not weird.
Apple Grimm (the only derivation for this peculiar name I can think of -- the fairy tale about a princess who eats a poisoned apple -- seems somehow unlikely) fell into the chalk-it-up-to-surreal-experience column. Their version of "American" food turned out to be a bit like Italian "Chinese" food, which the Italians won't eat unless it tastes like Italian food. I ordered the Big Hamburger, which proved to be a large, mealy, meatloaf-ish patty -- at 10 bucks, you'd think they could hold the breadcrumbs -- covered with that vaguely Worcestershire-y brown sauce that is ubiquitous here. My wiser father ate a raw tuna salad. I was consoled, however, by the menu, which featured not only a wine called "Chateau Berkeley" -- is that decanted from the Coke bottle Mario Savio pissed into? -- but one of the finest gems of Japanese English I've come across so far: "This hamburger steak has been done in retro."

N E X T+P A G E+| A retro call for naked women!

PHOTOGRAPH BY BRIAN BAHR/ALLSPORT
Archived images are provided by Allsport Photography USA, Inc. all rights reserved, any redistribution, resale, re-print or other use is strictly prohibited without written consent from Allsport Photography USA, Inc. directly.


T A B L E_T A L K February weather got you down? Fantasize about sunny paradises in Table Talk's Wanderlust area R E C E N T L Y Stoned on ice By Gary Kamiya Curling heats up Nagano (02/11/98) Après moi, de luge By Gary Kamiya Getting a half-second high from the sport that gives a whole new meaning to the expression "balls out" (02/10/98) Higher! Faster! Wetter! By Gary Kamiya Our half-Japanese man in Japan reports on the thrill of victory -- and the agony of Nagano (02/09/98) Mondo Weirdo By Sarah Schmelling Why I loved being lonely and sick and far from home (02/06/98) Soba, so good By Koji Yoshii Savoring Nagano's specialty food (02/05/98) Browse the Feature archives		r e t r o_b u r g e r_______ OUR OLYMPICS CORRESPONDENT MUSES ON WOMEN'S HOCKEY, JAPANESE ENGLISH, THE QUEST FOR TOSTO AND OTHER CROSS-CULTURAL ODDITIES. American Jennifer Schmidgall tries to backhand the puck past Chinese goalie Hong Guo while Jing Chen defends during Sunday's game, which the U.S. won, 5-0. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - BY GARY KAMIYA NAGANO, Japan -- Wednesday, 1 p.m. Tonight I plan to initiate an exciting, Samuel Beckett style of reporting: sports coverage that leaves out the end of the game! The U.S. women's hockey team is playing Finland, the first non-stiff team they've faced after feasting on the pathetic likes of China and Sweden. It ought to be a great game, but in the middle of the third period I'll be running madly from Aqua Wing, trying to grab a taxi back to the station in time for the last train to Saku. Writing up a game I leave before it ends will be no problem: If Ronald Reagan, in his days as a radio announcer, could re-create baseball games using a little wooden block to simulate the sound of the bat, I can make up several vague alternative endings to a hockey game. "From this point on, the game was packed with interest and incident." "The final score of this hard-fought match was, ultimately, irrelevant." "The third period, featuring desultory play on both sides, passed as if in a dream." I just said goodbye to my dad. He's flying back home today. This morning we decided to find the main drag in our mysterious burg and try to dig up some semblance of a Western breakfast. The hotel's Japanese breakfast is excellent, but my system rebelled at eating pickled vegetables, miso soup, rice and smoked fish at 8 a.m. again. In the unaccented but archaic and hick Japanese he's been using to confuse the locals with (he stopped speaking and studying Japanese when he was in grade school in Ballico, Calif., around 1932), my dad asked a taxi driver to take us to downtown Saku. This request seemed to puzzle our driver, but he headed out anyway, down what looked like an anonymous ring road -- except that it didn't ring anything. It was lined with car dealerships and nondescript buildings that could have been deserted stores. When informed that we were searching for an American-style breakfast with toast and coffee, he became still more confused: He started talking to his dispatcher, whom we could hear saying "Tosto? Tosto?" over the radio. We turned off one anonymous road and onto another just like it. No sidewalks, no central square, nobody on the streets -- nothing that looked like it might produce tosto. The meter clicked over to $12. I wondered if we were going to drive all the way to Nagano in search of a couple slices of Wonder Bread. Finally, we pulled up in front of a plastic Denny's-style franchise I'd noticed in Nagano, called Apple Grimm. Now we understood why he hadn't known where to take us -- there was no downtown Saku. It was a real wasteland of a city, devoid of planning and charm, but for some reason it wasn't nearly as depressing as its American counterpart would be. Partly this was because of the beautiful sunny day and the snowy mountains ringing it. But there was another reason, too, one that was harder to put your finger on. Maybe it was the sense that exterior desolation here isn't matched by that interior desolation we Americans specialize in. Even the power lines and vacant lots and neon signs here seem well-behaved, polite. Nothing here is ever going to slip through the cracks and turn strange and evil -- perhaps nothing is ever going to turn strange at all. This nation of straight-A students may feel so weird to an American precisely because it's so universally not weird. Apple Grimm (the only derivation for this peculiar name I can think of -- the fairy tale about a princess who eats a poisoned apple -- seems somehow unlikely) fell into the chalk-it-up-to-surreal-experience column. Their version of "American" food turned out to be a bit like Italian "Chinese" food, which the Italians won't eat unless it tastes like Italian food. I ordered the Big Hamburger, which proved to be a large, mealy, meatloaf-ish patty -- at 10 bucks, you'd think they could hold the breadcrumbs -- covered with that vaguely Worcestershire-y brown sauce that is ubiquitous here. My wiser father ate a raw tuna salad. I was consoled, however, by the menu, which featured not only a wine called "Chateau Berkeley" -- is that decanted from the Coke bottle Mario Savio pissed into? -- but one of the finest gems of Japanese English I've come across so far: "This hamburger steak has been done in retro." N E X T+P A G E+\| A retro call for naked women! PHOTOGRAPH BY BRIAN BAHR/ALLSPORT Archived images are provided by Allsport Photography USA, Inc. all rights reserved, any redistribution, resale, re-print or other use is strictly prohibited without written consent from Allsport Photography USA, Inc. directly.