“My mobile says Nakamise-dori is the name of the street we’re after.” Art studies the walking map of Tokyo he’s downloaded.
When we find it, however, all thoughts of ice cream and food lose their appeal. Although it smells delightful, like a summer barbecue, the narrow street is so jammed with people, it appears that nobody is moving. They’re shuffling like zombies. We look at one another and silently agree that no matter how good the food is, it’s not worth joining the school of human fish.
We make a U-turn and walk past some businesses that are closed. “At least the shops have attractive shutters,” I offer. They contain intricate designs that resemble some of the woodblock prints from the Edo period that one might find in a museum.
“Always looking on the bright side.”
I choose not to respond, and instead hum the tune with the same name from the classic British filmMonty Python and the Holy Grail.
“Are you a John Cleese fan?” Art asks, naming the main actor from the series.
“My father’s the fan in the family. One of his favorite shows isFawlty Towers.If I watch telly or a film, it’s more likely to be something on home renovations or a rom-com. What about you? Do you spend most of your time watching baking shows?”
“Not especially. I tend to stream shows likePeaky Blinders,The Office,the originalTop Gear,andEmily in Paris.”
“Those are all over the place.” I snort. A period drama about gangsters. A comedy about working in an office. And a show about expensive cars. “I have to ask, whyEmily in Paris?”
“For the food that’s featured on the show. French pastries are my favorite. Although the dough can be a nightmare to make,” he admits. “Aside from that, I like having options. Don’t you have days where sometimes you’re just in the mood for something different?”
“I do. Usually that means I’m texting Amanda for recommendations. She and my brother have opened my eyes to classic American sitcoms from the 1950s. They’re quite good.”
“There you go.” Art stops and points to a large display of a vanilla ice cream cone. There’s a short queue about five people deep. “What do you think? Should we try here?”
“Yes.”
While we’re waiting our turn, I try my best to study the menu and guess what certain flavors might be based on the photo. They’re completely in Japanese.
“What are you having?” Art asks right before we’re up to the window.
“I’ll try whatever the pink flavor is.”
“Konichiha.” The cashier smiles and bows.
“Er, this one and that one.” Art points to the menu. “Onegai. Please.”
The woman cocks her head to the side. “English?”
“Hai. Yes.”
“Do you have a ticket?”
Art and I exchange confused glances.
“No?” he says.
“Sou desu.” The cashier sticks her head out the window and points to a machine next to the ice cream cone. “You need to buy a ticket. Then come exchange it for your food.”
Art’s neck and ears color a light shade of pink. “Understood. We’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” The cashier grins and bows again.
“This is a new experience,” I muse. “Who knew you needed to buy a ticket to get your food?”
We wander over to the machine and spend a few minutes attempting to use our translating app to decipher the writing, then a woman in a Tokyo Disney T-shirt comes, takes pity on us, and offers to help. That’s when we learn it’s common for most quick-service locations to use ticket machines. The shops themselves don’t typically have any cash on hand. There’s always something new to learn.
“How’s the matcha tiramisu crepe cone?” I ask Art after we get our treats.
“Brilliant. I’m trying to figure out what they put in this so I can re-create it when we get home. I taste the matcha powder. Marzipan. Lemon. And something else I can’t quite put my finger on. What about your Sakura ice cream?”
