Chapter 8 Spleen and Cheese
Spleen and Cheese
Aiko and I wake up around nine. She’s about to have breakfast when I pitch her the idea of going out to Tsukiji fish market instead.
That’s when her eyes go wide, and she shuts the refrigerator door.
After an enthusiastic yes, Aiko and I have gotten dressed, hopped on a subway, and taken it down to Tsukiji Station.
And every step of the way, Aiko has been the perfect tour guide—despite the risk of clogged pores and another breakout.
“If you want to avoid the lines at the market, you have to get there early,” Aiko says, guiding me out of the subway tunnel. She takes the stairs up two at a time, and her voice echoes against the tiled walls. “It might already be packed when we arrive.”
I glance at my phone. It’s not even noon yet on a Sunday, but already the city is bustling. Aiko leads me down the street. We hurry past bikes leaning against buildings and tourists walking in groups on the sidewalk.
We’re in a totally different part of Tokyo.
Unlike Arakawa City—or, well, Arakawa-ku, as Aiko puts it—Ginza has taller buildings and bright blue signs hanging over the roads.
They’re written in kanji while English lettering sits beneath.
It feels a little more touristy because the sidewalks are bigger and there are so many hidden alleyways I could explore.
The streets seem busier than Arakawa while simultaneously being equally as quiet.
Even the air smells as fresh as dew on roses despite the number of cars on the roads right now. Are the clouds made of perfume?
We pass a gate that’s open to reveal a sprawling cement courtyard.
On the other side is a building large enough to be mistaken for a palace.
Stone pillars stand in front of the open doors while a dome that’s shaped like peacock feathers rises in the center of the roof.
Tourists are all over the grounds. They’re standing in front of the building taking pictures, or walking inside with umbrellas over their heads.
Considering how hot and bright it is today, I’m regretting not bringing my own.
Either way, if it’s busy here, I can only imagine how much more packed it’ll be at the fish market.
“That’s the Tsukiji Hongan-ji Buddhist temple,” Aiko says. She’s marching so quickly that we’re about to walk right past it. “There are a lot more tourists here in the summertime. It’ll probably be crowded if we try to go inside now.”
I gaze back at the giant building. It looks nothing like the temples I visited when I went to see my family in Taiwan.
Those structures were made of thick red pillars with intricate paintings and sculptures.
Not to mention, the ones I saw in Taiwan were the size of a garage compared to this one.
But Ma grew up Buddhist, so going back to the temples was nostalgic for her.
I, on the other hand, identify as agnostic.
“Wait, Aiko,” I call. She’s already three steps ahead of me, but she stops and turns around. I wave her back and hold up the lavender Polaroid Archi passed on to me. It drapes down my side like a sash, thanks to my crocheted strap. “Come here, I want to take a picture with you.”
Aiko smiles and skips over to me, hair flouncing along the way. She turns her back to the temple while I slide my arm around her shoulder. I hold the camera out with my other arm and hope that I’m getting the two of us and the temple in this shot.
“Cheese!” Aiko grins with her cheek against mine.
“Spleen,” I say in chorus.
“Spleen?” Aiko retorts.
Snap. The camera clicks in my hand as I break into a laugh. “I hope I got your reaction.”
Aiko giggles as she trots forward, gesturing for me to hurry along. I still can’t see the fish market. But I catch the ocean spray on the gentle breeze. We must be close. “I want a copy of that picture!”
“Oh, absolutely,” I agree, letting my camera hang down by my side once more. Not only is it more comfortable this way, but it’s more fashionable, too. The lavender pops against my all-black skirt, fishnets, and lacy black top.
Aiko stops us at an intersection crowded with people.
As we wait to cross the street, I can’t help but notice a distinct fashion trend here.
Most people wear beige and brown, navy and white.
There’s nothing too colorful here, no design that’s outspoken.
Just about all the women are wearing walking shoes, so in my boots, I tower over most people.
I’m used to being the tallest girl in the room.
And most of the time, I’m also the best dressed.
I stand out, but not in the way Ma was worried about.
“Hey, Aiko?” I say, noticing another thing about the fashion choices around me. “Are we supposed to be wearing masks?”
Aiko glances around just as the intersection signals for us to cross. Some of the locals are wearing disposable black masks over their noses and mouths. Even handfuls of tourists are wearing them, too. It’s so congested here that it feels like I should be doing the same thing.
“I mean, if you want to wear a mask, you can,” she says, shrugging. “I don’t. It’s too hot for that. But don’t worry. You’re not being disrespectful or anything by not wearing one. You’d see way more in the winter and fall because that’s typically flu season.”
Noted. Though, if we’re ever in a congested place, I should remember to wear a mask anyway. I can’t afford to get sick while I’m here. It would cut into the already limited time I have for my CIF application.
Aiko and I round a corner, and I know we’ve arrived.
If these streets weren’t already crowded enough, this alleyway absolutely is.
The sound of food on skillets sizzles in the air.
A gust of wind lifts the hair off my neck, offering me a moment of relief from this humidity.
But with so many people here, it also creates a symphony of language.
Most people speak Japanese, but a couple walks past me speaking Spanish.
I recognize the heavy th sounds from Senora Cantu’s class.
And there’s a chef behind a sushi counter shouting in English.
She waves at people, drawing them in to peer at what she’s cooking.
But, above all else, this street smells really, really good.
My stomach rumbles.
“What are you in the mood for first?” Aiko asks, linking our arms. I’m not sure if she’s doing it to be friendly or if it’s because there are so many people here that we kind of have to be so close.
We stroll past a booth attached to a building.
There’s a huge line of people streaming from the counter.
But even with all the tourists in the way, I can still see what’s cooking on the skillet.
A flash of creamy yellow egg is being fried in a square pan.
When people walk away from the booth, they are holding skewers that look like egg popsicles.
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing.
Aiko follows my finger. “Tamagoyaki?”
I’ve never heard of it before, but judging by the smiles on people’s faces after taking a bite, it’s got to be good.
“Let’s start there,” I say, dragging Aiko over. “After that, we have to try everything else!”
Even though the line is long, it moves quickly.
Aiko handles the translation for me and pays in cash.
Once our tamagoyaki is served, Aiko suggests that we find a place to sit down and eat.
But since all the small tables are taken, we walk over to the next booth while munching on the sweet, crispy egg.
I’m not sure if it’s because I’m hungry or if the egg popsicle really tastes like the perfect breakfast, but it hits the spot.
Aiko and I wander from booth to booth, stopping to sit when we can and weaving between bites of savory snacks when we can’t.
We split a plate of tuna sushi that’s so fresh, it completely changes my definition of what freshness even is.
The fish crumbles in my mouth while the grains of sticky rice give the sushi a chewy consistency.
As I munch, I can’t help but watch Aiko happy-dance on her tiptoes.
Next, we find strawberry daifuku mochi and order a skewer of candied grapes on the side.
A shell of melted sugar encapsulates each grape.
When I bite into it, there’s a crunch before the tender fruit meets my tongue.
I pass my skewer over to Aiko while she hands me the other half of the daifuku mochi.
The bean paste inside is the perfect earthy flavor while the squish of the mochi contrasts with the crunch of the candied grapes.
I’m so lost in the flavor that I almost forget to snap a picture of our food before we’ve gulped it all down.
Aiko and I eat until our stomachs are full, and then we keep eating.
It’s hard not to when every few feet, a new smell wafts up my nose or a flash of color catches my eye.
I slurp down a fresh oyster that’s larger than my palm.
I nibble on wagyu skewers that are so fatty, the beef dissolves like cotton candy.
The sights, sounds, and flavors are so immersive that I haven’t really thought about my application.
That weight of impending failure hasn’t squashed my chest this entire time.
I’m here to enjoy having taste buds. It’s the hard reset that I’ve needed.
That is, until the crowd parts, and I see someone familiar.
Yua. I’d recognize that rainbow hair anywhere.
And right now, her attention is lowered to a glass case.
Fresh fish sit on shelves of ice while a man hovers over the other side of the counter, waiting for her to make a selection.
Last night, I told my friends that Yua can’t be a distraction.
But here she is, twenty feet away, and I’m frozen in place.
“Oh, hey! Yua’s here!” Aiko says, pulling me from my thoughts. With her arm still looped in mine, she drags me over before I can suggest we go somewhere else.