Irate Restaurant Blog

6:00 p.m. Tuesday Night

Angela and I go to the Red Lion—the only English pub in Takasaki that I know of—to meet Grant for dinner. There are a few tables with a scattering of people. We read the katakana menu. Angela and Grant order their speciality: fish and chips. I order Shepherd’s Pie. We pay for our food in advance (that’s how they do it here). We talk with the German guy sitting next to us. The place slowly begins to fill up.

6:30 p.m.

Grant sips his Guinness. Angela and I sip our waters. The German guy keeps talking about his world travels. We nod.

6:45 p.m.

“Where is our food?” mutters Angela.

“Give it time,” Grant advises. “It’s Japan.”

“Oh my God,” says Angela. “The bartender is the cook.”

He—the sole employee—goes to the back to start cooking.

7:00 p.m.

We can see the fish and chips lying on the plate in the kitchen.

The waiter carries a plate out and sets it in front of a couple sitting at the bar. A couple that arrived after we did.

7:05 p.m.

Angela’s fish and chips are set in front of her. The waiter/cook/bartender smiles politely and returns to the kitchen. Grant and I look at each other. Angela starts to eat. Grant sips his beer. I sip my water. The German guy lights up a cigarette.

7:15 p.m.

Grant and I steal a fry from Angela. She finishes her food. Another table gets their food: fish and chips.

A second employee walks in. He takes care of the beer orders while the first guy continues busying himself in the kitchen.

7:20 p.m.

Another table gets their food.

7:25 p.m.

Another table gets their food. I feel incredulous.

7:30 p.m.

Another table gets their food.

7:45 p.m.

The waiter comes out to our table.

“Gomen, gomen,” he apologizes, pulling out the 1,000 yen bill I had given him earlier and handing it to me. “The oven is broken. You can’t eat here.”

“大丈夫、”I said.“ちがおうレストランで食べましょう.”That may or may not be correct, but I wanted to say, “That’s okay, we’ll go eat somewhere else.” My incredulity is surpassed by something akin to rage.

7:46 p.m.

Angela and I walk out.

7:57 p.m.

Grant, back at the Red Lion, gets his fish and chips. He was the first person to arrive and the last person to eat.

8:05 p.m.

I bite into my Big Mac at McDonald’s that took all of 45 seconds to order and receive.

***

I don’t care if only one guy was working at the Red Lion. I don’t care if it takes a long while to get my food. I don’t even care that the oven was broken (although he didn’t need to wait two hours to let me know). I care that every other person in the restaurant—even people who arrived 30 minutes after we did—ate before us. 日本へようこそ、indeed.