So far, I have been correct in my assumption that the folks who overlook the self-checkout area in the evenings exercise diligence in proportionate to their pay grade. Yes, you be the zombies so that I can continue my vampiric grocery shopping habits. Thanks for not giving a shit about me ringing up my blood oranges as small navel oranges.
I have entered my Yumployment Era. Generous time means I can be convinced to go out of my way to source an ingredient or two from a specialty foods store. I picked up a pair of silicone onigiri containers during my Daiso shopping spree in Vancouver, as inspired by the lunch I’d picked up before heading to Daiso: three onigiri from Onigiri Ya on West Broadway. It’s like sushi, except the filling would be a surprise if it weren’t for the labels on each carefully packaged trigonous rice ball.
I can get behind Japan’s commitment to matching the appearance of its food products to the pictures on the packaging. I am crunching on some Pocky right now and can confirm that the dipped biscuit sticks match those pictured on the box, down to the size. However, do these edibles require three layers of packaging to ensure they come out looking exactly as pictured? I remember being astounded by the level of packaging when I visited Japan. Even the bananas were strapped into polystyrene trays with plastic wrap. The streets of Japan would be three feet deep in wrappers if not for their cultural aversion to littering.
Hopefully, one of the higher-ups from Japan’s food distributors will read this blog post and make the necessary changes.
I told Marianne about my plans to shop for onigiri ingredients at Fujiya.
“Victoria has a Fujiya?”
“Well, it’s a shittier one, but yes.”
When I said shittier, I should have said smaller. I hadn’t been to this Fujiya location since the late 2000s, thus making it unnecessary to match my attitude from that decade. I acquired everything I needed for my onigiri dinner project and more. After scanning it, the smiling cashier handed over my vacuum-packed salted salmon fillets as if they were a gastronomic marvel. (They were!) I left with a pannier full of delicacies and a red bean mochi between my teeth.
The presentation of my first-ever (and freeformed!) onigiris was respectable. The fact that it took a mini-adventure into an unfamiliar neighbourhood made the meal even more satisfying. I also can’t remember the last time I had wasabi that had so much kick that I went blind for a second. Now I have a whole tube in the fridge, letting me relive the experience for months to come.
I finished off my Japanese experience with an hour-long tour of the Makuri Islands in Zwift.
Of all the books Marianne’s book club members recommended, I went for the one recommended by Marianne herself: All Fours by Miranda July. Books like this are why I like branching out from my preferred genre of nonfiction adventure.
“You’ll either love it or hate it,” claimed Marianne.
I’d seen two of Miranda July’s films and didn’t love or hate either of them, but I had a hunch I’d appreciate her vibe more through the written word.
I was not disappointed. Here are some delicious excerpts:
“For a few seconds I was alone with his chest, his nipples, the hairs, and it was a hallowed moment.”
“Just build a little hut right by the side of his dick and live there for the rest of my days.”
Wait, I paused, am I reading smut? I felt the same way reading these lines as I did when I discovered VC Andrews in the eighth grade (my high school library stocked her novels!). Incidentally, I’d discussed VC Andrews with Marianne, who was unfamiliar with her works, before adopting All Fours as my next read.
“Come back to me, big dick, please take this heartache away. He is lost o’er the sea, my big dick. I cried with my mouth hanging open, the sad, empty place where the dick should be, and then after a while, I just silently held the crying dog but left my mouth gaping like a distended stomach, loose and dumb.”
Yes, I decided, this was the level of derangement I appreciated.
All Fours is the first book I’ve read since Endurance: Shackleton’s Incredible Voyage that I’ve given a five-star rating on Goodreads. But now I find myself oddly compelled to try wrapping a dick in nori.
squaremeat.com 