P: Live food!

My life - part 4.4

In Tokyo, Buying - Prawns 1

He thrust his sweating palm against mine. It did not seem so hot in
this air-conditioned hotel, but this guy always seemed to be nervous
and sweating. I shook it, then surreptitiously wiped my hand on my
trousers.

He was the 'leg man' for a big Japanese manufacturer. I was in Tokyo,
buying. He had to entertain me, or they would loose face. I had to
agree to be entertained, or they would loose face. So I agreed.

After the obligatory taxi ride (30 minutes to cover a 10 minute walk),
we arrived at the restaurant. Brightly lit, it was Chinese. Fine! I
thought. I loved Japanese food, but had been in Tokyo for two weeks
now, and a change was welcome.

My first exposure to true Chinese food had been a trip via Hong Kong.
It was 'snake soup' season. I later learned that the flavour was
chicken, as were half the small lumps of meat. The rest was snake,
chewy and tasteless.

We had a lobster. It arrived on a bed of dry ice, steaming. In its eyes
were two tiny neon bulbs, shining red. Presentation tasteless, but the
flesh was fresh and good!

Then the waiter placed a covered bowl on the table, filled with prawns
in some kind of liquid. As I was finishing my lobster, I caught a
movement out of the corner of my eye. One of the prawns had jumped!
Surely this was a mistake. My stomach turned over.

It was no mistake! The prawns started jumping, rattling the glass lid
on the bowl as they twisted and turned.

The waiter explained they were in rice wine, to numb them. He took them
and tossed them in a hot wok, delivering them to our plates, fresh and
steaming.

We travelled on to Japan, little dark-haired schoolgirls with white
socks serving us wonderful food in the Cathay Pacific flight.

So here I was, many trips later, still trying something new in
Japan.

This time, they didn't cook it.

A big, juicy prawn, a whole mouthful in itself, once again pacified in
rice wine arrived on a plate. I noted that its shell had been removed,
leaving its legs, tail and head intact. The sweating man explained
:

"You pull off the head and legs, dip it in the sauce and then ?.eat
it!"

It was simple. Here was a simple decision.

I looked at him, He smiled at me.
"OK" I agreed, and did it.

It was pulsing as it entered my mouth, and as I chewed on it, it
moved.

But it was delicious!

After more delicacies (all less challenging to the western palate than
my live prawn), I drank my fragrant tea and sat back.

"Thank you so much!" I gushed "That was a new experience, and
excellent!"

The sweating man swelled with pride. I knew it would go in the report.
I knew how this game was played.

"Would you like to go somewhere and relax?"

"Why, yes!" I replied, glancing at my watch. It was still early.

I was na?ve.

The taxi took us to a bar. "A drink?" the sweating man invited, mopping
his brow.

"Fine" I replied, taking a beer and wondering why we were sitting in a
small bar in a back street. But I enjoyed it as it was a new side of
Tokyo for me. Clean, neat, perfect service, it was undoubtedly
downmarket.

The sweating man consulted his watch.

"We are early!" he explained

"What for?" I enquired, innocently.

"The girls are very clean!" He assured me.

I don't know to this day what deterred me. I would like to think it was
my moral integrity. My wife, my children? Being in some place with
lovely Japanese girls and this sweating man?

It was the word 'clean' that jarred, to be honest - and the 'early'. It
reminded me I was in a queue.

"Next in line! Get it out, get it in, OK? Time's up!"

Was I so desperate I wanted that?

I had seen colleagues on foreign trips just go crazy, away from home.
For me it made no difference, home or away. Was I undersexed? Who
knows? Perhaps I was just picky. Perhaps I thought there should be a
relationship?

The sweating man was looking at me.

"Sorry!" I said - "No! But thank you!"

As the sweating man started to panic (perhaps it was his fear of my
meeting with his boss the next day, or his disappointment, if he was
getting the company to pay for 'entertainment' which included
himself.), I explained :-

"I don't do that! It is not my custom. I apologise that I
misunderstood"

Whisked back in the taxi early, profuse apologies, the sweating man
persuaded me to let him buy me a drink in the hotel as he continued to
apologise.

Next morning, the phone rang.

"We have changed the arrangements" a voice announced. I complied.

It was face!

Instead of the Head of??? of the Company, I was welcomed by the head
honchos, at headquarters and the old president, wheeled in to greet me
in his wheelchair, sang my praises.

The price went down, the promises increased, and we did an excellent
deal.

I praised the sweating man briefly, to get him off the hook, but they
didn't send him again.

(1985)