When cultures clash
—
'sizing' up the opposition
(This article, which first appeared in the
Japan Times of October 1, 2005,
is reproduced here in Eyes on Japan by kind permission of the
author.)
In our global village — or at least
in the Japan/U.S. corner of that village —
culture can clash over differences in values, interpretations of history,
who makes better cars, how best to play baseball, or even over which
national leaders are the more incompetent.
Yet in my own international family,
the clash often centers on food. And not just on what we eat, but how much
of it. Japanese, you see, serve food in eensie-beansie portions, often
chopped up into even smaller segments that can be served in tiny boxes
presented on dainty trays that will rest on a decorative table that will
then balance on your kneecap.
"Yes, but isn't it all so
cute?" says my wife.
"Yes, but isn't it also
nuts?" says her husband.
In America, meanwhile, portions tend
to be, uh, supersize. A Japanese business friend recently remarked about
his first trip to the States, when his host invited him and two other
salesmen to a steak restaurant for lunch. The host ordered for everyone,
while the Japanese fellow sat and mopped his forehead with his hankie. He
had heard Americans ate a lot. What would his host think if he couldn't
finish?
Sure enough, 15 minutes later the
waitress staggered to their table under the weight of an immense slab of
grilled beef.
"It's all right," the
Japanese gentleman thought. "There are four of us and we have the
entire afternoon free. If we plug away, and the other guys can help me
some, we just might finish that in time for supper."
With her knees about to buckle, the
waitress set the tray before him and said: "OK, here's yours. I'll be
back with the other three in a moment."
I can remember my mother protesting
at a Japanese restaurant on one of her trips here,
"I ordered a
large." In her hand she held a drink cup.
"That's what you got."
"No, I didn't. I got a child's
size. Or maybe a doll's size. Or maybe a child doll's size. So either get
me a large or get me two dozen more of these."
Of course, in America drink sizes
start with Super Jumbo Extra Enormous and then escalate from there.
Someday soon, instead of cups, the soft drink firms will start marketing
long hoses that lead directly to tanker trucks. Purchasers will then
waddle around the mall with the hoses in their mouths. Hoses that they
will only remove to ward off critics with state- ments like "Diet soda
has zero calories, so back off — or I'll piss you right through the
wall!"
In Japan, only beer is served in
monster-size containers, but imbibers can thank product packaging for
helping them keep off calories. For some munchies are triple-wrapped. You
have the outer package and the inner package, and then each item may be
packaged one by one. By the time you have ripped through all that plastic,
you need a beer. Guzzle enough beer and you might even find the energy to
open more munchies. Thank goodness Japanese companies have yet to package
peanuts or potato chips individually. Hopefully they will not read this
and get ideas.
Insect-size portions and ornate
servings are part of Japanese culture, which aims to feed the eyes as much
as the stomach. Since eyes are rarely hungry, quantity doesn't matter
much. My wife, for example, used to serve her bedridden mother a tray full
of delicate delights at each meal, using more dishes for her mother than
for the rest of the family combined. Most of the food Grandma left
untouched, although I am sure she enjoyed the view.
We Americans, however, will just slop
things together on one plate, leaving the eyes aghast but the stomach
revved for a challenge. A challenge that my own stomach rises to meet each
chance it gets.
Similar to her mother, my wife is
thrilled by Japanese "kaiseki"-style dinner trays, with each
item nestled into individual compartments barely wide enough to insert a
spoon. The total volume wouldn't fill a mouse, but that's OK because the
price is high enough to feed a mastodon — including the cost of hacking
one out of a glacier and cloning it. In the case of kaiseki, you pay for
what you don't get.
To me, the American opposite of
kaiseki is chili. You grab a fistful of soda crackers and crumble them up
over the bowl, slap on some shredded cheese and fresh onion and then
shovel it all in, using a real shovel if you can find one. So what if it
looks disgraceful? So what if when you're done you could light a match
with your breath? And then do the same from your other end too? That
bottom-line message is simple. The food was plentiful and yummy. 'Nuff
said.
The other critical bottom line is
that Japanese Thumbelina servings are surely healthier than American
Jack-in-the-Beanstalk servings.
"Wait a minute," says an
American friend. "I'm a big man and I need a big meal."
Which in turn makes him a bigger man,
necessitating an even bigger meal. It's a vicious circle, one that many
Americans try to tame by feeding the beast cookies. Or candy. Or ice
cream. Or all of the above.
Unfortunately, Japan often learns
from America, and Ronald Macdonald, Colonel Sanders and others have taught
the Japanese how to eat fast. So these days even this slenderish nation is
turning tubby. It used to be that the only truly fat Japanese wrestled in
the sumo ring. Nowadays they wrestle their way down the street, onto the
trains and everywhere
— but especially into restaurants and
supermarkets.
None of this bodes so well for that
global village, which still has numerous starving neighborhoods. Should
rich feed poor? Should fat feed thin? Should have feed have not?
Well . . . duh . . . yeah. And there
you have a fair serving of my mind.
©Thomas Dillon for the Japan Times 2005 All rights
reserved
Editor's note: Sincere thanks to the author for
his kind permission to republish the above article, which first appeared
in his regular Japan Times column "When East Marries
West".
This page last updated 2008-06-16
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