1 ya na se (a Japanese restaurant)I don't know why I kept going there. Maybe, I thought there'd be that off chance one of the waitresses would take notice of me, but I kept telling myself it was the two-fifty-a-bottle Sapporo's that kept me going back for more. The place wasn't much to look at, though. If you'd pass by it on the street, that's probably just what you'd do: pass by. Its faded appearance immediately conjured up thoughts of food poisoning and puking, and besides how fresh could a sushi place be in the middle of Chicago, much less in the middle of the US? Luckily, I've never gotten sick there. "Eat lots of wasabi and shoga," my mom would always say. "Kills the bacteria." Though for how crappy the place and its sushi was, there was something refreshing, or should that be reassuring, that Japanese people actually ate there.
In my earlier years, I thought I had this thing called Yamato Damashi. The name referred to when Japan was known as Yamato, the first time in its early history that it started to get unified. A rough translation of the term would be having a Japanese soul, as if I simply longed for the motherland, but as it turned out, this was just some idealistic bullshit I had put together to give my life some direction as well as a physical one: north and to the west. But for a time I really believed it. I remember my aunt talking about seppuku, vassals dying for their lords, and her saying how I probably couldn't understand that. I felt almost insulted, as if my personal Yamato was denied, sunk. But in the end, she was right, I really didn't understand a thing.
"Hey, you're here a lot these days," was what she said in Japanese, even before asking what I wanted. Funny how they always have that knack for knowing if you can speak; it was like that the first time. My lips couldn't hide a smile. My ploy was finally working. She was in her early twenties, mildly attractive, though if she tried she could look stunning. But there was something about her eyes that made me afraid to look directly into them, as if she could see right through me.
My gaze shifted a little to the left of her head. "Well, I live like two blocks away."
"I don't mean to offend you or anything, but what's up with the Aloha shirts? You're always wearing 'em."
"I'm from Hawaii," I replied. I figured the mentioning of this magical place in the collective minds of the Japanese should score me some points.
I was right. "Wow, I've always wanted to go. Strange how I'm here in Chicago, when Hawaii's so much closer to Japan. So do you surf too?" She asked a question I heard too often.
"No," I almost liked saying it; maybe I just liked shattering stereotypes, though it always hurt a little. I figure if I was actually into it, my love or lack there of of Hawaii would be totally different.
Maybe it wasn't such a good answer, since her mood seemed to change a bit. "So, anything to drink?"
"Yeah, a Sapporo."
"We only have the small bottles." They'd say this without fail.
"That's just fine."
****
Contact: mark@infinityscene.com****
My friend Alan mentioned to me that the owner of Yanase was getting old and decided to close shop. Luckily, I was able to get some shots of it before my favorite restaurant in Chicago is gone forever.1. Entrance: as you can see, this isn't really a place you'd want to go into.
2. Sign: I stole the crest for this chapter off of this sign.
3. Hours of Operation
4. Yanase, We Love U!: ain't that the truth.
