Just off the main road, down a dimly lit alley stands a
small man in a big coat. He occupies the space outside of a deep red dark
door. No words are needed. Everyone
knows what you’re after and gestures suffice for this kind of joint. The door
lurches open as I pull its oversized brass handles. It is darker inside and a
heavy smoke lingers in the air. We speak in hushed voices for no apparent
reason. It’s the type of place that feels empty but is brimming with people. Up a steep set of old stairs, over the worn
carpets hundreds of others have passed looking for the same fix. ‘Tea?” the
short boxy man asks, I nod again. The menu is brought out, this place reminds
me of restaurant. I guess because it is.
Now the people of Kobe are not known for illegal substances,
and this is no tale of criminal escapades. They are however, a bunch of beef
slingers. The worst kind.
-Hold your
horses and ease that grin Chancho. I know the innuendos are boundless-
For years
in the dark alleys of Kobe, men and women alike have met in dim corners to get
whiff of that sizzle. The finest cuts of meet man could beget from beef. The
endless and meticulous Japanese obsession with achieved perfection in all acts
comes through with every shoulder dropping, sigh inducing, subtle moan of joy whose
source is top grade Kobe beef.
When in Kobe, you are a fool if you choose to settle for
anything less than premium. Sure, you can
get an amazing experience of top notch Kobe beef at a more reasonable price.
Places like Steakland exist for such a reason. But really? You want to eat at a
place called 'Steakland'? In Japan? You might as well have an outline of Texas
with a 5 gallon hat on and chachkies everywhere. Great things are to be done right, and this
is one of those, ‘once in a longtime’ sort of meals. I went big.
I don’t remember which cut I got, details become
overshadowed by exquisite taste, but it was emphatically amazing. The chef
brought out the slab of meat like fine wine to make sure I approved before we
got started. Naturally I gave the slab
of raw meat a thorough look over checking it under the light like a person who
has no idea what to look for. Similar to
the look I give when testing wine before it is poured. I nod to show I think I know
what I’m doing. Next, my wine was delivered without being offered a sample
taste as if it were some hunk of raw beef.
Watching this perfectly marbled piece of meat get sliced up and
cooked was a joy in itself. The taste? Another world. One piece of Kobe beef, a
dash of salt, dab of wasabi, and a slice of freshly fried fresh garlic. A
single bite had the ability to completely alter the chemical balances in my
brain (See aforementioned descriptions). It left me questioning my entire
existence and what ‘real life’ even is. I had no idea food could be so rich as
to leave me with such stunning joy.
The meal continued sublimely. I chewed in uninterrupted
happiness fully engaged with that which lay before me. The final bite was
triumphant. Not leaving one ounce of longing or any bittersweet feelings found
at the conclusion of great things. Just rotund satisfaction and full
contentment.
A bowl of mints was delivered to me and I was off. Past the
boxy man, down the stairs, through the smoky room, out the archaic door, down
the ally to the street bustling with life. The cold winter air was energizing,
I had just had the best meal of my life. I was over the moon, the world sang
with colours and sounds. Joy burst for from all directions, I pranced down the
neon light streets, arms stretched heavenward. Oh how sweet it was, the hills
were alive with the sound beef.
Friends, I ate well.
