Empty Orchestra

Definition of torture = going to karaoke and not being able to sing 'cos you've lost your voice...

It was Dave's sister, Suzie's, last night in Tokyo so we took them to our local nomiya. Dave had only been to expensive izakayas and not a local hole in the wall - how this is possible after 3 years in the country I'm not sure - so we set up camp on the tatami mat and ordered a bucket-load of beer, yakitori, pork kimchi and the perennial favourite - fried cheese (somehow Japan never graduated from the 1980's).

We had the ditziest waitress, an old duck in her 60's, who was obviously just a ring-in for the evening. One of our conversations (in Japanese) went something like this:

Matt: Excuse me, could we have some plates, please?
DW: Plates?
Matt: Yes. Plates.
DW: [looks confused]. Plates?
Matt: Yes.
DW: Hmmm. What for?
Matt: Erm. To eat from.

[at this stage, the two ladies next to us, who had understood Matt's rather clear Japanese, intercepted and told DW what we wanted]

DW: Heh? Small or large?
Matt: Small is OK.
DW: Small?
Matt: Yes. Thanks.
DW: You want small plates.
Matt: Hmmm. Yes.

Without another word and with a clear look of confusion (who can blame her for not understanding that we wanted something to put our food on?) she disappeared into the kitchen.

So the service wasn't great, but hell, it was entertaining.

Afterward, the guys wanted to go to karaoke so I relented knowing it would be hell. It wasn't of course, but it was damn hard not to belt out a tune...