Number 4

"I will order Number 4, please. Diet Coke. Arigato."

I've done it dozens of times. While I always prefer the local fare, some pastures are just too expensive to graze through, so the fast food joints that are taking over the global urban landscape, become the feeding trough of folks like me.

So, I am standing in a McD's in Shinjuku ordering the Number 4. I place my hand on the picture. I say the words. The girl takes my yen. The change doesn't look quite right, but I decide to wait for the order before saying anything.

I wait. Other orders pass by. I wait.

Ahh, here she comes---with 1,2,3,4--four drinks. She is smiling. "Diet Coke." she says sweetly. Now, I know I have a beer gut (moniker not deserved, since the gut comes from drinking diet cola, not beer, and spending too much time on my butt in front of a computer --but no one believes me, and who cares, anyway), but I cannot drink four in a row. What is she thinking? She stands smiling at me, obviously pleased that she has a satisfied customer.

"I am so sorry," I begin, " but I meant that I would like to order one set. One number four."
Confusion. She seeks the help of another. They confer. He and She look my way frequently as they discuss the situation. The manager is called over. All approach me with caution. Using my warmest smile and gentlest tone, I try once more.

"I would like ...to order... this." I point to the picture. "A cheeseburger..., fries..., and one... diet... coke. Set... (my finger draws a circle around the picture) number... four."

Understanding turns the girl's face into a shade of bright red. Her co-worker is laughing. The manager shrugs and takes the four drinks ... somewhere. She comes to the cash register. Again, confusion. The manager is called back. They punch keys on the register. It beeps vigorously. Nothing happens. The manager moves to another machine. Entries are made. Keys are punched. the drawer opens. He come back with change. My original investment.

"Please come again."

A few minutes later, in another restaurant, I ate sushi.

KimChi Pot Pie

Friends gathered last night for a going away party. The Canadian missionary invited a few dozen folks over to my place for dinner. Since Seoul this week has been as cold as the Yukon, I thought I would fix a little something that conjured images of hearth and home.

Ingredients, though, have to be carefully planned because of limited selection at the local market for spices, herbs and "stuff." (Like, I can find 14 kinds of cabbage in the fresh produce section, but no green beans or peas; huge carrots, but what's a celery stick?)

So, I decided a simple pot pie would be different enough to get the attention of the Korean palate. (I treat my friends here like my kids--always experimenting on them with new flavors and fusion. . . and, of course, they treat me like the kids do . . . "Yuk!" or "tell me what's in it before I eat it." --we do have fun.)

In my fantasy, I am serving these little individual ramekins with a delicious chicken stew center topped with a golden crust. The picture in my mind would make a fantastic photo in Gourmet magazine. Of course, reality dictates two 9X12 baking pans filled with a concoction made from leftovers or frozen COSTCO.

The crust, not quite enough to cover the entire pie in one pan, was an anemic pastel color, but luckily tasty and crisp. I nailed the dough this time! Yes, butter makes the difference. I thought my inspired fusion of rubbed sage and cinnamon in the pie was fabulous. Frying the chicken first and dumping the bits into the pot was a winner.

The crew arrived and were lavish in their praise--of the smell; nothing like baking brings out the am ore'. Several brought traditional dishes to compliment the "main dish." When line winding into the kitchen began to move, the hesitation and "picking" with the chopsticks began as they sniffed and poked and looked. Manners required and small portion on each plate.

The kids rolled a bite or two around the tongue then dug in and got back in line. The sophisticated adults were more reserved. It was just too--well, too different, didn't have that bite that flames the throat and flares the nostrils like good Korean food.

I went to the fridge. Yes. kimchi on the top shelf. With chopsticks in hand, I walked over to the table and plopped a fermented cabbage leaf on top of the plate nearest me. "Now try it!" I instructed." With pie and kimchi between the chopsticks, she said, "Mmmmphf, thisssis great!" The kimchi disappeared.The pot pie disappeared. The party was a grand success!