First-year Teachers Party

School-related parties come in threes for me: one for all faculty and staff, one for my department, and one for my grade level. With teacher transfers looming, end-of-year otsukare parties are starting up. Tonight was the first-year teachers' party.

We met at the same restaurant we used last year, which should give you a sense of what was in store this time around. More on that in a minute, though.

As we were sitting down at the restaurant, I overheard some giggling from a small group of teachers. Nozomi-sensei had asked Yoshihara-sensei if her head was okay. Though she wanted to know whether Yoshihara had a headache, that phrasing is more often used to imply someone has done something stupid. Yoshihara often does oddball things (on a possibly related note, she's the art teacher), so this had the women teachers cracking up.

As soon as everyone got together, we ordered our drinks. I don't think I've talked on this blog about Japanese toasts before. At most social gatherings, as formal as post-graduation parties and as casual as friends getting together, etiquette calls for a toast before drinking. Everyone orders their drinks, and once each person has some kind of beverage to hold up, we toast. There can be a speech by the host of the party, or there might be no preamble at all, but the last thing said is always "Kanpai!" ("Cheers!") Everyone clinks glasses and can officially take a drink. It's essentially the same as a toast in America, but I get the feeling that it's much, much more strictly observed here.

Anyway, the food started arriving as soon as we toasted. The first course was sashimi. Sashimi isn't my favorite--most types of fish just taste bland to me raw, and those that do taste good (like salmon) taste so much better cooked--but I have no problem eating the standard varieties, like tuna and octopus. In addition to the usual suspects, this time there was a second plate with bits of red meat.

I've seen chicken sashimi in Tsushima before. I politely but steadfastly refused to try it, because six years working in restaurants and twenty-someodd years of understanding English have taught me you just don't eat raw chicken. I was intrigued by this plate, though, wondering if it was beef.

Nozomi, a grammar teacher with good English, asked if I knew what kind of meat it was. When I cocked my head uncertainly, she told me it was sakuraniku: cherry blossom meat. She told me another name for it, baniku, and I got it: horse. (It's referred to as sakuraniku because of the meat's pinkish color.)

I actually ate this my first day in Tsushima, and it wasn't particularly offensive. I certainly don't have a taste for it, and I know a few people back home who are probably disgusted with me for having willingly eaten it. This time, though, I didn't want to eat it raw. Luckily, I didn't have to: the main course for the night was sukiyaki. Each of us had a ceramic bowl filled with broth and vegetables; we were able to add additional meats and veggies as we liked. Like most red meat, the horse meat was a lot more palatable cooked.

As with most get-togethers, the menu was mostly a backdrop for the conversations and increasingly-drunken revelry. Nozomi's desk is always swamped with paperwork and other materials. I feel bad for her during lunch, because she clears off just enough space--a square foot or so--for her plate. Wondering if it's piled with stuff only during the busy times of year, I asked her tonight if there's ever a time when her desk is clear. I apparently phrased this a little more rambunctiously than I wanted, because Yoshihara and Kamito got a kick out of my implying her desk is messy. Nozomi gracefully explained basically that she's a packrat, and told me to be careful never to turn into one like her.

Later on, a new dish arrived. It was out of reach of Saito-sensei, sitting next to me, so I offered to get him some. Following the chopsticks etiquette I was taught, and in the absence of serving chopsticks, I turned my chopsticks around so as to get him some food with the end I hadn't been using. This drew titters of approval from all the women at the table. Apparently, most young people (especially guys) either don't know to do this or are too lazy to. Hooray for not being rude!

One of the dishes was fried fish. By the time it arrived, I was just about stuffed, so I only nudged at it. On the plate with the fish, however, were two round, fried things. I looked quizzically at them, and Nozomi saw this. She told me the Japanese term, and when this didn't help me understand, she pulled out her Japanese-English electronic dictionary, consulted it, and proudly announced, "Testis." Deep fried fish testes. Seeing everyone else chowing down, I politely took a token bite. While not terrible, it certainly wasn't tasty.

Toward the end of the meal, the chef entered the room carrying a tray. On the tray were several small bowls, a large bowl, and a pitcher resembling a teapot. As he lowered the tray, we saw that the large bowl was full of water, and in the water were lots of small fish darting around. He set out the small bowls, and into each poured from the pitcher a yellowish liquid. Using a slotted spoon, he then scooped up some fish, poured them into the small bowls. Immediately after being placed in the yellow stuff, the fish began flailing around violently. Nobody seemed concerned with this, and the chef asked who wanted to try it first.

I can't remember who went first--probably Matsushita--but he stood and held up the first of the small bowls. He then proceeded to gulp down everything in the bowl--the yellow liquid and the still-struggling fish. Almost everyone jokingly applauded. (I say almost everyone because several of the women, obviously not thrilled with this course, stayed quiet, maintaining polite smiles.)

I saw it coming: I was urged to go next. Deciding it was much better than other things I've tried in Japan, I went for it. The yellow stuff was a tangy citrus/vinegar solution, which explains the struggling of the fish: in addition to not being able to breathe, the fish were probably being burned by the acid. I accepted a bowl, stood, and downed it in one gulp. It wasn't all that bad. The fish flipping around in my mouth was more than a bit strange, and it took me a minute to marshal the effort to swallow, but that was the worst of it. They were small enough that I didn't have to bite down on them, and they only struggled a little on the way down my esophagus.

Everyone applauded me, with the guys cheering the louder. Several others followed, and I'm pretty sure no women tried it. Saito showed off a little, letting one of the fish stick its head out from his puckered lips.

The party ended soon after. The guys were all headed straight for a second party at a bar, and invited me along. I noticed none of the women were going, so I declined. Depending on how you look at it, that may sound as though I'm a skirt-chaser or a pansy. While both are sometimes true, in this case it's because the presence of women lowers the possibility of going to a snack bar, which I abhor. I also had to get up early to drive to Toyotama the next day.