Ten images from the forthcoming book “Tokyo Panic Stories” are on display from now until June 30th at city hall in Brisbane, CA.
I’m pretty new to Scholars and Rogues, but I think I made it apparent rather quickly that I am fascinated with Tokyo street life. Photographs like this one form the core and bulk of my photographic work.
(Picture taken in Sanya near Nihonzutsumi, Tokyo in October, 2013. This is a color treatment of a monochrome photo from the exhibit.)
This type of curry is comfort food to the Japanese the way macaroni and cheese is to Americans…
I love to cook, and I am told I’m pretty good at it. The one thing I cook for people most often is this Japanese curry. I’ve been making it for nearly a decade, but I really got serious about it after my wife and I went to Tokyo in March, 2008. I make it four or five times a year. Amongst my neighbors and friends it has become my signature dish. If you are familiar with Japanese curry at all, you know the basic dish is wonderful during colder weather, the spicier the better.
“…But thilke text heeld he nat worth an oyster….” – Geoffrey Chaucer
The Oysters of Locmariaquer by Eleanor Clark (image courtesy Goodreads)
Anyone who reads Eleanor Clark’s classic The Oysters of Locmariaquerwill come away from the book convinced of two things: 1) cultivating oysters is a complex and difficult task that might well suck the life out of one foolish enough to try to do so; 2) if the people from any place are up to the task of cultivating oysters, it is the Bretons. Clark’s book falls into that interesting category of nonfiction made famous by the great John McPhee. That is, Eleanor Clark, like McPhee, combines meticulous research (there is more in this book than anyone this side of an ichthyologist would want to know about the biology of oysters and the history of human/oyster relations) with personal narrative (there are stories of the lives of Breton villagers who are tied to the oyster industry – or to Brittany – that can move even the most jaded soul).
The surreality of it was astounding. In Minami-senju, Tokyo, while I was looking for the barely- and roughly-living, through a haze of my own cigarette smoke I found a city of the dead. I savored the irony of that.