Tomorrow and Toko

I'll come back to the other post later, probably. Or more like, if and when I feel like it. But for now, just sit back and let me inspire you with my inspired blogging. That's right, 'cause you can't get enough of it that's why.

It was Friday night, and I had had a shit day at work, with people actually expecting me to do any. All I wanted to do was have a good few drinks to calm my precious frayed nerves. It wasn't just work though, god no. It was good ol' Vay again, who pissed me off badly on Thursday night, when I wanted to watch Tomorrow When the War Began (which for some reason, I kept calling The Day After Tomorrow, the Tomorrow bit always confuses me), and he agreed reluctantly to watch it with me, as part of our unspoken agreement after subjecting me to Predators twice and The Expendables. We were still sitting outside the cinema when he starts up with his comments about how it's a movie for barang, and how no one's even there. Then the previews hadn't even started when he starts browsing on his mobile for a synopsis of Red Dawn, which apparently has a similar plot. Not that I fucking cared, ya bastard.

So readers, you can understand how my blood was starting to simmer, just a tad. Not boiling, yet, mind you, only simmering. The annoyances didn't stop there though, no, he was just getting started. Before the movie, I told him specifically not to make any dumb comments during the movie, and that's exactly what he set out to do, didn’t he, the bastard. During scenes where they were just sitting around talking, or kissing, he'd say, "There's a war going on, and you're making out?" and "God, as if that's ever going to happen" or something along those lines. Anyway, you'd be pissed off too if you had paid good money to watch a movie in peace, and all you got was a whiny boyfriend making lame comments in your ear all night.

Anyway, it all ended in good old fashioned fight in the car, and even then he was still going on about the movie. After repeated attempts to tell him to shut up, I cracked it a little, and was actually about to deck the guy, until he flinched and asked me, out of curiosity, whether I was going to hit him. I had my fist raised, and luckily for him, snapped out of my rage and burst into tears. Then he had to drag up our past grievances until all was said and done.

Miraculously we managed to hug it out, and I eventually got a texted apology from him, which I wasn’t even expecting, that’s how low my expectations have dropped. And that was just on Thursday night.

And so you see why I needed a few drinks on Friday night to recover from it all. Thankfully, he was feeling slightly remorseful after pushing my buttons intentionally like that, and decided to do whatever the hell I wanted to do, for a change. We ended up catching a cab up to Crown Street and happening upon Toko. It had a candlelit atmosphere, and there was an adjacent bar, I think it was Tokonoma or something. We got front row seats at the counter where a lady was precisely preparing various sashimi. It definitely felt rather upmarket, you can tell when they have soft leather bound menus for god’s sake. The floor was teeming with competent-looking wait staff and a myriad of chefs working at their various grill, kitchen and sushi stations. There were long tables behind us, but all the action was up front, hee hee. It was fascinating watching these people go about their business, always at the ready to discreetly pick up an empty plate or refill your glass. Sure I’ve had that done before, but none so attentively as it was at Toko, it seems. So we treated ourselves to Kirin beers and picked and chose from the long menu. I started off with a small bowl of duck broth, soft boiled quail egg and soba, which was deliciously salty. They should upsize it and make it a main, god damn it. Whereas Vay went with a very tender beef tataki.

I smirked as the couple beside us ordered edamame as an entrée, and whispered to Vay how barang that was. What? It’s cute when I do it.

Our mains were similar, I had the duck breast which was succulently dripping with rendered fat and juices, and barbequed on the outside while being gently pink on the inside, precision cut and laid out on a wooden slab (a "geta", apparently), accompanied simply with a small mound of sea salt flakes and and sansho pepper on the side. I just wanted to eat it with my bare hands.

Moe: Hey, Barney! What'll it be?
Barney: I'd like a beer, Moe!
Yoko: I'd like a single plum floating in perfume served in a man's hat.
Moe: [reaching under bar] Here you go.

Well lah dee dah. And I suppose Vay’s main was alright, I GUESS. He had a 100gm slab of wagyu beef, cooked to medium-rare perfection, served with the salt, and a couple of complementing dipping sauces. It was without a doubt the best beef I’ve had in a long while, which I’ll grudgingly admit.

‘Twould be a shame not to have any sashimi in a modern Japanese restaurant, so we consulted the menu again and went with the 5 selections of fresh sashimi, simply known as the “go ten”, which according to my rusty Japanese, means 5 something. Oh don’t duh me, bet you wouldn’t have guessed. Not in a million years. Anyway… it was carefully prepared in front of our very eyes, and arranged on a large bowl of fresh ice, with a crystal clear ice mountain shaped block as the centerpiece. Shame it wasn’t carved in our honour, but you can’t have everything, I supposed. There was a selection of salmon, kingfish, tuna, and a couple of other ones, I'm guessing yellowtail or mackarel.

I was wondering if we needed rice, but the mains were so richly filling that we didn’t need it. And besides, you don’t eat rice with steak, as Vay proclaims. Well look who’s being a bit fiddle-dee-dee. Which is just as well, as it left us room for a trio of Vay’s favourites, crème brulees, in green tea, ginger and expresso flavours.

So hun, I have to admit, the dinner was, overall, quite good. Why, you could say it almost makes up for Thursday night…