Tuesday, March 23, 2004

Since there was so much fugu activity in the Mental Office Girl's blog, my own experiences with the deadly fugu are re-materializing.

In Kumagaya, the biggest city in Saitama Prefecture's northern half, there is a fugu restaurant far from the yakuza joints. It is in the quiet part of Kumagaya. (Remember where we used to cycle around, Beth? That's the place.)

The menu suggested fugu cooked - or not - in every style.

Glancing at the tables of other diners, it was evident that liver and ovary were the coveted body parts. Poor fugus, thought I, dying merely to be gutted. If you must die, little fugu, I could at least ensure your death was not in vain - the rest of your charming self could be reincarnated.

So I ordered fugu lips.

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