I awake and start repeating the words Arbroath Smokie to myself. It was good. This fishy idyll is broken by the sound of Bob Geldof using the phrase tangibly felt. Someone said palpably felt yesterday. A friend texts from work. Can't make it out tonight, shit hitting the fan, something wrong with the books, heads about to roll. In board meetings worldwide, executives identify the excess fat. Cut it out. Slim down operations. Reduce waste. My dear, were you under the illusion that capitalism was your friend? Here, take this 700 billion, take 700 billion more. Handfuls of cash thrown at a lover. Now piss off and don't ever come back. I trusted you...
I don't understand it. Economics is alchemy. Dark arts. Snake oil. Sleight of hand. Where did all the money go? Can't you get it back? Johnny's stolen all the biscuits out of the jar! Well, let's make sure it's full next time he puts his hand in as well. Err, Dad, can't we just beat the shit out of him instead? Apparently not. Is there not some alternative? No, there isn't. Shut up. Put up. We know what we are doing. We only need 700 billion to keep it all afloat. A colourful balloon above a world of dust. Never mind.
In other news, okonomiyaki news that is, I visited one of London's other Japanese pancake makers last Sunday. I'm quite consciously writing this in an unlocked entry as I was sufficiently offended by the product in question. There's a covered market area off Brick Lane called Sunday Upmarket. It's mostly crafty stalls and food sellers. Koinobori (it's the name for carp-shaped streamers) sell okonomiyaki and fried rice balls. There's also a stretch of food sellers outside and they've opened a second stall there as well.
My friend and I started with the takoyaki from a nearby stall. Average. Slightly stinting on the octopus, a bit undercooked, not much flavour, certainly lacking punch, but still recognisably takoyaki. The okonomiyaki from Koinobori really does not deserve the name. It's kyabetsuyaki (cabbage pancake) at best:
In summation, Koinobori was: badly chopped cabbage and too much of it, not nearly batter, no egg, paltry toppings, stingy on saucing, undercooked. The dish was not much more than warm, wet cabbage and quite flavourless. My friend said it was disgusting and I agreed, although I ate a few more mouthfuls to establish the benchmark. The sauce was described as "Osaka Sauce". Maybe it was, but the cooking area was dominated by some large bottles of Bulldog tonkatsu sauce. Well, for a start, Bulldog is an Tokyo brand of sauce. Tokyo taste is not Osaka taste. Secondly, and here's sand in your face, Bulldog famously bought out Osaka sauce manufacturer Ikari when the latter was exposed for financial fraud.
Should you wish to relieve yourself of £4 and receive little pleasure in return, I can recommend it without reservation.