Eat Play Lunge: Bai, Hai, Kanpai

I know there’s no lunging involved in this particular instance.
I just have to document what happened tonight.

My mom and I were en route back to our hotel from a super full day of shrine & Buddha-seeing in Hase/Kamakura. It was 8:00pm; we had just enough energy to want to make something out of our last night in Tokyo, but not enough to subway s’mo and half-heartedly discover another ‘hood. We had just resigned to shlepping back to our room when we passed by this tiny place we had breakfast at a couple days earlier.

“Oh, sh*t. I think there’s a dude playing an accordion in there,” I side-mouthed to my mom. 

We stood watching, palms against the glass door for a while, just trying to reconcile this rowdy-bar-plus-full-blues-band scene with the quiet, working-men-only cafe we brekkied at just the other day. Two locals at the bar spotted us, motioned us in, and despite our “Oh no, we’re just looking” sign-language protestations, they literally dragged us in by the wrists, plopped us at the bar and immediately beered us.

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We had no idea we were in for a full night of bottomless Kirin, no one letting us pay, getting food shoved in our mouths literally mid-sentence, screamy singalongs, and endless kanpai kanpai kanpai. I learned how to say “I love you so much” and “Can I take you home” in Japanese. My mom tried to adopt a woman. I fell in love with a washboard player. No one really spoke English. Somehow that made it better.

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Cut to three hours later and we’re holding hands with 5 drunken Kiba locals, screeching as we drag each other through the crosswalk.

I’m not even sure what the point of this post was other than, maybe:
Everyone should get the chance to see their mother mega-drunk in a tiny suburb of Tokyo, chicken katsu in her mouth, literally trying to put a small Japanese woman in her purse.

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Tokyo rules.

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