Salivation: Challenge by Fire

Our journey was reaching it’s conclusion; while myself and my fellow companions enjoyed the fruits and splendor of the island, there were few that which made a substantial impact. While the grinding of raw sugar cane deposited in an icy cup was a highlight, alongside once again being scared by our head chief while once again experiencing teppanyaki delicacy, the intimacy of both our cloudy brunch and ramen VIP experience did not come together until the day before our departure. Our youngest companion was tasked with finding a place to eat for our last dinner. While we gave them the responsibility before, the research was sadly lacking due to sun related distractions, and only on our last evening did they approach us and share with us a hot-pot restaurant.

It was evening as we clip-clopped our way in sandals to our destination. Hidden away on a side street, this hot-pot was brimming with people and we waited for a extended period of time before making our way inside. Compared to the cooler interiors we experienced for most of the trip, the interior was bustling and steaming, as each table was furnished with a large personal grill. The experience was incredibly novel for all us, and the idea of utilizing that grill for our own cuisine was an enticing affair.

Our server waited as we marveled in what was perhaps our only true moment of tourist-inflicted wonder at the display and the grill in front of us as it lit and sparked with heat and fire. What brought us out of this stupor was surprisingly not the ordering of food. Instead, as we settled on an all you can eat menu, the server stated plainly “Good luck, you will have ninety minutes, but people don’t ever go the full time limit so don’t worry about stopping an hour in.”

The poor man knew not what he wrought. The moment the sentence left his lips the air around us ever so briefly chilled. Both myself and my two male compatriots looked across the tables at each-other and grinned with evil intent; a challenge had been proposed and our jolly nature was only secondary to our stubborn competitiveness. It could be perhaps defined as simply the masculine desire for victory, but I would perhaps define this moment as our own personal tests of strength. The kitchen would be emptied, and we would be satisfied.

Five orders of skirt steak, four orders of miso marinated steak, five orders of filet mignon, five orders of soy marinated steak, two orders of buttered mushrooms, four orders of cows tongue, four orders of spicy and non-spicy pork belly, two orders of shrimp, four orders of ice cream, four orders of fried rice, one order of fried chicken, one order of salad, ten orders of water and one delicate red bean paste filled fish shaped dumping later, and we were finished. Each piece (while small separately) left us with distended bellies and the satisfaction of blissful gluttonous victory. The laughing and discovery of each piece, the realization that our favorite dish would be the paper thin cows tongue, that each succulent piece of beef would melt away once fully cooked and the accidental smoky mess we made on our first attempts left us chattering and smiling as we waddled back to our hotel. It was the kind of dinner one wishes to strive for before a journey back home.