I must be part Japanese. Everything in this country strikes me the right way.
Arriving in Tokyo four days ago after the most pleasant and elegant flight I have ever traveled, complete with linen tablecloths, tasting menu and effervescent wines we glided through Narita Airport and easily picked up railway tickets. And then we were off. Hurling at high speeds through the Japanese countryside towards the shining megalopolis that is Tokyo. The second our train spit out of the station my mind was abuzz. I was afraid to blink for fear I'd miss a sight as we sped by. The neatly lined crops, the countryside architecture, the flashes of people. In what seemed like the fasted hour and a half imaginable (is it possibly time moves quicker here?) we arrived at Shinjuku station, the busiest in the world. Not a moment of looking at a map with a befuddled gaze did a woman approach us and kindly explain that "she had been to NYC four times and people were so helpful, could she escort us to our destination?" I put aside my European-travel knee jerk reaction that she was trying to con us and allowed the kindest woman in sweet-broken English to guide us in the right direction and get us squared away with our white-gloved taxi driver.
We arrive at the Park Hyatt Hotel and were whisked through the tranquil entryway to the 41st floor lobby. The elevator door opens and you're struck by the almost 365 degree view of Tokyo. The city which is as sprawling as LA but as built up as midtown Manhattan is awe-inspiring to say the least. In fact it took me 3 days to even notice the first class artworks and mammoth collection of books floating in backlit wood cases throughout the hotel. I suppose with a view like this it's even easy to overlook a Valerio Adami.
I could go on and on and on and on about Tokyo. The alleys and buildings like jewelry boxes holding culinary and cultural surprises around every bend. The fashion! I'm convinced that everyone here has no regard for comfortable walking shoes or budgets and collectively decided that their city should bring the runways to life 24 hours a day. The shrines and flora & fauna older than Jesus and more intricate than almost anything I've come across in my travels to this point. And the food. Oh the food. I challenge a traveller in Japan to have a bad meal. Whether it costs $3 or $500. It will be incredible.
That brings us to Jiro. After months our beloved concierge was able to procure for us two coveted seats at Jiro's counter. Once the reservation was confirmed we quickly re-examined "
Jiro Dreams of Sushi," the documentary about his humble establishment and the small staff churning out the finest sushi in the world in under 30 minutes flat. I don't want to think about the cost of the meal amortized by minute. But as we approached the stairwell to the Ginza train station and anxiously descended towards what was bound to be an incredible sensory experience, I noticed out of the corner of my eye an international celebrity and his wife doing a similarly anxious dance half a block away. I commented that perhaps we'd be dining with them and then removed the thought from my mind; I had more pressing things on which to focus. But not moments later we were seated at the 10 person counter awaiting the jewel like bites of sushi and in walks said celebrity. And would you believe it, the first thing out of his wife's mouth after making eye contact with me (ME!) is "hey, we had breakfast at the hotel together yesterday." After that we were
best friends. Sharing mouth-full smiles and stories about the food. After the meal we discussed travel (hint: they're Australian) and our work (he's here filming a prequel). But that's really besides the point because the true star of the evening was the whirlwind sushi dinner we had practically flew round the globe to taste, and the smiling sushi master who served it to us. It was a 20-piece meal and just like a good tasting menu had a crescendo-ing pace. Beginning with lighter flavored yet full-bodied pieces such as striped jack and gizzard shad, some chewy but overall bursting with subtle essence. Moving on to what I consider the meat of the meal with some of the finest tunas, rich and butter-like. And finishing the experience with bites of excessive flavor beats unlike ones I've ever tasted. There was the Sea Urchin, Scallop, Salmon Roe, Sea Eel and Sweet Egg. Whoa. If I could repeat those 5 pieces over and over into infinity I think I would reach Nirvana. I'm not going to lie, the pace of the meal was too fast for my liking but you never felt pushed. Rushed yes but not pushed. I got the impression we could have loitered at that counter speaking broken-Japanese and tasting bites of the ocean for as long as we'd like but we'd run out of money before we'd be asked to leave.
The meal ended with bows and a giddy photo shoot with Jiro. I think our celebrity-dining companion appreciated that he wasn't the one being asked for pictures. And then it was over. As quickly as it came, it ended. But much like everything I've been exposed to in Japan thus far, it's beautiful and meaningful and exactly the way it's supposed to be.
I grew up in the sleepy, safe, bucolic Central Jersey town of Hillsborough and despite the state's reality TV reputation, I had an extremely lovely childhood. But my wonderful adolescent years notwithstanding when I go home to visit the 'rents nowadays I find the restaurant options to be few and (literally) far between. Until recently when we discovered One 53 in the neighboring town of Rocky Hill. Nestled down a sleepy country-town road this spot attracts both the Princeton Sophisticates and the Rural Glitterati who not only favor farm-to-table but actually live next-door to the food purveyors themselves. The restaurant is a welcome oasis in the country with suburban prices but city level cuisine.
The meal was capped off by another of Kerr's Kornstand delicacies - a grilled peach accompanied by decadent scoops of vanilla ice cream, dusted with caramel sauce and thin ribbons of fresh basil. And as we sat there in the cozy room, a hub-bub of conversation and warm food filling the air inside while the dark, still, star-filled sky consumed the air outside, I sat back and breathed in my home town. And as I sipped my wine, I was happy to know that I'll always have my own Jersey-grown retreat in my childhood's backyard. 
