The melody of “Turning Japanese” by the Vapors just popped into my head and if you weren’t around in 1980 you’re probably scratching your head right now. Yes I’m showing my age and I’m not ashamed. With the amount of Japanese I’ve been consuming lately I might well become a gyoza or hand-leavened noodle before I know it.
A recent visit to Bondi took us to the over-sized and undesirable Westfield complex, in search of Borders to use a credit voucher. I can’t stand huge shopping centres and the sight of all the tanned bodies, bleached teeth and low-riding skinny jeans was cringe-worthy enough to make a hasty departure.
It may have been a hot day and sitting outside under the brollies didn’t help but I was still keen on having a bowl of karaage ramen (10.9). Sadly I compared it to the one I had at Menya Noodle Bar in town, the one I still dream about. Not that this one was bad. Just not fantastic. It would have been nice if the chicken was crispy.