A Dish Named Penis

I went to Kenka a few nights back to guzzle some $1.50 beers with a friend who had just arrived home from serving as a monk in Bali. In the midst of shit shooting and beer gurgling, a Japanese Camera crew decided to plant themselves at the table next to ours and start filming the hostess consuming a variety of delights.

Mind you, Kenka exists on a block famed for $9 sunglasses and underage piercing parlors. There is Japanese soft porn on the walls. The menu has a cartoonesque image of a woman's buttocks being assaulted. This is by no means classy dining.

The hostess of the show started out eating edamame and Sapporo. Easy. She moved on to some sort of multi-colored roughage. Hard on the stomach, but doable. Her director than placed what looked like a meaty ribbed twinkie in front of her. A penis.

She poked and prodded the bull penis in horror, and screamed maniacally at her director for making her consume a fairly large package. I chuckled. My friend giggled. She turned to us looking for empathy. My friend said he would try the penis.

Apparently it was semi-frozen, which made me cringe. Better to eat a flaccid penis than a semi-hard one-- the icy crunch definitely less appetizing than a chewy muscle. My friend masticated, picked his teeth, and received a roaring cheer from the restaurant. I found myself in a scene from Lost In Translation; yet instead of Bill Murry frustrated with a wary grin, my Murry was a post-monk with a penis chunk stuck between his molars.

I bought him another beer.