Here then is my photojournal of the proceedings.

First of all we made camp by the river:

Then the Men set up the fires and the things for hanging the pots on. Eleni came across to check on their handiwork:

The adults who couldn’t do clever things like build fires (that’s us) got to peel the potatoes, while the kids had to rip up this extremely healthy but disgustingly squeegy stuff called konyaku into little bits like this:

Ruby is not a big fan of ripping up konyaku:

Meanwhile Felix went and played in the raging torrent of a river with the only other kid there on the day (who luckily just happened to be of similar age).

And finally we all got to sit around and eat the extremely healthy stew of freshly harvested potatoes and konyaku plus the eleven secret traditional herbs ‘n’ spices etc etc.

Now at this point the idea was to sit around for several hours longer drinking more and more sake; but luckily the kids and I had to nick off after lunch in order to perform in our first ever public outing with the Poporo brass band in the evening. Mr Nishihara was disappointed as always with my refusal to get rolling drunk during the day but I prefer to leave that sort of stuff to night-time. We had a long conversation about cultural differences (he maintains that you simply HAVE to drink sake in order to properly appreciate the cherry blossoms in April, for instance) but were unable to reach any sort of meaningful conclusion because he was too drunk for rational discourse.

So on to the concert. It was held out on the lawn behind the Poporo Cultural Centre to commemorate the annual Illumination Ceremony, which as far as I can tell involves not much more than the mayor coming out and pressing a big round button and all these pretty lights come on.

Here’s a couple of before and after shots:

Actually those lights do look rather purdy don’t they. And you can see from the first photo the bullet train line in the background, so every now and then a bullet train would thunder past overhead which added to the ambience. The concert was great fun and afterwards we all got to sit around and chat, and then we went out to dinner with none other than Mr Nishihara, who’d somehow managed not only to stay awake but to come along to the concert, and his wife who was kindly playing the role of taxi driver for the day.

And what better way to finish this report than a nice relaxing bit of brass band music.

After the designated carriers have wheeled in the trolleys, the designated servers dole out the gruel from the pots.

The designated lunch monitors check that everybody has been served, then issue the Japanese version of 2-4-6-8-dig-in-don’t-wait.

Then the fun begins. Luckily there are no silly rules that you’re not allowed to talk while eating, like we had when I was at school back in the dark ages.

How about those US Army-issue metal plates! Like something out of MASH.

All the adults then repaired to a different room to try out the lunch for themselves. And listen to a highly involved presentation from the nutritionalist at the local council about how they try to incorporate seasonal ingredients and ensure a good balance of vitamins, minerals, riboflavin and iron, while making mealtime fun and interesting and many other things which I didn’t quite listen to as diligently as I possibly should have. I did however study an enormous table that gives a breakdown of the meal content in terms of nutrients, iron, energy and six million other parameters.

It’s all very thorough and I’m sure they’re doing a great job, but at the end of the day it’s institutionalised food on thin metal plates. Actually one of the mothers raised the crockery issue at the end of the talk. And the response? The local council is apparently “aware of the issue” but “unable to take action at this time.”

In any case, I’m sure that in terms of nutritional value the skool slops are surely way ahead of whatever we could be bothered slapping together for Felix at 6:30 in the morning, and at ¥240 (under $3) per meal it’s a bargain. Don’t imagine I’ll be eating out at the local primary school any time soon though.

First you make a batter pancake. Note that it’s really thin; in fact this particular place makes them so thin as to be almost non-existent. Then you chuck the soba noodles straight on top of the pancake (they don’t even add the soba up in Osaka, poor things).

Now add a mountain of shredded cabbage on top. (FACT: Kids love okonimiyaki despite the fact that it’s full of cabbage.)

Next, put some crunchy things on top of the cabbage. This place uses bits of cooked tempura batter (which look to all the world like Rice Bubbles) and crispy fried squid things.

After this comes the meat (usually bacon or pork), or bits of octopus, prawn, squid,  mochi (rice cakes — only for the super-hungry) or whatever else you’ve ordered.

Add a bit more batter on top. After all, that first pancake was pretty thin.

But why put more batter on top? Because now you’re going to flip it over again and again to make it flatter, like this:

The egg is optional. You can also have cheese should you require an extra protein boost.

Chuck a whole lot of chopped spring onions on the egg, or for those not having egg, on top of the pancake.

Now slather the whole thing with thick brown Okonimiyaki sauce. Dunno what’s in it but it sure tastes good.

Sprinkle liberally with the eleven secret herbs and spices known only to the chef and not to be revealed on pain of death by disembowelment:

As the final piece of resistance, add mayonnaise (optional but highly recommended).

See how the kiddies love it.

Of course you can buy all these ingredients down the supermarket, including the batter pre-mix (just add water) and the special sauce, although perhaps not the secret herbs and spices. You can cook it up in the comfort of your own home—but at about $20 for a family of four, why would you?

Not only is okonomiyaki cheap and filling, I like to think that it’s also quite a healthy balanced meal, in the same way that pizza is a healthy balanced meal: carbs, protein, fresh chopped vegies, what more could you want?

For it is my solemn duty to report that we are officially over Mr Donuts. Even Ruby has pronounced that she is a bit sick of doughnuts (though Felix continues to toe the party line). Last weekend we actually drove straight past the hallowed shrine without pulling in, which was a first for the Sushi on a Stick household, a watershed, a portent, a harbinger of…. er, sorry, got a bit carried away there.

Anyway, gone are the days when no excuse was too trifling for us to pop in to Mr D for a quick restorative doughnut. And with the kids at school ten hours a day we don’t have time for such shenanigans in any case. Yes, the coffee may well be the best available in the immediate area but at the end of the day it’s just not that great, and I prefer to make my own at home using these dinky little private coffee filters:

Thanks to those heady doughnut-fuelled first couple of months, we have acquired enough loyalty points for a full set of Mr Donuts coffee mugs, a Mr Donuts carry bag and a handsome Mr Donuts bento box that Ruby can take to high school.

So we’ve got the loyalty goods. We’ve sampled the entire doughnut range. We’re even on speaking terms with some of the staff. What more is there to life?

There, I’ve said it. Harsh, I know, but certain home truths cannot be denied.

The Japanese do many things very well, including lots of delicious foody things (all of which I intend to describe in loving detail in the coming months)—however coffee is not one of them.

Even in cosmopolitan Tokyo, the closest approximation to a decent coffee that I have come across was Starbucks, which just goes to show the extent of the crisis. Down in country Mihara, of course, there is no such thing as Starbucks, and the best we can expect is the so-called “café latte” at Mr. Donuts that comes piped out of a press-button machine. At least it contains real milk, for which we must be grateful. Part of the problem with coffee in Japan is that they don’t do milk; generally you get either evil milk powder (such as the wonderfully named Creap) or, even worse, a tiny capsule of white oil that bears no resemblance whatsoever to dairy produce yet goes by the name “milk”. This stuff looks like white paint stirred through your coffee and tastes much the same. It makes UHT milk seem like farm-fresh produce in comparison.

Mihara does have a number of ordinary café type establishments as opposed to the chain stores such as Dotour and Mr Donuts, but in my experience you usually end up paying ¥500 for a cup of watered-down coal tar and are unlikely to score anything dairy-like to go with it. (Although I really should do my research before writing them all off like this. Stay tuned for further updates.)

I remember back in the bad old days, when Mr. Donuts only offered black coffee with white paint, I used to make a habit of buying a 200-ml mini milk at the -7-11 first. Sure it was a waste of about 170 ml of milk, but at least I could service my coffee addiction without feeling physically ill. At least today, in the enlightened 21^st century, I am spared the indignity of having to decant milk at the table but if Mr. Donuts coffee is the the best Mihara can manage then something’s not right.

Because your typical Japanese coffee still tastes like a cup of crude oil with white paint stirred through it. And they want to charge you money for that! I reckon I should be charging them for toxic waste removal, but I guess I could just exercise my sovereign right not to buy a coffee in the first place. Which is all very well except that I am pretty much addicted to coffee and can’t give it up that easily.

One final word of warning: the very worst, the very foulest coffee to be found in Japan, is the stuff they offer up on the Shinkansen (bullet train). It is truly evil; I would go so far as to say that it is even worse than airline coffee. Governments should have it on their tourist advisory warnings: by all means go to Japan, but stay away from the Shinkansen coffee. I should know: as I type this I’m sitting on the Shinkansen trying to digest a cup of whitened crude oil that I didn’t need and rather wish I hadn’t ordered. Next time, I swear I’m going cold turkey.

If what you want isn’t there, you just yell out “tuna!” or “eel!” and the chef whips it up straight away. At the end of your meal, they add up how many plates you’ve eaten and work out the total. There are usually three different plate colours, according to the cost of the ingredients.

So that’s conveyor-belt sushi (or kaiten zushi to give it the formal name). But  the place we went to tonight takes kaiten zushi to a whole new level. It’s a huge sushi barn with seating for a couple of hundred people, and instead of the sushi chefs standing in the middle, they’re all out the back. Instead of calling out to the sushi chef, you type your order into a nifty little touch screen at your table. Like this:

Then within a couple of minutes, your sushi whizzes out to you on — wait for it — a special little Shinkansen (bullet train) that stops at your table with your freshly prepared order. The Shinkansen has its own little track and everything.

What a fantastic restaurant! This is us the end of the night:

Don’t mind Ruby’s expression; she’d had one or two too many plates and was starting to feel a little queasy. You see, at this place they not only have sushi going around on the conveyor belt, but also fizzy drinks and cakes and puddings and fried chicken and all manner of things which are highly tempting as they sail past right in front of your eyeballs. And we all know where that can end up. At least Ruby does now, anyway.

And to finish with, here’s Felix modelling the “hamburger sushi” — that’s right, two tiny little hamburger patties on top of the rice balls. Gotta love innovation.