metaphorical supernova

two lucky survivors of the evening's events

Though the star of last night's year-end party at Fura was to be Mr. Katsuragi who has decided to hang up the storied science teacher hat, his teary-eyed farewell speech was quickly upstaged by the time we reached dinner's third course. Certainly, the first two were delightful, but it was that third--a dish so tragically vile, it utterly defied description--nay, howled and spat in my bewildered face as I sputtered in vain to dare describe it. Spent the better part of the evening's remainder chugging beers, and nursing plum wine and other such fruity libations carefully mixed to chase the stench from my mouth. But the damage was done. Hours later, breath still reeking and head spinning, I realized there could be no metaphor worthy of the nightmare I'd just eaten, for it was already, the ultimate hyperbole--a metaphor so ridiculous, it would be the metaphor all other culinary nightmares would be measured against:

Your mom's eggplant scallopini was as bad as "  see below "

I'd rather eat "  see below " for a week than let you cook for me

Oh, you like Japan? Japanese food too? You should try "  see below " then we'll talk

the Japanese cornucopia from hell

Does a gathering of super villains in the Marvel canon have a specific title beyond "evil dudes invade VFW hall?" Just the same, while I don't know if the dish above has an official title or explanation, I don't think it requires one either. A photographic awareness of the content should be explanation enough.
And as if this trifecta of barf (natto, yamaimo, okura) weren't bad enough already, they had to go and crack a raw egg on top of it...

once mixed, this culinary delight should look like a St. Bernard 
with IBS threw up in a box of captain crunch

...before mashing the slimy orgy together to spoon onto a salted square of nori--a thinly veiled feint whose crunch served only to temporarily disguise the imminent gustatorial blitzkrieg betwixt. "Umami," my ass. If I were to grasp at second-rate straws, I suppose it could be like snacking on the shell of a large dung beetle amidst his own lunch, but even that feeble attempt fails to give our shiny new metaphor enough credit.

It goes without saying that the horror I unleashed upon my apartment's crapper later that night, totally looked like " see above ."

Weak. Sauce.

Thanksgiving would never fly in Japan for a number of reasons. One in particular being slightly more damning than the rest:

There are no fat people in Japan.

Ok, that's a lie. There are. But the reason for which God smote their metabolism probably has nothing to do with Hardees, Golden Correl, dollar drafts, Hellmann's, or firehouse pancake breakfasts--all reasons that make America kickass. And fat.
So, you can imagine that holding a twice-baked, deep-fried, golden-browned Thanksgiving celebration of gluttony in Japan, would go over about as well as holding the Hounen Matsuri (possibly NSFW if your boss objects to images of exuberant festival-goers carrying a giant wooden dong) in downtown Findlay, Ohio.

Crickets.

And then probably pitchforks and molotov cocktails being hurled at the Hancock County courthouse.

heh heh. "Hancock."

Anyway, back on track.
The problem is not that the people in Findlay cannot appreciate a giant phallus carved from a single cypress tree, the problem is that they're all Republicans.
The same goes for Japan. Which...uh...
I'm actually beginning to feel that a lot of my brilliant comparison has been lost, so I'll just move on. Feel free to take your hand and just cover those last few paragraphs, because I'm not going to delete them for you.

In hindsight, that wasn't at all "back on track."

Anyway, before I started talking about penises and Republicans, all I wanted to say was that Thanksgiving wouldn't work because the Japanese have a little phrase that goes "Hara hachi bu." Basically, it makes them invincible and exempts them from uh...wanting to eat too much. And being fat...or something. You know what? This isn't working. Let's just skip straight to the bottom line, and let this bloated train wreck of an analogy choke on its own sucktitude:

1. Japanese people are not fat.
2. Happy Thanksgiving.

And happy Black Friday too I guess, if you're one of the masochistic, numbskull shopper types.

God, I suck.

If Hardees had a heart, it'd be clogged

Coming from a nation that actively censors its regular porn in mosaics, and its food porn in seaweed, squid flavoring, and soy sauce, I have a lot of admiration for any company that says "Shut up haters! America has an international reputation to uphold, and we'll be damned if we're not there to smother it in sausage gravy!"

Almost brings a tear to my eye, as I nibble on these delicious wasabi rice crackers.