Noodle Salad With Spring Rolls (Bun cha gio)

Traditional water-dropping-on-the-lake music encourages care and delicacy over the pour from the complimentary teapot. Slow steady stream and holding the pot over the cup at the end for the last dribble rolling from the spout. No spillage at all. No slurping. Four or five draughts before the cup is returned to the table-top with a small, decisive knock on the black lacquered (fake) wood just like the samurai would have done it back in the day at the teahouse served by the geisha on her knees a short distance beside him. (A stronger encouragement still for best table manners.) Back in Nagoya Mihoko had learned the ceremony for six years. No surprise for a high level of accomplishment. At the time the study had been divulged by Mihoko surprise had been indeed expressed and with perhaps a guffaw escaping, to which Mihoko had deigned not to reply. Very Japanese itself that of course. After a number of years with an American G.I. boyfriend Mihoko was no doubt familiar with the gaucherie of the gaijin. The soldier had been a neat, orderly man, meticulous over his uniform. In dressing the chap had always taken care to ensure the side seams of his shirts stood properly vertical, Mihoko had once remarked, with some kind of appreciation it must have been. Mihoko had also endured questioning on the matter of intimacy with the occupier. More gaucherie met with similar reserve. Over seven years now since M. returned to Nagoya and very little subsequent word. Some reply mails had been offered in the early years; nothing now for at least four or five years. There had been some serious illness of her mother’s and Mihoko had her own health issues. Once or twice Mihoko had said she didn’t like to be burdensome delivering such matters to friends. A traditional Japanese of the finest sort. In the back shed the full eighty-eight key piano of Mihoko’s remains in its wrapping. It has now been removed to the larger, more weather-proofed shed. Mihoko performed with a local Nagoya orchestra a few years, taught the instrument for a time and also played weddings. A serious musician such as herself would not merely belt out a few pieces for light entertainment. Mother’s funeral Mihoko had attended, in part as respect for a friend but likely also curiosity about the foreign practice. She had given thanks for the notice. As usual the music was too loud at Huong. When the salad arrived it would as usual be impossible to maintain the standard of manners. Even if sticks were mastered it would be impossible. After the Viet clientele left their tables there was always a great mess left behind them. In Japan, at least in old, former Japan, in the days of the samurai and geisha, among that class, matters might have been different.