I love Japanese and so I stopped for some spicy chicken teriyaki and a set of California rolls. As I popped open the top on my chicken, the waft of freshly grilled chicken, bathed in the mysteriously scrumptious brown sauce caught my nose. But there was something more. Something sinister awaited me. I took a bite. My lips, tongue, gums, frontal lobe, a bevy of ferrule cats and a small church in Uzbekistan caught fire, the latter two simply by coincidence.
Sure, I did order "spicy" but usually that means the addition of a few sprinkles of the red chili powder the Japanese restaurants are fond of, providing a needed "flavor boost" but by no means a torch-like effect. No, this was radically different: A spice assault even a kamikazi of a Japanese diner would have been astonished by.
As I ate more (starvation had a key role in my self inflicted injury), I noticed small green bits. They were too light to be pieces of scallions. Then it dawned on me: the cook behind the counter was not of Asian descent, but most likely of Hispanic origin. (Not an assumption, but an observation.) The mysterious green chunks, almost imperceptible to the naked eye, were shredded bits of jalapeno, assaulting my mouth bite after bite.
Do they even import or grow jalapenos in Japan? Does this constitute false advertising? Should it be called Juan's Shogun Express or Yoshi Gonzales'? This must be why people don't go out to eat Mexican food in Iowa: it's made by Norwegians.
