Tokyo Blond Is Not Porn

Tokyo Blond is not a porn blog, about hair or even, as one pithy friend remarked, a micro beer or late 1980s glam metal band ("Dude, I just saw Skid Row and Tokyo Blond opened and played a killer set").


The purpose of this blog is to chronicle my experiences in Tokyo - poignantly, visually, irreverently - for fun.


Anybody can tag along...that is if I like you. This blog will endeavor to be entertaining and honest and frequent enough to keep those following interested including me.


Tuesday, January 31, 2012

You're Not Gay; I'm just Drunk

We woke up that morning to the sound of the jungle.  Jungle?  But we're in Australia, the Barossa Valley in fact, which looks a lot like the Central Coast of California.  There's no jungle here, no monkeys, or large cats, just wine.  But down the hill from our Pavilion was a stream, guarded by stands of eucalyptus trees.  And in those trees was a Kookaburra bird.  Aptly named these guys sound like maniacal jungle animals.  Their call is crazy and every time I heard it, I started belting out, Ethel Merman style, that song, "In the jungle, the mighty jungle the lion sleeps tonight."  Ugh, once you get that song in your head, you can't get it out.  Well, not without wine.

We hit four wineries that day but it felt like ten.  Ten is a good number.

After a lovely breakfast in our pavilion we joined John and Cindy and headed to our first cellar door of the day.  It was called the Artisans of Barossa, and truth be told it was really like hitting six cellar doors at once.  Because this place represents six different wine producers including Hobbs, John Duval, Spinifex, Sons of Eden, Massena and Teusner.  We opted for just two tastings between the four of us and embarked on a odyssey of delectable, well orchestrated wines.  Thank you sir, I'll try another.

Cindy and I have similar taste in wine and pretty much fell in love with Grenache that day.  In America, Grenache is a bad word.  It  means "jug wine."  But not in the Barossa.  In the Barossa it means, luscious, fruity, velvety, taste explosion.  Kind of like a Jolly Ranger candy, they get stuck to your teeth and you can't stop sucking on it.

Russell and I had to take a few moments to haggle over how many and which bottles we would buy.  After yesterday's Turkey Flat, Charles Melton and Rockford, the one case we designated was filling up fast.  We chose a couple Grenache, assuring ourselves we'd drink a few bottles before we left, which would free up some more room.

First stop X 6

John, wondering how he's going to get it all home.
Oh yeah, he lives here.  He can ship it.

Cindy, well equipped for the day.
How much for the camera?

Next we hit Torbreck and well, I was done for.  Every wine we tasted there was incredible. At this point I was regretting buying any wine from Hunter Valley when I could have bought an entire case of Torbreck.  Russell started rocking and speaking in tongues, "Maybe we should bring a third case back.  Yeah, that's it - a third case.  Screw the extra luggage fee.  I'm sure we have room in our suit case.  Who needs clothes?  I need this wine. Got to have this wine.  A third case. A third case."

I found myself beginning to chant too, my eyes glazing over into pools of shimmering shiraz, "yes, three cases, three cases...."  WTF am I thinking!  We already have too much wine!

Tobrek sign encouraging visitors to come inside
and become addicted.

I pulled him outside.  "Breathe."  I said, handing him a sprig of lavender from their garden.  The sun beamed down sharply.  It was about 100 degrees outside and the heat permeated to the bone.  It had the sobbering affect I required and after a couple deep, cleansing breathes, we decided to come back later in the week after the wine coma had cleared and see if we still wanted to buy a case.  It was like shoe shopping.  Do I really need a pair of Manolos?  Walk away, just walk away.

Too bad he's wearing sunglasses.
If he wasn't you could see the wine zombie more clearly.

Lavender saved the day.

We walked back into the cellar door to fetch John and Cindy.  It was clear they were under the spell as well.  The stuff was, well, intoxicating.  Our addiction started back in Sydney with a bottle of the acclaimed Runrig.  At the cellar door it was even easier to succumb, especially with Pete the dangerously funny, bald Aussie wine pourer, or should I say "pusher".  After five minutes this guy could get you to do pretty much anything, he was that pleasingly infectious.  

We tried to busy ourselves by looking at the paraphernalia scattered around the room.  There was a book called, "Australian Wine Dogs."  We own the American version.  We started skimming through it looking for dogs like Ranger the Wonder Dog.  There were a lot, which made sense since he is an Australian Cattle Dog and a wine dog, at least at our house.  He does love a good chardonnay.

We asked Pete if Torbreck had a dog in the book.  They did. We mused on why the author didn't do a book on cats, when Pete said,  "I like cats; I just can't eat a whole one."  We all dissolved into raucous laughter.  This guy is too funny.  We vowed to come back later in the week.

The next winery, Thorne Clark, was a bit of a lark.  It was on the edge of the valley and their claim to fame is a wine called Shotfire which has won great acclaim, especially considering it only cost about $20 a bottle.  Unfortunately they weren't pouring that and after Torbreck their wines seemed underwhelming and provincial.  I felt bad for the wine pourer, the place was empty and felt more like an accounting office than a cellar door, she was earnest but lacked the luster of Pete.

We began our trek back to the Pavilions but not before stopping at just one more place, Kellermeister. It was the only one still open at 4:30 and its sign gloated five James Halliday stars.  Not Black ones, Red ones, which John explained meant they had received the highest Halliday winery rating.  Well, what are we waiting for, I want five red stars too!

Note the five "red" stars.

After the glowing group of happily looped Italians walked out we pretty much had the place, and the wine pourer to ourselves.  It was that time in the day they dread the most, just before closing when the inebriated come in to drink, not just taste.  

Since we'd been drinking half the day, we were all exceedingly charming by this time.  Or so we thought.  I don't know about you but I get funnier and better looking the more I drink.  So we struck up a playful conversation with the young and expressive wine pourer.  He was cute in an altruistic way, ambitious and earnest and full of ideas.  He and a friend were starting a wine label of their own but were having problems agreeing on a name.  He said they were really having a hard time and were currently in a heated debate.  "That's it! You should name your winery, Heated Debate!  It's perfect" I exclaimed, thoroughly convinced of my own brilliance.  John enthusiastically seconded the idea and gave me a hearty high five.  The ambitious would-be winemaker gave us a look I think meant, "Oh God, why did I bring that up ?"  

We asked if we were keeping him, perhaps beginning to recognize we may not be as charming as we thought.  He said no, in fact, our presence was helping him avoid having to empty the spittoon.  A chore he abhorred since last week when he accidently dropped the spittoon, catapulting a bucketful of back wash into his face.  "It was disgusting," he gushed, "I was covered from head to toe in red, slimy back wash."

"GROSS!" we all bellowed, shuttering.  "Yeah," he said, "my partner Mitch was nice enough to run me a hot bath when I got home."  "Well, that was nice of him, " I said encouragingly, concluding he was gay.

But apparently Mitch wasn't a guy.  He spent the next ten minutes making sure we knew he wasn't gay, enunciating each "she" and "my girlfriend", managing to work them as frequently as possible into his explanations of the next wine pour.  Ooops, my bad.  But how did I know?  He was clean cut.  He was good looking.  He said his "partner Mitch", he takes baths....

After, when we were walking back to the car, Cindy explained that in Australia, people call their "significant other" their "partner".  Who knew?  Course they all assumed he was gay too.


Not gay.

That night we decided to go forego another rich meal out and instead, BBQ at the Pavilion.  It was a great choice.  There was a beautiful sunset and Russell and I needed to drink a couple of bottles to make room for more wine, possibly Torbreck.  John and Cindy made dinner at their place and we brought the wine.

Cindy and I went for a walk after dinner, looking for roos.  Instead we found great light and some affectionate cows.  I like to think I'm like Snow White.  For some reason,  animals are drawn to me and I end up seeing all kinds of wildlife where ever we go.  It probably has to do with being more observant than my singing however. Usually wildlife means, deer, roos, foxes... not bovine.  But this one cow had a crush on me. 


Dinner on the deck overlooking the wine

Sun setting on another day of wine and lavender

Pick a color, any color

Anyone in need of a cow poster?
This one is good.

My bovine boyfriend.
I'm sorry Beefcake, it will never work.
I'm a carnivore.

Pretty

Pretty

Wow

Hmm, I wonder if the boys have cleaned up yet?
Let's wait a little longer before going back up.


No Koalas, Except the One In My Car

The smiling Thrifty car rental attendant barely looked at Russell's Japanese driver's license.  She just politely inquired when his birthday was, efficiently and cheerfully processed the paperwork and wished us a pleasant trip.  This was quite the opposite experience than the one we had with the raving b#@*% at the Thrifty counter in Sydney.  Must write a letter, I reminded myself.

All roads lead to the Barossa it seems because even though we took the wrong road we still got there.
One minute we're driving through a quiet, nondescript suburb, passing retirement homes and well kept scrub lawns, the next thing you know we're in the Barossa Valley.  That was easy.  Let's start drinking.  It's already 11am and we haven't had a drop yet.  No wonder my hands are shaking.  It's amazing how easily we slip into a drinking pattern while on vacation.

We ordered a glass of rose and chicken kabobs at Y's Cafe while we waited for John and Cindy to arrive.  They took the flight right after ours and made it to Barossa just as our wine arrived at the table. We ordered more glasses and discussed our plan of attack.

John knows a lot about wine and was eager to get started so we didn't linger over lunch which was fine by me.  A tour bus had just pulled up in front of the restaurant and hordes of hungry, tipsy tourists were pouring out, like a disturbed bees nest.  Time to go!   We got out of there just in time.

We hit four wineries that day!  I'm thinking about turning pro.

  1. Turkey Flat - excellent rose and shiraz
  2. Charles Melton - excellent shiraz
  3. Kabminye - funny wine guys
  4. Rockford - hello sparkling shiraz!
Turkey Flat was the first.  The tasting room, or as they say down under, "the cellar door" was a converted butcher shop.  It was rustic and old, the walls aged to that warm patina it takes thousands of dollars to achieve at home.  But now, instead of spilling the blood of the wild turkeys indigenous to the property, (and pigs and sheep), the only thing they spill is blood red wine.  Good wine I might add, so I doubt there's much spilling.  

From that first taste of Barossa we knew we were going to have problems sticking to just twelve bottles.

Charming Turkey Flat truck to match the even more charming and oh so quaffable rose and shiraz.

Turkey Flat tasting room.

The second winery was Charles Melton whose tasting room is also rustic and charming and they serve lunch.  Too bad we already ate because it looked delicious.  The place was packed.  But the two ladies serving were efficient and full of mirth.  They knew John.  Who doesn't?  He is rather like the honorary mayor where ever he goes.  It felt like a party in there.  While we waited for glasses I read the chalkboard, which listed all the wines they were pouring that day, and provided some color commentary from Australia's pre-eminent wine reviewer James Halliday.

I pointed out a rather pithy hand written description to Cindy.  "Look at that comment describing the wines, it's kind of clever." I read it aloud, "under the molar."  She laughed.  "Dawn, that says "under the radar" not "under the molar".  "Oh, but don't you think "under the molar" sounds better?  It describes the wine better.  You know,  kind of chewy and full bodied, like the way the wine feels in your mouth?"  She smiled.  Time for a drink I contested.

The third winery was Kabminye, a small winery Cindy had received a postcard from inviting us to visit their new cellar door.  It was nice.  A very modern glass structure, a la haute tin shack, set amongst the vines, off a jaunty dirt road.   There was a pot belly stove and three dusty locals, worn men with equally worn work boots and floppy hunting hats,  looked up when we came in.   An older man who looked like a retired Santa Claus (white trimmed beard, belly) was pouring for a clearly over-served gentleman at the end of the tasting bar.  


We waited while he haggled with the drunk guy.  It seemed they were having a bit of a discord but finally the drunk guy left.  Even though we only asked for two tastings amongst the four of us, he pulled out four glasses.  Even though we only wanted to try the reds, he insisted we try the whites too.  It took a few pours before he finally warmed up to us.   I had already taken to calling him "Frosty" given his icy demeanor and Santa Claus beard.

We inquired over who wrote the tasting notes because they were unapologetically flippant.  

Durif Carignan Shiraz 2008    $10.00  $42.50 $510.00 
This lovely monster is packed full of deep, dark fruit and spice, and we  wait several years before 
letting it off the leash.  Made from 40% Durif, 40% Carignan, 20% Shiraz.   Drink to 2030.  110 cases made. 

"That would be my son-in-law." Frosty said, rather brusquely.   And then his son-in-law showed up.  He had a beard too, although his was brown, not white.  The son-in-law was really knowledgeable about wine and very funny.  He and his father-in-law bantered back and forth on the merits of each one.  It was like watching a ping pong match between two Amish guys.  

He asked if we were sinners.  Huh?  By this time we were just finishing the last red.  We generally avoid the sweet or "fortified" wines.  In spite of, or maybe because of this, Frosty importuned we try the sweet wine.  His son one-upped him and insisted we try it over ice cream the way the wine notes recommend.

Kerner Mistelle 2008 500ml    $6.50  $22.50 $270.00 
This Mistelle is made from fresh Kerner grape juice, fortified with neutral spirit.  After three years ageing in 
American oak it has become a lively, full-‐bodied, butterscotch-‐y sweet wine. We recommend it on ice as an 
aperitif, or at the end of a meal with cheese or fresh fruit-‐ And if it's a sin to serve it over ice cream, then sinners we are.  

Let's just say sin is good.  The bullying worked.  We ended up buying a bottle of the sticky stuff.  It was damn good over ice cream.  

The wine may not have been the best here, but the colloguy was vastly enriching.  At one point we got into a discussion about local wildlife.  I asked Frosty if he had ever seen a koala bear.  He said, and I quote, "No, I've never seen a koala.  But there was that time I had one in my car."  Hmmm.  Maybe he should stop sampling his own product?

He relayed this story of how he was driving through a national park nearby and oncoming traffic kept flashing their lights at him.  He slowed down thinking it might be a police car.  When he came around the bend, there in the middle of his lane, was a rather large, despondent looking koala bear.  There was clearly something wrong with the poor thing so he scooped it up with a blanket he had in the back of his truck and took it to the park ranger.  Turns out the koala had heat stroke.  He said he was quite nervous because koalas have a reputation for being nasty.  But as this one was distressed he didn't struggle much.  After our initial impression of Frosty, I'd say it was the koala who should have been nervous.  

The last winery we visited that day was Rockford, ahhhh Rockford.  It was really crowded; but for good reason.  On New Year's Eve, eve, we had shared a bottle of the Rockford Basket Press, and on New Year's Eve we had the exalted, impossible to find, life changing Sparkling Black Shiraz.  So we knew the wine would be good.

While John chatted up the wine pourer, Cindy and I were tasting merrily, commenting along the way, "nice", swirl, sniff, taste, "nice", repeat,  "hmmm nice" and then suddenly and without warning, "Wow"!  It was like a Batman and Robin cartoon.  A huge hand rendered bubble appeared above our heads that read "Kapow".   "Wow!  That's really good."  It was the Rod and Spur.  

But that wasn't all.  "Holy Winos Batman!" To our utter delight they were actually pouring the sparkling black shiraz.  Angels started singing, wallets came busting out and we bought the per person limit.  Two.    We practically skipped back to the car.


The cellar door.

After all the drinking it was definitely time for a nap.  We headed to our accommodations - the Barossa Pavilions.  We chose wisely.  The Pavillions were set up on a hill, overlooking the valley.  There were six of them, each spaced a discreet distance apart from another.  We dropped Cindy and John at theirs, and wound our way to the other end of the property, to ours.

Each was an architectural gem built just for two.  We had a glorious view and a swing on our deck to observe it from, not to mention a BBQ, in case we wanted to eat in.  One whole side of the pavilion was glass, hence the need for privacy.  

Each pavilion comes with a basket of fresh breakfast fare: brown eggs, hearth bread, bacon, granola, milk and OJ, plus a welcome tray of port and cookies.  You gotta have that.  They had pretty much thought of everything, right down to the rubber ducky that flashed rainbow lights when floating affably in the jacuzzi tub.  That would be my jacuzzi tub.  We'll try that later.

Entrance to the Pavilions

John and Cindy's Pavilion

Living room.

Welcome offering.

Russell in need of a nap

My jaccuzi tub with rainbow flashing rubber ducky

The view

The swing and BBQ

View from the bedroom

View from the living room.
Those specks are sheep.
Yeah, I could rough it here.

After our nap we were greeted by the welcome party, a mob of roos, as well as, some of those wild turkeys we'd heard about earlier that day.  

Welcome staff

That night we ate at 1918 Bistro. It's a restaurant in a old house that used to be the mayor's home.  But there was nothing old about the food.  It was inspired and savory.  As you can imagine they had a great local wine list.  We ordered a bottle of white and then afterwards, drank the bottle of red we had brought with us.  Corkage is low, which is nice.

On the way back to the Pavilions we saw a fox hanging out in front of the local high school.

We peered into the darkness the rest of the way back searching for wombats and distressed koalas.








Wednesday, January 25, 2012

How Does A Girl Get a Cup of Coffee Down Here?

I stood at the counter stuttering under the pressure.  After listening to the other patrons in line before me, I realized I had no idea how to order a cup of coffee here.  I was at a charming neighborhood cafe in Sydney, Australia, trying to get my morning medication, that is coffee fix.

Do I say long black, half black, short white?  This is worse than ordering an upside down Carmel Macchiato, extra hot, sugar free, no whip, at Starbucks.  Help me!  I looked at my friend John in desperation.  People in line behind me pressed impatiently.

I stepped up to the cash register and said rather timidly, "um, I'd like a coffee with cream."  I pointed to the cup size I wanted.  The guy looked at me like I was retarded.  "What?" he said, rather irritably.  I repeated my order, added a "please".  He conferred with the barista, who is also the owner.  The owner snapped back at him, "I know what she wants."  At least I think that's what he said.  It was hard to tell with the thick Aussie accent.  They were probably thinking the same thing about me, albeit my thick, ignorant American accent.   I handed him the cash and sheepishly got out of the way.

The owner yelled out something indecipherable to his mom, who was working the opposite counter. A few moments later his mom walked across the store and handed him a jar of clotted cream, the kind you serve with scones and honey.  "Noooo," the guy mumbled exasperated, "bring me some *&(%*%^."  She came back a few minutes later with a little glass of white stuff which I assume was cream.

I took my coffee, which was quite good, and ran outside.

After the Hunter Valley, Russell and I went to Sydney to celebrate New Year's Eve with our friends John and Cindy.  And what a celebration it was.  We had an amazing time.

They have an apartment on Darling Point overlooking Sydney Harbor  and they have exquisite taste in wine.
This is the view from their apartment.
Seriously.

With zoom
Yeah, that's the Opera house.

The day we arrived they graciously took us on a walking tour of their neighborhood, Darling Point, and treated us to a drink at the yacht club they belong to.  They're both accomplished sailors.  John and Cindy are the reason we own a boat and live in Long Beach.  Twelve years ago they took us on a tour of their neighborhood in their Boston Whaler.  They patiently explained the benefits of Belmont Shores and Naples, explicating that residents don't drive to the grocery store, they boat there.  We were in!   And now, ironically, both our houses in Long Beach are rented while we live abroad.  They in Sydney and us in Tokyo.

Now, besides friendly Aussies with boats, their neighbors include boisterous cockatoos and bossy magpies.  
A couple of their noisy neighbors.
That would be Mrs Cockatoo and Mr. Magpie to you.

That night they took us to one of their favorite restaurants in Sydney, the Rockpool Grill.  The chef is the renown Neil Perry.  "Hey", Russell and I both exclaimed excitedly, "that's the guy who designed the menu on the Quantas flight we were on." It was sublime, much better than on the airplane, which was great BTW.

New Year's Eve day we had the bright idea to walk around Sydney Harbor and the Royal Botanical Gardens.  Apparently about a million other people had the same idea.  Crowds were everywhere.  New Year's Eve is a very big deal in Sydney.  The entire country seems to rally behind it.   The area around the Opera house becomes one giant party all day and all night.  There was a line a mile long to get into the Botanical Gardens so people could get a space to view the fireworks later that evening.  The excitement and anticipation of the New Years fireworks was palatable as we meandered through the throngs of people along the harbor.  

John, Cindy and Russell feeling the excitement
and the sun.  It was a glorious day.

I didn't know Russell had a bar?

Those banners say NYE (New Years Eve) 2011.
Oh yeah, it's a very big deal

On the ferry back to Darling Point you see the crowds gathering for the pending celebration.
There were millions of people there.

The steps of the opera house clamored with party goers
reserving their space for the fireworks.

Because the view of the fireworks from Cindy and John's neighborhood is so spectacular, they close off all the streets in the area.  So we cooked at home and drank lots of really fantastic wine while we waited for the sun to set.

At dusk the bats come out.  Yes bats.  They are so cool.  There are literally thousands of them.  They nap all day, upside down, in the Botanical gardens.  At twilight they venture out to feast on insects in neighborhoods nearby.  We spent a good part of the evening watching them fly right by Cindy and John's apartment window.  They are gigantic!  The size of a small dog.  They call them "flying foxes" and they're really quite cute when you get close enough to see their puppy-like faces.  I want one.

The bats flying out to feast at dusk.

The anticipation of the celebration to come.

Believe it or not Sydney shoots off two sets of fireworks on New Years Eve.  The first set is called the "kiddie fireworks" and they go off at 9pm.  The second set goes off at midnight and I have never seen anything like them.  I don't know what they call them but I call them AMAZING!  And I thought the Sumida Fireworks in Asakusa were good.  In Asakusa, I was impressed with the fact they shoot off fireworks from two different locations at the same time.   That's child play compared to Sydney.

In Sydney, they set off fireworks from six, count em, six locations, simultaneously, in addition to what they launch from the Sydney Harbor Bridge.  From our vantage point we could see four of the six locations, plus the bridge.

John took pictures with a real camera perched on a pedestal, while Russell and I gazed in wonder and struggled to capture the magnificence of the display with our iPhones.  I think I said "oh my god" two hundred times.   Cindy has the audio on her iPhone to prove it.   

The next five photos were taken with my iPhone camera if you can believe that....

The "kiddie" fireworks.

The beginning of the adult show.

"Oh my God!"

"Oh my God!"

"Oh my God this is amazing!"

The next two photos were taken by John...

Wow!

"Oh my God"

We toasted in the New Year with great friends and a bottle of Rockford Sparkling Shiraz. What a way to start the new year.

The next day, Cindy and John took us on a power walk through Bondi Beach and along the coast on this amazing seaside trail built into the cliffs. 

Cindy, John and I power-walking.
Russell power lollygagging.

Oh yeah, that's nice.

Interesting rock formations.

It was another beautiful day and apparently everyone who had been at Sydney Harbor the day before decided to go to Bondi Beach, like us, the day after.

In Australia they actually build protected pools into the coastal beaches.  John told us it's to protect the swimmers from the ever present sharks.  Funny, they never mention that in the travel brochures.  John pointed out the zodiac boat with shark look-outs continuously patrolling the beach.  In spite of the threat, hundreds of happy, sunburned people, some of them topless, were swimming in the unprotected waters.  Not me.  Not swimming.  Not topless.

Protective pool built into the shoreline.

Gorgeous view from the seaside walk.
This photo has NOT been color enhanced.

Apparently this guy had too much to drink New Year's Eve

For dinner that night we went to Aria which is in Sydney Harbor overlooking the bay and opera house.  Unlike most "view" restaurants in America, the food here was outstanding.

The next day we had to get up at 5:00 am to catch a flight to Adelaide.  I told Russell to leave the shades open so the natural light would wake us up the next morning.  Uh yeah, there is no light at 5:00 am.  But apparently there are people.  As we waited for the cab to pick us up from the dark street, we watched a guy pace back and forth on his dimly lit balcony, smoking, and listening to rock music.  Even the birds would be irritated.