Last night I met a friend in Ikebukuro [second busiest station in Tokyo] and we decided to go to an Indian restaurant, where my friend had eaten before and had lived to tell the tale.
The Indian place was just a messy and cluttered counter covered in a thick plastic wrap, behind which were two rather large, definitely dirty men of most likely Indian descent. One of them, who was a little bit shorter than the other and had somewhat of a lazy eye, was mincing garlic. The other one, who seemed to be in charge, was smoking, seemed to be sick and had greenish fingernails from what I hope was curry. Behind them was a large gas stove with a few dirty woks on it that was smoking. There was a lady sitting at the end of the counter waiting for her food and a bowl of brownish sauce left by a previous customer next to me.
I ordered sesame nan bread, saffron rice and vegetable samosas. I didn't really want that much food, but as I've said before, I just can't help myself when in a situation where vegetarian food is present. The man with the green hands glopped some brown stuff into one of the woks and put frozen samosas into another wok. The smaller man with the lazy eye got to work on the nan. It was at this point that I took a closer look at the boss man, specifically his hands. Not only were his fingernails greenish, but he also had two festering sores on his hands. I pointed this out to my friend, who tried to convince both of us that those weren't really festering sores but probably some kind of sauce or food product. Not sure if she succeeded in convincing herself of this, but it didn't work on me. I said, and in fact hoped, that the cooking process would burn off any greenness or pus added by the big man.
My friend's brown slop was presented, then my saffron rice, then our nan bread, and finally the samosas. While it is true that the saffron rice was yellow, it did not in any other way have any taste. In fact, it only mildly tasted like rice. The sesame nan was quite good, even though I had a very strong suspicion that it would make me sick if I kept eating it. The samosas were a little burnt and the ketchup squeezed all over the plate was most unappetizing. None of these observations stopped me from eating.
About halfway through the meal, I looked down at the plastic wrap which covered the counter & saw that there was a cockroach underneath it directly above my lap. It looked like a German cockroach and was fairly small. I am still amazed at how well I took this in stride. I did not start screaming, or jump up, or act like it was out of the ordinary in any way. Judging by the looks of this place, cockroaches were probably more ordinary than customers. I pointed out our dining companion to my friend and then proceeded to try to make it move away from me, and therefore towards her, by pushing the plastic a bit and making loud noises. Of course, it was unacceptable for this monster to be in front of my friend and the lady at the end of the counter noticed the commotion and decided to help. We gladly moved out of her way. She tried to smash it between the counter and the plastic, but as cockroaches are, this one was too quick. It fell onto the small shelf beneath the counter, which would have been where my friend's knees were had she been sitting. Thankfully for both of us, this woman took a napkin and killed the beast and then flushed the remains down the toilet--which was right behind her. Our savior then sat down and finished her meal as if nothing had happened. I followed her lead and ate as much of my meal as I could, which wasn't much because my friend kept talking about the damn cockroach... Honestly, I was more concerned about the wounds on the cook than the cockroach.
During this battle, the small man with the lazy eye didn't look at us once. The big guy with the festering wounds only took mild interest, that is, he looked over and kind of chuckled.
While I am quite shocked that I was so laid back about the disgusting state of this restaurant, I am incredibly concerned that there doesn't seem to be a Health Department overlooking the cleanliness--or lack thereof--of restaurants in Tokyo...
