Member-only story
Fugu
More than just a meal
“We have been invited to a fugu dinner for the third time! Now, you can not refuse it anymore. The director wants to talk to you!” he handed me the phone.
While I greeted one of the giant bosses of the Tokyo store chains with all the known words of politeness in my broken Japanese, I bowed at the same time respectfully, very deep down, although he could not see me. It was not the time with video calls yet. He asked me if I was afraid to eat fugu.
“Yes,” I admitted, “a few people die yearly from eating it.”
“But not if they eat it in a restaurant. We want to invite you both to one of the best restaurants for fugu in Japan.”
“I am honored to thank you for your kindness in inviting us to share this special meal of fugu with you and your wife!” I had to accept his invitation; there was no way out.
“Listen, Iris-sensei (I had the honorable title of a teacher); you can eat a menu without fugu if you are still afraid to eat it. The restaurant also has other fish on the menu. But I am happy that you accepted our invitation. We are honored to see you next doyobi!”
The day came sooner than I thought, and here we were, sitting in this splendid restaurant in a private room at a table for four. The boss ordered our first drinks and asked if I was sure not to touch a fugu.
