‘Gorilla’ Curry
Yesterday I ended up having lunch in some place that I’m sure no foreigner has ever eaten in before.
It was one of those Tokyo joints that are located in the basement level of some generic looking business building. Some building that probably doesn’t even have anyone working in it. A building so generic that it must just be used to hold onto computers from the 1980s. Those ancient kind of computers that take up entire rooms and floors of buildings. The computers are probably still running numbers and doing calculations that some anonymous worker asked them to do over two decades ago. The computers still sit in this non-descript building, gathering dust and faithfully doing these fairly basic calculations that you could easily do on your iPhone today in about two minutes.
Anyway, in the basement level of this building, down a winding, dank staircase, lied a place that was basically called ‘Gorilla Curry.’
I entered the automatic opening door and waited in the line to approach the ‘curry ticket machine.’ Tokyo loves these kinds of machines. They have them for ramen, for burgers, for t-shirts, you name it. If the service exists, someone will sell it through one of these interpersonal ticket machines.
When I got to the front of the line, I ordered the big curry.
When I finally got a seat, after about six waves of overheated salarymen came and went, I presented my curry ticket and sat back and waited for the cooks to do their thing.
I understood why the place was called ‘Gorilla Curry’ as soon as I saw them hoisting a single heaping serving plate over the counter from the kitchen and into my outstretched hands. This shop specialized in serving gorilla sized portions of curry.
My meal came with what must have been three cups of white rice, absolutely smothered in a dark gravy that looked and tasted like it was pure gravy concentrate, with maybe a teaspoon of water added to technically make the gravy viscous enough to be called gravy.
On top of these volcanic display of rice and gravy was placed two breaded pork cutlets, each roughly the size of a gorilla’s hand. To one side of this display were two tiny, diced boiled eggs. To the other side was about one conservative tong’s worth of shredded cabbage. I wished the cabbage had more of a presence to offset the heaviness of the larger mass of the meal. But the cabbage was clearly a token effort. Gorillas don’t want cabbage. And apparently the salarymen regulars at this restaurant clearly weren’t interested in cabbage either. You could tell that this place was famous for heavy, hefty portions of wickedly strong curry and meat.
The size of the plate, um, tray was such that I looked around to make sure there were no hidden cameras trying to catch my reaction. But this situation was no joke. To my left and right, sweaty white shirt and loosened tie men were nosily going about devouring the same family sized tray of food. I tried to focus on my own meal, close my ears and do my best ‘silent gorilla’ impression.
A half an hour later, it was over.
My mouth was filled with the concentrated after taste of dark gravy. All I wanted was fruit and sorbet and lemonade. Anything light and sweet. Anything that could erase the obsessive flavors that had invaded my mouth.
I will not be going back to this place anytime soon, unless it is with hidden camera to prank a friend / visitor to Tokyo. I would post the picture of my tray of food with this post, but it is still too soon for me to see that gorilla feed again.
If you have a strong curiosity to experience this yourself, I can point you in the general direction of the non-descript building in whose basement you will find a curry of gorilla proportions.
