Pacific Mind (Observation)

Last night I went to Pacific Mall, a walk simultaneously forwards and back in time.

For as long as I can remember I have wanted to move to Japan – the only place where everything is not as it seems, and not as it should be. A country filled with dichotomies – shrines filled with storey-tall wood penises and stores dedicated to one little white cat, Ms. Hello Kitty.

Pacific Mall was no different and that’s what I was looking for.

Upon entering, friends took us to a Pan-Asian department store that offered beautiful dining pottery, three aisles of house slippers and pens and markers that practically went into the negative, they were so fine. Nothing terribly out of the ordinary, but such fun!

On our way to the major part of the mall, walking by kiosk after kiosk, it soon became apparent that I would not be disappointed – the weird was everywhere!

How have you been living this long without a mosquito bat? It is for your family’s health and wellness, after all. And what about some refreshing arctic surf clam? Nothing says refreshing on a hot summer day like clam!

There was that kind of stuff everywhere, too much to simply write about here. Vinegar drinks, fish tofu (“New idea!”) and infrared blood circulation massagers. It is an endless giggle from the moment you enter to the moment you let the mall door close behind you and read “Crocodile Profusion” on a little kid’s t-shirt.

But let’s talk about what really important. The food and the food court. The one thing that Asian society has smartly claimed is the picture menu. Everywhere you look, you can see what you will be eating – and unlike consumer packaging in Canada and the U.S., what you get highly resembles the picture. This is always helpful, though it will not be of service in trying to distinguish whether that is indeed chicken or eel on your dish.

Because I write about and live food, I like to think that I know most things that cross my plate. When sitting down with friends in the food court that resembled a Chinese Square with red-lacquered peaked roofs and gold trim, I sat beside a couple most definitely experiencing young love. They shared curry fish balls and smiled and laughed the entire meal, touching hands whenever they could. On a plate of what looked like fava-size baked beans, lay grey-green artichoke hearts. Or, at least that’s what I would have said, had I not been in an Asian food court. The other thing that tipped me off was the stench of urine emanating from it. I didn’t have a chance to ask them what it was, as that’s when our platter of sushi and maki arrived. It was some of the best we’d ever had and we kept remarking about how fresh it was. Pretty inexpensive too. It was worth sitting next to urine.

Having been there for a couple of hours, we didn’t see anywhere near the entire place. The streets, as they are deemed by the signs above – Washington and 125th – intersect, yes, but it is hard to simply traverse up one and go down another. It is of course, much more complicated and takes a real mall pro to circumvent the gridlike system in place.

So, I will go back. I may not see the whole thing, but it will be fun to try. Maybe I will play Dance Dance Revolution or go to the supermarket and stock up on lemongrass or get those wonky boots that I saw with military stripes up one side and fringe down the other. One thing is certain though.

I’m going to get me some urine soaked beans.