Good Morning, Osaka (and my very responsible breakfast choices)

3:47 PM

Ohayō from a city that wakes up like it never slept.

I’m still in Japan-somehow-and it still looks exactly like TV, which feels illegal.

I keep wishing I spoke better Japanese so I could flirt with everybody and vending machines with equal confidence.

Instead, I bow at everyone and apologize to automatic doors.

Budget breakfast for the emotionally employed

Japan is gorgeous and… expensive. I’d like to return home with both memories and rent money, so I’m eating like a lovable raccoon with standards.

Onigiri supremacy (100–150 yen):

mayo something? tuna? destiny? I can’t read half the labels but my mouth can.
Pull tab, unwrap, transcend. If it says “mayo,” I adopt it.

Cup ramen (~300 yen):

The snack that says “you’re doing amazing, sweetie” and then salts your soul.

I pretend it’s research.

Actual ramen-place ramen:

because sometimes hope is a broth.

I sat at a counter, nodded at a chef, and slurped quietly like a respectful little thunderstorm.

Gyoza (~300 yen):

Tiny crescent moons full of comfort.

I ordered “a modest amount” and then did math wrong on purpose.

People here keep being nice to me??

Three days in and Osaka is a parade of kind strangers and patient cashiers who watch me lose 1v1 to the self-checkout. Best holiday ever. (Yes, I say that every time I’m fed.)

Monday assignment

Have breakfast your way. I’ll be on a curb with triangle rice, pretending I’m the main character while a salaryman outpaces me at 7 a.m.

If you need me, I’ll be bowing to the convenience store

Ikkel

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