KITCHEN CONFIDENTIAL Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly

(Chris Devlin) #1

a good pace down Roppongi's very crowded streets. You're supposed to
ride on the sidewalks, I later learned, though I don't know how that's
even possible. Traffic runs the wrong way over there, so heading straight
into it, I picked and wove my way between cars and vans, dodging
pedestrians, trying to keep my 50-pound duffel bag on the handlebars
and not get dragged backwards off the seat by the other bag hanging
around my neck. Roppongi Crossing, though by no means Tokyo's
largest or busiest intersection, is where thousands of teenagers meet
before heading off to the bars and clubs. The streets were unbelievably
dense with pedestrians, people hanging around, flashing neon, flapping
banners, more screaming signs, pimpy-looking young men in suits and
patent leather shoes, surrounded by dye-blonde Asian women in thigh-
high boots and micro-mini skirts. Philippe took a hard turn and we were
heading down a hill, through twisting, narrow and decidedly quieter
streets. Things became stranger and even more unfamiliar, the smell of
something good to eat issuing from every building we passed.


The organization kept a few apartments in a kind of residential hotel. It
looked like a hotel, felt like a hotel, but had no visible employees.
Comfortable, spacious by my imagined Tokyo standards, and equipped
with cable TV, phone, fax, kitchenette and ingeniously designed
bathroom, I was soon unpacked and agreeably installed, my mysterious
French boss staying next door.


"I'm sure you want to shower, maybe rest for a while," said Philippe,
before heading back to Les Halles. "Can you find your way to the
restaurant?" I was pretty sure I could.


After a long shower in the short, deep apartment bathtub, I managed to
find my way back to Les Halles, where I was shown around and
introduced. Frédéric Mardel was the chef, from Aquitaine by way of
Bora-Bora. His chefs de partie, Hiroyoshi Baba of Japan, Delma Sumeda
Elpitiya of Sri Lanka and Mo Ko Ko of Myanmar were gracious in the
extreme. Fortunately, the common language in the kitchen was French,

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