“We’ll still go there before we leave it’s a really cool place. I have a jacket from them,” Lindsay smiles at her son. “That’s the big ‘wrestler restaurant’ right?” “I’m a little surprised we’re not going to Ribera Steakhouse,” Kaz says, looking over the dual English and Japanese menu. Before long, they find one with three empty stools next to each other and take a seat. Many stands are full, however the turnover is high, and once someone leaves there is another body there to take their place. They walk in silence, taking in the atmosphere of Omoide Yokocho the yakitori restaurants don’t seat many customers some as few as eight to a counter. “It dates back to post-World War II Tokyo and had to be rebuilt in the late 90s because of a fire. “This is Omoide Yokocho, or ‘Memory Lane,’” Lindsay says, guiding them forward. Dozens upon dozens of small yakitori stands line each end of the alley, and allies that split off from the main one, and pedestrians wander up and down the pavement looking for the perfect bite to eat. Let’s turn left here.”Ī hundred meters away, green neon signs indicate the entrance to narrow alleyways that barely allowed for two people to walk side-by-side, where the chattering sounds of diners, searing meats, and cooking utensils fill the air. We’re going to a place I spent a lot of time at when I was younger and wrestling in Japan. “I thought you said we were getting dinner.” “Where are we going now?” Ami asks as the triad walks down the street past little shops, restaurants and a pachinko parlor. Conor and Zion I’m sure would be into it.” “But maybe I can get the rest of the Grapplers to go after War Games. “I think most people there didn’t know what to make of what was happening,” Lindsay remarks. “I kinda wish more people there looked like they were enjoying themselves. They elected to pass on the minimal food offerings there, as Lindsay promised to take the twins to dinner after the show. They’ve just left a performance at Shinjuku’s Robot Restaurant, a place less like an actual restaurant and more like an utterly insane neon light show spectacular.įor forty-five minutes, the Troy family watched in amazement, and maybe even a little terror, as performers dressed as robots, dragons, ninjas, guitarists on swings, and a plethora of other characters danced and entertained patrons while J-pop music blared through speakers. To her right, Lindsay laughs, happy that the kids are enjoying themselves. “That was the wildest thing I think I’ve ever seen,” Ami says, dipping her hand into the box of popcorn that her brother holds, and shoving the handful into her mouth.
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