Lemon (Almond) Cornmeal Cake

A Few Things I Loved About Traveling in Japan

1) The free “old man” pajamas provided by the hotels

The red kimono almost made it into my suitcase. Almost.

2) Springtime is like no other

The daffodils and crocuses popping up around Boston are cute, but they’re just not the same.

3) Excellent customer service

No matter if you pull into a gas station, buy an onigiri (rice ball) from a kiosk at the train station, or ask for directions for a hotel (at the competing brand’s concierge desk), the customer service is excellent. Sometimes I wish people would just say thank you in the States more often. It does make a difference.

4) Public transportation is on time.

Without fail, the trains pull up to the station a minute ahead of departure, allow people to hop into the cars, and leave, exactly on time.

5) There’s always time for tea. And with tea, there’s cake.

Like my jet lag, I have yet to shake the habit of daily tea and sweets.

Any downtime my mom and I had, we’d pop into a cafe – at the train station, in the hotel or down a random road from temple – and order a pot or two of green tea.  With tea came sweets (“Obviously,” my mom would say), and talk of what our plans would be for the remainder of the week.

The 13 hour flight home left me exhausted. But after I climbed the stairs up to the apartment, my stomach rumbled. And it wasn’t a meal I wanted.  It was tea and cake.

Lovely Lemon Cake

“Remember when you called me after your job interview and you said you were ‘so going to work there’ because it was next door to a Whole Foods and across the street from a Starbucks?”

“It was probably the best day ever.”

Roo stops washing the dishes, ”When was the last time you went to Starbucks?”  He looks over to see me hugging myself.  ”You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“That thing where you hug yourself like those sad monkeys we saw on PBS.  You’re obviously upset.”

“Well, that’s the last time you’re watching Frontline with me. I am not a sad monkey.”

I am so a sad monkey.

Back when I was delusional and living beyond my means living in Cambridge, my apartment was across the street from a Starbucks.  I would go there so often (ie twice a day, everyday), they started making “my drink” as soon as they saw me walk in.

“Grande, skinny, two pump vanilla latte for Lys.”

Sometimes it got awkward when I wanted a different drink.  And by awkward, I mean awesome as they would just give me both drinks for the price of one.

It pays to be nice to the baristas.

“Why are you shaking?”

“I’m not shaking.Youcrazy.Oh!Side note. Igottwolattesforthepriceofone!”

“It’s 2 p.m.  You are shaking and talking like a college kid on ritalin during finals week.”

“Wha?”

“You should lay off the ten shots of espresso in the morning.”

Besides the obvious self-induced caffeine overdose, my love for Starbucks was a $40/week habit.

They’d always find a way to draw me in.

“Buy one beverage in the morning and get any drink for only $2 after 2 p.m.!”

“Starbucks Happy Hour (ie half off frappuccinos between 3 – 5 p.m.)”

And lemon cake.

Yes, lemon cake.