So much of Tokyo is hidden down narrow walkways and up creaky stairs, secreted away for only the most intrepid of travelers to enjoy.

Finding such treasures is truly a rewarding experience.

For instance, Tuesday evening, Asako and I journeyed to a lost locale similar to the aforementioned; it was a quaint restaurant situation on the second floor of a brown building that lay at the end of a dark alley. The interior, mirroring the external darkness, was sparsely decorated--the walls were wooden and black, save for the hand painted portions that were strangely styled to look like something from an American pizza joint: bread, noodles, tomato sauce cans--the tables were large, every word on the menu was handwritten in Japanese, and the place was completely deserted.

Well, almost.

I expected an old woman to approach us to receive our order--or perhaps an old man--maybe a couple that lived in a small back room during the day, tending theirtraditionally styled, decades old family business at night. But no old woman came; instead we were greeted by a wide eyed, tall young man who was quite enthused at our arrival, and who asked me manyquestions in a mix of Japanese and English.

Asako was laughing the entire time--that`s what she usually does around me--but after a few minutes of converstaion, the waiter/owner determined one of my favorite foods to be tofu.

"Ahh," he said, "I will make a test. Is it ok?"

Oh, yes. Absolutely fine. He was going to create something unique, something special, something not on the completly indecipherable menu.

He trotted off, eyes shining.

Shortly after, Asako and I were served our first course in what turned out to be the most impossible food to eat with chopsticks, hands down. Tofu is slippery. It's full of water. It's also tasty. However, if one does not exercise extreme care when reaching for a bite, he will totally mutilate the small morsel in his haste--yet, even if one takes his time he still risks complete disintegration of his dinner.

I served myself a small block of tofu from the beautiful china that it was situated on, and placed it in my bowl. It remained beautiful and whole; I had successfully completed the transfer of my food to my plate, but now I had to transfer the food to my face.

Let's just say that my first try was not the most successful enterprise I have ever undertaken in Japan. In just under 2 minutes, my lovely block of tofu was completely unrecognizable. But it still smelled tasty.

Asako couldn't stop laughing, her eyes squinting and a huge grin spread across her face.

I quickly resolved that I wouldn't make the same mistake again, and over the rest of the meal I managed to improve my tofu eating skills to what I would imagine to be the average ability of a 5 or 6 year old--that is to say, I was able to get the food to my mouth, in pieces, at least.

We were served three courses of varying beauty and deliciousness. The second dish was the most interesting: a waterfall of seasoned tofu dropped upon a bed of leaves. I hated myself for what I was about to do... destroy this work of art in order to stave off starvation.

Oh well.

The best thing about the dinner with Asako would appear to be the food, but really it was the conversation. You see, Japanese meals are arduous, they take only a bit short of eternity to wrap up, as the meal participants take their time, savoring every bite of what would already be considered incredibly meager portions by American standards. But the monotonous duration is good because it provides ample time to engage in conversation, perhaps the most important part of the learning process. Asako and I spent more than three hours talking at the restaurant, "Aburi," which literally means, "Hometown Roast," though Asako had much trouble deciphering the somewhat archaic kanji.

Beyond all this, it is interesting to note that in nearly every restaurant, portions of varying size cost the same price. Small, medium and large bowls of ramen will run you the same amount of yen. As an American, you're probably thinking: 'what kind of idiot would order the small bowl when a large one is available for the same price?'

This is food for thought, my friends.