Day of Chicken and Moomin

Since Chris was working today, I thought it would be appropriate to start out at the Moomin Bakery, a cafe for lonely travelers near Tokyo Dome. Instead of talking to someone else, you can sit with a large, stuffed Moomin. Here is my dining companion, contemplating eating itself.

Next stop, Academia Music, which I loved completely. This store is full of scores I didn't even realize I was missing, including the first Kapustin that I've ever seen in print outside of a library (Sonatas 3, 7, 10, 12, 14) and the largest Clara Schumann collection I've seen, ever. I couldn't resist buying a piano trio arrangement (!) of Schumann's first Song of Dawn, the last set of pieces he saw in print before going to the asylum. My haul, including the bright blue Salabert and Ricordi editions that cost way too much for the quality of the binding and setting:

Getting lost on the way back to the subway station, I saw a promising sign for Black Chicken Soup. Years ago I saw black chickens for sale in Oakland Chinatown, but didn't stop to get one and of course haven't been able to find them since. They are a special breed of Silkies with black skin and, as it turns out, unbelievably rich taste. Normally I'm a pork broth kind of person, but these chickens may have changed my mind. The chicken tasted almost confited and had a lovely dense texture as though it had been pressed. The boiled spinach was a nice foil. It looks like there's only one piece of chicken in there, but surely multiple chickens sacrificed their lives for that broth. Since I was "saving myself" in case the concierge called with good news about dinner reservations, I didn't get any supplements.

Back at the hotel, no dinner reservations were forthcoming, so I consoled myself with this can of porter with Chris's picture on it, followed by a well-deserved rest from all the eating and drinking and reservation denials.

Full of hope, I showed up at opening time at Toriteru, only to be told that there were no seats that night nor the next! Who knew that special game hen from Nara Prefecture would be so popular. Defeated, I wandered back through Shinagawa station to check out Queen's Isetan, which promised a Foodium on the 4th floor. I settled on Zen and had a mediocre maguro yamakake donburi, accompanied by some pale tsukemono and an overboiled miso soup. The donburi needed ikura, an egg, onions, more crunch and pickles, and better quality fish and rice to wake up.

On the plus side, Queen's Isetan houses a pretty great selection of bentos on the 3rd floor, along with a market whose butcher counter puts any American grocer to shame.

I'll be dreaming of the chicken that got away tonight.