You know, I like sushi and all. I think rice is delicious and it's oh so healthy, but dammit, I'm a man, a red-blooded American man, and going on now four months without a good piece of meat to clamp my teeth into has started to mess with my brain. I no longer dream about girls at night; now I dream about steak.
Right after Christmas my friend and I snuck down to Osaka to work out some issues with our passports. On the way, I noticed an Outback steakhouse, which delighted me to highest glee. My eyes lit up like a child's on Christmas morning and I even squealed a little. I ran inside and stole a menu and was even more ecstatic to find that they served real American portions of food, none of this sparrow's rations that send my stomach into violent reals of untorrented sobs. No! These were American sizes! The kind where you can't walk afterwards and the only remedy is a nice nap in front of a TV with your belt undone and your hand down your pants. I was ready to cry with rapture.
That was about two months into my study abroad, so the steak bug had not quite sunk its fangs into my taste buds yet, plus we were on a schedule, so I tucked away that salivating tidbit of meaty wonderfulness for a later day.
Now, in February, the read meat mirage had hit me with full force. I was actually seeing steaks floating in the air before, only to wisp away into so much ephemeral nothingness as I tried to sink my teeth into them. I could think of nothing but steaks; steaks and ribs and french fries and ice cream. I wandered the halls in the early morning, moaning for rib eyes and t-bones and A-1. When I told my friend he looked delicious this morning, he suggested we head to Outback. I had no objections.
(In my defense, I wish to explain: being a man, I do not cook. I do not like to cook, I do not like to think about cooking, I do not even like saying the word cooking. I eat the majority of my meals at the school cafeteria where all I have to do is point at food I want, grunt, rub my stomach, and someone puts it on my tray. However, the cafeteria had closed now that we were on spring vacation, and after two weeks of this, I was eating no more than uncooked rice and peanut butter [oh and of course the blessed Mega Mac. Sweet succulent beauty from on high! More on that later!], and I was getting to the point where the act of slabbering peanut butter on rice was no longer appetizing. Strange, right? Of course there are restaurants, but who has the energy to go to restaurants? And besides, it was still just noodles and water or whatever. So yeah that's my excuse. I'm the epitome of the Carl's Jr. man)
We left for Osaka at 10 in the morning, hoping to be eating by noon. I couldn't sleep the night before--I was too excited--so I drew pictures of steak and listened to songs written about meat. 10 rolled around and I skipped delightedly to the station. On the train I told every Japanese person I met that my name was Brody and I was going to go eat steak!
Finally, finally, finally! We arrived in Osaka. I was like Fred Flinstone, I could almost see the vapor trails of steaky wonderness tangible in the air, and I fluttered feet off the ground as I flew towards the restaurant.
Problem was, I was the one leading us to the restaurant. My friend, a big guy from tennessee, had never been there before. So I was the leader. It may have been prudent for us to remember before we left that I am the world's absolute worst with directions and the act of getting to places ( I constantly get lost getting home for school. I have no idea in hell how I managed to get from Utah to Japan. Why am I not in Antarctica now?), yet we didn't and it was only when the restaurant had magically disappeared from where I led us to that we realized we might have a problem.
I was sure I knew where it was. I may forget about tests, or paying credit cards, or my girlfriend's brithday, or her name, but I don't forget about where steak houses are. I refused to ask directions, I KNEW WHERE IT WAS DAMMIT!
We walked around for a half-hour more, I positive it was just around the next turn. It wasn't.
Eventually we got in a taxi and I said in Japanese, "do you know where the steakhouse called Outback is?" and he said "yeah, great place!" "Hurray!" I said, "Time for steaky delight!" and he smiled, and I smiled, and it was a real moment of international understanding and brotherhood. He asked what street it was on, and I remembered it was Sakura-somethin or other, so I said, "sakuraghhryrhgy" coughing at the end. He mumbled "sakuragawa?" and I said "sure!"
He drove.
ANd drove.
And drove.
Definitely wasn't right next to the station like I had so distinctly remembered. Hmm.
On the way, he talked to us in very colloquial Japanese, mostly about how he went to California once and how he had liked the chunky American women he had seen at Disneyland. Hmm.
Finally, "tada!" he shouted and we jumped out of the taxi. "Hurray! We're here!" We ran in and asked for steak. Turned out he had driven us to Autoworks, not Outback, and they apparently do not serve steak at car repair centers in Japan. Hmmm.
We made our way back to the original train station forty dollars worth of yen lighter and finally asked at a visitor's booth where the restaurant was. They had a map. We followed the map. We got to the restaurant. We did not get lost. I like maps.
No! Screw maps! I don't use maps! I'm a man!
Still, we got to the restaurant and I was both relieved to finally have my steak and that my friend (6'5" 220 lbs. and a karate expert) was not going to murder me with his kungfu-etry because we had to go home without eating because I was too stupid to bring the menu along that had a huge color map on the back of it.
We ate a bloomin onion, six loafs of bread, two steaks, two slabs of ribs, countless french fries, and two huge mounds of ice cream between us. I think the Japanese girl serving us was slightly horrified. I tried to hit on her nonetheless. I think the barbecue sauce all over my face really brought out the color of my eyes.
They called a crane and we were dragged back to the train and rolled on. The Japanese are so nice! I was even more impressed that no one objected to when there on the train I pulled out my TV, undid my belt, and slept all the way home.
Beautiful, beautiful day. God bless steak.
(Edit: Sorry for all the grammar and spelling mistakes! Had no time to pay attention to them. Barely had time to write the post but thought you guys might like it. Had absolutely no time to write this edit, but the writer in me died a little seeing all the mistakes and this is the only way I can bring him from the grave. Sorry compadres! [I know Spanish!]
)
Step by step is the only way we can do it though, so just sit back and enjoy the ride. 
