We just had the most extreme yakitori experience in Ikebukuro, pole position next to the master of his domain, a chef whose power animal must be either a small agile bear or a racoon (actually, I’d rather liken him to a crouching tiger). Japanese restaurants break so many OHS and union regulations, it is a joy to behold and to partake of such criminally addictive food. Kitchen hands pass their arms through sheer walls of flame, a cloth is dipped in a dirty bucket of water and then wrung out on the kitchen floor before being wiped on the serving bench. My old boss at bills 2 in sydney (the very one, Bill Grainger) would weep at the thought. And yet, the food is divine. Yam Yam and the Pang.
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