Kochi II: Katsuo Boogaloo

Hello. It’s been a while. In fact, it’s been nearly a month since I said farewell to Japan. But it’s not really goodbye – it’s see you later. Or, as my students would say, simply, “see you!” Because I will certainly return. I think some of you may have gotten the wrong impression. I love Japan, and I loved living there. It wasn’t always easy, and often this publication became a vehicle for me to vent my frustrations about my job and Japanese society at large. Of which I had many. Some frustrations were well-justified. Some were more akin to whining. Nevertheless, nothing will make you miss Japan’s urban planning and public transportation (even in my beloved, broken-down Shikoku) like spending the better part of several weeks hurtling up and down I-5, past endless expanses of car dealerships, casinos, and Carl’s Jrs. It’s not the most scenic view. Here I go again with my “the grass is always greener” complex.

But I type this on the deck of our cozy cabin in the woods, with the peaceful murmur of the Kalama River in my ears. I can look up from my keyboard and see a bald eagle swoop overheard, a salmon erupt from the water, and does and fawns crossing the river. That’s worth the 45 minutes on I-5 from Portland that it takes to get to Evergreen, the new permanent domicile of the Cohen-Green Family. With the move and all, I haven’t spent much time on the computer. Which is mostly a good thing. However, I am still seeking employment, and I need to chronicle my final adventures in Japan. So, read on. This is part one of at least three parts, as I will also recount my tales from Hokkaido, and then welcome back the return of Zev’s Top 10’s for a Shikoku edition.

Before I left Japan, I knew I needed to take one last bus ride down to Kochi to see my good friends Walid and Jack. The night before my Saturday morning bus, we had yet another Iyo enkai to send off us departing ALTs. That and a variety of mitigating factors resulted in a poor night’s sleep. My alarm went off at 7, giving me plenty of time to make my 9 AM bus. I got out of bed, flipped the coffee machine on, got back in bed – and committed the cardinal sin of falling back asleep.

When I opened my eyes again, it was 8:30. As you can imagine, I freaked out. I crammed some clothes in my backpack, and ran out the door. I strode three-quarters asleep in the direction of the train station before realizing that I would never make it in time. I called a taxi instead, and explained to the cabbie my situation. It still looked hopeless, until my driver had the idea to drop me at a stop along the way on the outskirts of town. This never occurred to my mostly-asleep brain, but he dropped me off at the bus stop with enough time to grab a much-needed 7-Eleven iced coffee. Disaster averted. That morning was such a whirlwind that I didn’t even realize that LeBron James had announced the Decision III (with Decision II being the announcement for the LeBron Hennessy, two shots of which will turn you into legendary stage and screen actor Brian Dennehy). This is very old news now, but LeBron signing with the Philadelphia 76ers was genuinely shocking – and makes them a very intriguing team. How available both LeBron and Joel Embiid will be remains to be seen, but the idea of going to war in a playoff series with a Maxey-Edgecombe-Brown-James-Embiid starting five is scary indeed. But I digress.

When I arrived in Kochi, it was hot. And I mean hot. Japan’s summers are brutal, as you’ve read on this platform. But while the temperature in Ehime was consistently in the 80s, it was 95 degrees as I stood at the bus station waiting for Walid to pick me up. To add to my discomfort, I hadn’t had time to brush my teeth that chaotic morning. But when Walid pulled up to the station wearing his CJ McCollum Blazers jersey, I knew that everything was about to be alright. In case you forgot, Walid hails from Newcastle, UK, but studied abroad at the University of Oregon.

We motored off to their apartment building and thumped on Jack’s door. Walid and Jack are practically neighbors, which seems to be a fairly common JET occurrence that I wish I had. Jack, the pride of Westchester, burst through the door in his Brunson jersey with Cam’Ron’s “Welcome to New York City” blaring. Coincidentally, he had been home during the NBA Finals and was spotted in K-Town climbing a lamp post after Game 4. I made Jack promise that he would get me the most bootleg Knicks T-shirt he could find, and he delivered me this bizarre V-neck situation.

Your 2026 Champions Final New York Knicks

It was still too hot to exist, so we loaded up Walid’s car with the necessary equipment and headed for the hills. After weaving into the mountains to “Hey Mr. D.J.” we arrived at a beautiful mountain stream. We set up our crappy little Daiso grill in the shade, staring at a chiseled rock face.

Digicam is back!

Given that the grill was a hunk of junk, keeping it going long enough to grill our late lunch was tricky.

The water was the perfect temperature, and crystal clear. It was such a relief compared to the hot stress of my morning.

On the drive back, I was informed that unlike our United States, Japan does not prohibit open alcohol containers in a moving vehicle, as long as the driver is sober. Who knew?

Our next destination was the horse track. Now I recognize that horse racing is, in all actuality, animal abuse. It’s not something that I’m going to get in on here. But I wanted to acknowledge it at the very least, even though I’m complicit. However, betting on horses with your friends is fun. Especially when you pick up some チキン南蛮 – chicken nanban to eat at the track. A yoshoku dish claimed by Miyazaki Prefecture, it’s essentially a big fried chicken cutlet with tartar sauce. But in Kochi, they slather their nanban with something called “aurora sauce,” which is basically Russian dressing.¹ I’m not sure how Japanese a fat piece of fried chicken with Russian dressing is, but it definitely is delicious.

My only other horse track experience is from Singapore, where it was a dirty, grimy situation filled with ancient toothless Chinese uncles spitting all over the floor. By contrast, the Kochi track is spotless in the typical Japanese fashion, a destination for clean, wholesome family fun.

We try to figure out the betting system – a daunting proposition in English, let alone Japanese. An old security guard has us crafting long-shot parlays with no success, so we abandon his strategy.

Praying at the shrine changes our luck. Jack wins the second-to-last race of the night, reaping 14,000 yen off a 1000 yen bet. The entire evening I failed to understand how the odds worked, even as someone with sports gambling experience. So when I won the final race of the night, I wasn’t expecting a similar payout – nearly $100 from a $6 bet. Of course, I lost somewhere between half a dozen and a dozen bets before that, but still I ended up in the black for the night.

Celebratory slide

“Drinks on us!” Jack and I proclaim as we pile back into Walid’s car. We peel out of the parking lot and through the system of tunnels that dot the outskirts of Kochi, blasting Waka Flocka Flame as loud as Walid’s speakers will permit. After swapping Walid’s car for an Uber (no drinking and driving here), we arrived at Hirome Market – the scene of October’s Korean-Okinawan arm wrestling. Walid’s Geordie (from Newcastle) pal Andy joined us, and our evening took us to several locations, including a tiny izakaya where Walid attempted to freestyle with a guy who called himself a rapper but was less than willing to spit a quick sixteen. We capped things off at the same late-night ramen and fried rice joint that I visited in April, except this time we met a local who spent part of his childhood in Baltimore – of course I told him I needed to watch The Wire.

The next morning, Walid and I roused ourselves to go to DCM, which is basically Japanese Home Depot, to buy a real grill. After that, we hit the road for our whitewater rafting excursion. Unfortunately, we got a little lost on the way, so we missed our initial time slot. But this was a blessing in disguise, because we got to take an absolutely stunning dip.

The water was perfectly brisk, and we even saw fish clustered in an eddy. We only had to wait an hour or two before it was our turn. The whole outfit was run by the friendliest Nepali guys, who explained everything in a blend of Japanese and English. It was a blast, as we were tossed around this gorgeous river with the JR train running alongside the cliff. Our guides referred to inadvertently drinking a large amount of river water as 「飲み放題」- nomihoudai, or all-you-can-drink. We capped things off with a little cliff jump.

Determined to best our river grilling efforts from the previous day with our brand-new grill, we pillaged a supermarket before pulling up alongside a wider, more meandering river. But, lacking in grill experience, we had some difficulty getting the charcoal going. So I appealed to someone who did – a pair of Japanese uncs who were nearby drinking beers and watching their kids splash around. I explained our predicament, and they were happy to help. They piled on way more kidling then we had been using, and chucked the charcoal into the roaring fire. We tried to offer them a beer in thanks, but they declined – after asking for 万円 (manen, or 10,000 yen) in jest.

We enjoyed an extended golden hour along with our grill feast, and a late-night dip to cap off the weekend. I had the next day off, but it was nearly 90 degrees by the time I woke, so I spent the morning lazing around Walid’s apartment with Andy while Walid was at work. Andy is based in Osaka and splits his time between teaching English at an eikaiwa (conversation class) and inputting data for Japanese soccer games, which means he gets paid to travel all over Japan and watch soccer matches – how cool is that?

Walid returns from work around noon and we go on an unsuccessful hunt for a かつおのたたき (katsuo no tataki) restaurant that turns out to be a closed warehouse. Nevertheless, we take in the stunning coastline and have a swim in the ocean. From there, we pull up to a seaside seafood spot.

Here, they show off the fresh shellfish in tanks as you walk into the restaurant – like a more rustic dim sum aquarium.

We order various clams to grill right at our table, and of course the katsuo. Pretty much everywhere in Japan claims a signature regional dish, and I think some of those are fugazi – like Yawatahama’s champon. But Kochi’s katsuo is legit – and I think it’s the best piece of fish I’ve ever had.

I actually can’t believe the color of these clamshells. I also ask our neighbors for advice – how do you know when a clam is cooked? From there, Walid takes me back to the bus station so I can get my ride back to Ehime. This was one of the best weekends of my year in Japan – I swam and grilled three days straight. What more could you possibly want? At various points throughout the weekend, Walid was wearing his Blazers jersey, Jack was sporting an England soccer jersey, and I was in my new Knicks shirt. So we were all supporting each other’s teams – that’s beautiful. That’s friendship. And I know I’ll see those boys again – whether it’s in Japan, the UK, the States, or somewhere else entirely.