So, I’m nearly out of images for my clockwork Japan auto-blogging. Here is a picture of frickin’ incredible ramen from Kyoto station, ramen with broth so fatty and rich that a skin actually formed and stuck to my chopsticks once I finished and let it cool a bit. When you suffer a heart attack just thinking about it, you know your ramen is good.
Delicious as the food here is, though, I’m alarmed by the utter lack of fiber it contains. The closest most meals get to actual roughage is a small saucer of pickled veggies, or maybe a few shreds of cabbage. I can eat like that for a week or so, but any longer and I think I’d freak out a little — it’s like gambling with my colonic health, a crap shoot of the worst sort. I have to assume that bowel movements can only happen with the aid of a weekly surgical procedure.
In other words, it’s good to be back home. I think I’ll celebrate by having a salad the size of a television.