molotov cocktails

Upon checking in at the unintentionally funky retro hotel (ie. hasn't been renovated since the 1970s, now finds itself back in fashion, immaculately maintained) in Karuizawa, I spotted this innocent looking blueberry pie on the side table in the nook by the window.



I didn't take a bite of the blueberry pie because I was momentarily distracted when I opened the curtains and took in the view. I may have also gasped audibly, suaku that I am.



D, in the next room, was able to multi-task and take in both the view and the pie at the same time, before we had to rush out again to go to the sprawling outlet mall before it closed. She could not raving about the one bite she managed. (Check out the graphic print of the carpet in the lobby. Groovy!)



We both did not find much to buy at the outlet mall, although two other girls bagged thousand-dollar totes from Tod's. Apparently they were a real bargain. I wouldn't know. Thousand-dollar anything doesn't sound like a bargain to me. The mall was real pretty though, in a manicured golf-course way.



After the shopping frenzy, we rushed back to our rooms to change for cocktails and dinner. I had a few minutes to sneak a bite of the blueberry pie. That was when I had my Molotov Cocktail* moment. If not for the fact that I was running late, I would have devoured the entire thing.



Throughout dinner (spectacular dining room with a million bulbs in the ceiling, but unspectacular Western food with Japanese touches, such as this green soup below, made of the yomogi herb), I kept thinking of the quarter of pie languishing in my hotel room.



And I wasn't alone. My dinner companions were also contemplating how to fit the pie into their stomachs after that four-course dinner.



The pie -- filled with subtly sweet raspberry jam, topped with fresh blueberries on a crumbly buttery base -- was that good. We were still talking about it the morning after. I just had to buy a Doraemon phone charm representing the region's special pie as a keepsake.



Back in Tokyo, while wandering around Ginza, I came across this supposedly famous Belgian waffle place. There was a longish queue, but since I had nothing more pressing to do than visit Muji, I decided to try it, thinking it would be like those limp waffles made on the spot at heartland bakery shops. I mean, how good can a waffle be, right? After a 10-minute queue, I was standing outside on the sidewalk having another Molotov Cocktail** moment.



Imagine "Hot now!" Krispy Kreme, crispy on the outside, soft and fluffy on the inside, just not in a donut shape and without icing. The waffle shop name is Manneken -- not sure how to pronounce it, but I'm sure it means "best darn waffles in the world" in Flemish or whatever it is they speak in Belgium. I'm still kicking myself for not buying the gift pack to bring home.

* Molotov Cocktail is the shorthand X and I came up with to describe eating something so incredibly mind-blowingly delicious that your tastebuds just explode with a "jee-bah-BOOM"!

** I proclaim Japan the land of Molotov Cocktails. Erm, okay, that doesn't sound right, but you get the meaning. I remember having a Molotov Cocktail moment in Osaka last year over a stewed tomato. Coming up: the battle of Ichiran vs Ippudo. Ramen! Banzai! Kamikaze! Ganbatte!