By Diane BayesI can't believe Fran is making me do this. As if the shock of Moscow was not enough.
Believe me, living here after living many years in an enlightened community of women is no cup of tea. If you ask me, all her talk about roughing it with the locals just plain stinks. Why should I have to spend so much time around mindless brutes just because she wanted a change of scenery?
I'm doing this because she keeps insisting that I never do anything for her. Fran didn't even listen when I told her that this is what "topping" is all about. So, we came.
Then I found out she would be writing for this penis-obsessed misogynistic rag. I'm no puritan- just ask Fran about my views on domination- but there's a limit to everything. And that limit is breeders. I still don't understand why she wants to write for an audience of oppressors.
And now she's come down with a little sniffle, and asked me to write this review for her. Still, I take my commitment to her seriously and agreed. But let's get one thing straight: I am proud to be queer. None of the heterosexist bias and abusive, womyn-hating filth is going to work its way into this review. I don't believe in Fran's philosophy of gently urging reform. I am going to use this space to denounce the patriarchy and all the little, estrogen fearing minions who keep the foul system functioning. Men, beware!
I had little occasion to complain when we dined at the Japanese restaurant WABI. Thankfully, we had little contact with men the whole evening. Except for the sushi chef, who was upholding the traditionally sexist Japanese system of relegating womyn to a subservient role while giving the men all the glory, I didn't see a single oppressor all night.
Wabi is inside an enormous mall-a distressing tribute to this society's capitalist, patriarchic aspirations. The designers didn't even wall the restaurant off from the consumers, and the restaurant opens into a view of several shops. Luckily, there are several womb-like cabinets with bamboo curtains that keep the din out. Fran and I sat in one of those.
Another problem was the horrible music. In place of an earthy Japanese selection, middle-aged Russian crooners bombarded our eardrums. Thankfully, I couldn't understand the words, which were undoubtedly justifying the repression of womyn.
Still, I did enjoy our meal. Sushi, opposed to often-phallic European dishes, is natural food for womyn. Fran worried about eating uncooked seafood in a place so far away from the ocean, but I assured her that the simpler the preparation, the closer the food is to Mother Nature. Besides, I joked, since when did she object to a slightly fishy smell!
Wabi may not be the best option for working-class dykes. Prices border on high end, but they certainly are worth it. Fran and I split a Tokyo assortment (R820), which came with eight pieces of sushi and two rolls. It was well prepared, with close attention paid to the design, and included pieces of tuna, shrimp and calamari.
I wanted to order sashimi as well, (platters start at R790), but Fran doesn't approve of all that fish unmediated by rice. So, in a nod to the gay power movement, we ordered a plate of rainbow rolls (R580). And, girl, were they delicious. They are an innovative combination of tuna, salmon and yellow tailed snapper. Those didn't last long.
I do love sushi, but it never quite satiates me. So, upon the waitress' recommendation, I also ordered a fabulously clear miso soup (R150) and a couple meat dishes.
The Japanese steak (R695) was a smallish portion, but made in a delicious, vaguely sweet sauce. I almost forgot
that steak is food of the mustachioed oppressor. On the other hand, the roulette
(R630) reminded me why I was a vegetarian for so long. The meat, rolled around a
filling of mushrooms and onions, was dry and unappetizing.
They offer bottles of Sapparo, Asashi and Kirin for R205 each. Or, 150g of sake costs R230. Since wasn't feeling so well, we stuck to drinking green tea (R60), which is supposed to have cleansing powers. I don't know about