Chicken

On our first night in Tokyo, we had been told that we were going to a "Japanese style pub" mainly known for its "grilled chicken". My expectations were not high: I thought of a pub abroad; I thought of KFC.

We were running late and a little lost on one of the walkways high above Tokyo where we could see the lights from the lifts rushing up the skyscrapers at extraordinary speeds. Someone speculated about what would happen if the lift failed to stop. We were saved from these morbid thoughts by one of the hosts of the place we were trying to find, who had managed to find us huddled together and wondering which way to go next.

He escorted us to "Hinaiya" where it was not merely coats off but shoes off and into lockers. Then we had to work out the most dignified way of sitting on the low benches at our table. Around us was an array of pots, jugs and plates. Soy sauce and red powder in a pot. Wet towels.

Then a series of delicacies arrived starting with a little bowl with tiny mushrooms in salad. Then a bowl with what looked like flash fried tuna with seaweed on top. But no. Someone realised it was in fact chicken, seared on the outside but raw within. Raw fish, raw steak: no problem. But raw chicken? Someone muttered something about Salmonella. We each tried some, tentatively at first but before long the bowl was empty. The chicken had been marinated in Wasabi.

Never before had I imagined how many ways it was possible to serve chicken. But there then arrived bowl after bowl of chicken: on skewers, steamed, fried pieces of skin, flash fried wings, chicken livers, chicken heart... More salad. Our waiter told us to stack the skewers into a tall pot for the purpose. Minced chicken on a skewer with a raw egg. And vegetables on skewers, including Gingko nuts - tiny and green, tasting like roasted chestnuts.

Time to hit the night life of Tokyo...