Kirinya Honmachihonten: the Inspiration Behind the Greatest Udon Noodle Commercial of All Time

Picture this. A family of five sitting around their dining room table after a long day of work and school. The oldest, texting. The father, stoic in demeanor, like Kevin Arnold’s father in The Wonder Years. The mother, probing her youngest about the school day. It’s dimly lit. A slight tapping of the piano can be heard as an incandescent bulb casts an ever-so-slight golden glow over five ceramic bowls of thick white noodles. A voice, smoother than Siri, begins… ‘I don…’ The pregnant pause ends. ‘You don’. A piano begins to crescendo, joined in triumph by a thundering timpani. ‘We don’, ‘Everybody don’. The climax cuts to dead silence as the screen fades to black. ‘Udon’.

That’s my million billion-dollar commercial that I am yet to direct for the entirety of udon (commissioned by the Japanese government) – not even on behalf of one specific brand, restaurant, style, or region. But on behalf of the existence of udon as a noodle. This is also what plays in my twisted brain every single time I sit down for a bowl of udon. 

So you can imagine the horror and utter confusion of customers and staff at every single udon joint I ate at in Japan as eyes closed, cuing in imaginary actors and musicians like a deranged maestro, I directed this preposterous commercial. My magnum opus, you ask? Performed at 11:30 AM on the most unexpected of days, a Friday at Kirinya Honmachihonten.

Dream a Little, I’ll Dream on Taiga: Italian Cuisine With Japanese Precision

Dream on, dream on. I dream on. Dream a little, I’ll dream on Taiga… I had been forewarned (whatever the positive of forewarning is though) that Italian-Japanese fusion cuisine was an actual thing in Japan. And that it was all the rage. At first, I was afraid, I was petrified. I was skeptical. I didn’t believe it. 

However, after learning that Japanese-Italian cuisine, commonly referred to as ‘Itameshi’, had a cultural and recent-historical significance behind it, I warmed up to the idea and now I can’t live without it by my side. I’m not exactly sure why I was hesitant about Italian cuisine when I had learned very quickly during my three-month stint in Japan that they are/were renowned for absorbing the best parts of every other cuisine in the world and refining it/turning it into a science. 

Takoyaki Umaiya: 60 Years of Minimalist Octopus Ball Bliss (Sans-Mayo)

I loathe mayonnaise. I’ve said it once, I’ll say it a thousand more times. Mayonnaise is my kryptonite. So you can imagine I was crippled with dejection and bouts of FOMO after landing in Osaka and realizing that most major Kansai-region specialties, namely takoyaki and okonomiyaki, are topped and/or coated in this globby, abominable mixture. 

However, my heart fluttered, my palms began to sweat, and I jumped up and down while shrieking with excitement like Buddy the Elf when he heard that mall-Santa was coming the next day when I learned of ‘Takoyaki Umaiya’ – the second oldest takoyaki shop in Japan (established in 1953), serving up grilled, golden brown octopus balls sans-mayo. 

Doing the Neigh Neigh at a Horse Meat Restaurant in Osaka

As the dirty South rapper turned murderer ‘Silentó’ of the viral tune and dance craze once sang, “Now watch me whip, whip, watch me nae nae.” As I bounced down the streets of Osaka blaring this banger in my headphones while doing a bit of the stanky leg for good measure, I passed by a restaurant I thought was a popular duck and soba noodle spot. I popped my head into the restaurant, added my name to the registry for the night, and embarked on my daily constitutional (a 5km run around Osaka Castle).

After working up an appetite of one thousand American pygmy shrews (absolutely voracious eaters those little guys are), I returned to the restaurant and took my rightful spot at the bar – overlooking the kitchen. I must have been disoriented from my run and not capable of putting 2+2 together as I saw a Kanji character that I knew all too well. However, it didn’t register and I placed an order for their signature assorted sashimi platter. 

Upon arrival, there was something different about it. I couldn’t quite place it. The texture was something I had never seen before. It was such a pinkish hue that even inspector Jacques Clouseau would struggle to solve the mystery behind its coloring. I suddenly caught a laminated placard with a diagram of a horse out of the corner of my eye and I put it all together. “Now watch me whip, whip, watch me neigh neigh,” I whispered under my breath as readied my chopsticks and took my first bite.