So I was minding my own business when a group of lime chiffon dolls blocked my path. They were 4-5 times as old as the costumes would suggest.
They were followed by sumo dudes and gargamels with hats. In an attempt to be culturally savvy, I looked up what festivals were on, but since there was nothing, this parade must not have been real.
So I went home and made wakame and noodles. Wakame I believe translates to: the chunks of seaweed that got stuck in fishermen's nets, then dried out in the sun next to discarded fish entrails.
I made these things because our friend Akiko decided we'd better start improving our Japanese cooking skills and make cold noodles properly. She is right. She was particularly concerned that we should not dilute the sauce. We're not diluters, but we're not wakame embracers either. Here is Barry doing it right (although we healthed up to whole grain noodles, don't tell Akiko).
Here I am doing it wrong, and waiting for my nori to shrink. I also put my shochu in a wine glass, but I'm not showing that in case Akiko uses the Internet.
In spandex-related news, Barry has decided lately that he needs to film things from his head,
as well as in a circle around his head. Both results cause motion sickness. But soon realized that he shouldn't be wider than a lane of traffic, and found something better than the can opener to use as his counter weight.
