Found: the perfect Balinese martini.

It’s been somewhat of an adventure in taste; Cindy Gallop’s desperate attempts to locate a martini just dry enough, with just the right twist, at the right temperature and served promptly.

 

At the Damai we had martinis the same size as an Optrex eyebath with olives. Not good.

At Ku De Ta we had martinis that were initially served with lime, and then remade with lemon. Good size. Too wet.

At the lobby at the Bali Hyatt we had martinis served with olives when we asked for lemon. Too warm, not right.

And last night, at the Salsa bar – overlooking the ocean and resort – a bar SO exclusive that we had failed to find it – and clearly as had the rest of the hotel given it’s rattling emptiness.

However, even though when I said twist of lemon they said lime, I said lemon, they said lime – when they arrived they were, as oat expert Goldilocks would say ‘just right’.

I never thought a part of the upside of the iMedia Asia conference would be to become a martini afficionado – but QED.

Kurosawa

Is a Japenese film director in who’s restaurant we had dinner last night. I’ve never been a fan of cold soba noodles – in fact I’ve always thought soba was the last thing you wanted to be should be in a place where you’re forced to consume them. But, as is obvious, the food in Japan is not the same as Noodle Nation or ‘Wok this Way’ in downtown Manhattan or St.Austell.
Rather it was sublime. Small portions but sublime. I think the addition of a single grilled tip (and by tip I mean thumbnail) of asparagus on a plate the size of an SUV was testament to the quality of ingredients – I think.

There was tofu that tasted like cheese (why does tofu taste like everything? As a vegetarian is tofu to unidentified tastes the same as the ‘tastes like chicken’  response from a carnivore?

The great thing about good Asian food is you feel clean and refreshed after it – which is of course identical to the feeling you have after biffing a 22″ family pizza from Dominoes.

The taxi’s here are all designed by your grandmother, with lace antimacassars, drivers wearing white gloves and electronic doors – not sliding doors mind you, rather an aggressive crank which pushes the door wide open (the sort of technique you want to tamper with to aid with the de-biking of the millions of frenetic street-goers, a slam here, a trip over there.

The hotel I’m staying in – the Grand Hyatt Roppongi, as previously discussed is expensive but excellent. This may sound uncomfortable and inappropriate but I’m certain I now have the cleanest bum in the West due to the electronic squirty toilet – which once you’re over the initial shock makes perfect sense.

The office here are proud to tell me that Japan is unlike anywhere else in the world. Maybe that comes from being an island nation – maybe that comes from little interest with America and its ideals (KFC and Starbucks aside). I think it’s brilliant, the fact that we classify it as slightly odd or off-the-wall a demonstration of our stereotype of what a good modern city is.

I leave you with a shot of a run of the mill old TV tower. Apart from the fact that it is elegant, stylish and somewhat inspired by a distant culture. That’s my Japan.

Is that you? Thank god you’re here.

Pull up a chair, no closer — not over there next to the LED light fitting. Mind that touch sensitive panel. Woa-ha don’t press that button next to the toilet, you might get a startle. And for heavens sake don’t, even for one second, try to figure out how a cesar salad can arrive the second you put the phone done having muttered the last syllable of the word humiliated by your own bad English.

Welcome to Tokyo.  This is a town-for-type-a’s the Royal Town of Retentive. The most organised chaos I’ve ever seen (during rush hour). This is the town that makes Singapore look like a noodle bloated slut. Tokyo is WHERE IT IS AT.

That is, if you’re wearing a suit cut from the finest 100 dollar bills. Or perhaps if, like tonight, you regularly sit at a dinner table with over half a million dollars worth of watch on 8 people’s watches, sorry, I mean ‘pieces’ .

It’s not a cheap date this city, but from what I’ve seen I think we’re going to get on. It’s not Shanghai, dear god no, it’s much more ordered. It’s not New York, it’s too restrained. It’s like no other place on earth and that demands inspection.

The Grand Hyatt in Roppongi (to which the spell check suggests ‘Sponginess’) seems to be a well-to-do area in the center of the city, oh, did I tell you it took 4 light years to get from Narita to Tokyo? Wlel-to-do in the Roppongi Hills locale, but I hear Roppongi proper is a bit more seedy and dripping with expats. Clearly to me that means large photographic menu’s with pictures of breakfasts and big numbers, and Paddy McIncest’s Irish Pubbe. Oh, and I don’t think they’ll be a Roppongi version of The Hills anytime soon; imagine the listing:

‘JoeSan and MarieSan have a climactic day at Starbucks when they recieve less than 20 icecubes, followed by disaster as the small pipe which extends into the loo to spray you shoots cold and not hot water.’

Tomorrow is another day, and we’re off early to CNBC to do a live. Should be fun.