Surrounded by horizontal planes of black-varnished wood, we have an illusion of privacy, but can still sneak peeks of our neighbors between the boards. Each table has its own little gray stove set in the middle with charcoal bricks nursing fiery crimson hearts. Next to it are an assortment of jugs, a couple of shakers with spices and pepper inside and a pile of small navy plates for dipping sauces. The walls have been painted a creamy hue of beige, or yellow, it’s hard to tell from our table. However, like the wood that embraces us, the ceiling has been painted black. A shiny metal bell-shape hangs above each table to draw up the smoke rising in tendrils from the charcoal stove, but the place is still smoky, and the lights are haloed in the clouds. That industrial bell, somehow so fitting here, snakes up and into one of the many large black tubes that try in vain to draw the smoke away and form a thick, tangled web on the ceiling above us. It’s like no place I’ve ever been in, but everyone is so full of life that I feel myself drawn into the excitement of this new experience.

He has me try each type of sauce and pairing. I’m a Texas girl, I was born and raised on barbeque, but I have never had it like this. The sizzle as each piece of thinly cut meat hits the metal grate, the licks of flame as fat pops and drizzles onto the bricks, the way the meat curls and colors with the heat. I am entranced. Each piece of meat rings with a delicious and unique litany of flavor as it hits my tongue and its juices fill my mouth. Before I know it, the only tongue in my mouth is not my own. My eyes pop open wider in surprise, caught off guard, as he tells me what I just ate. I swallow, uncertain, as he watches for my reaction. It’s nothing at all like what I would have imagined! A dim red color with only a faint marbling to it, the meat doesn’t really look or feel like tongue. It’s a bit denser than what I ate earlier, but it’s not bad. He chuckles at my reaction and I blush a bit. Daring me, he sets the chicken livers on to cook next. The livers are small, rounded little gobbets of meat and look more fearsome to me than the tongue did. My stomach does a little dance again and I glance down at my assortment of small blue plates and the gamut of flavors they contain. I comfort myself with this reminder of the sauces I can dip the meat in if needed. And I still have plenty of water left if I need to gulp it down quickly. I remind myself of how amazing everything had tasted up till now and steal a mischievous sip of Junpei’s beer before reaching out for one of those little balls of meat. I plunk it in my mouth and squint contemplatively as it hits my tongue. Weird…a different texture than I’m accustomed to in my meat…but not bad, I conclude. He adds another piece to the grill and I breathe a sigh of relief it’s just カルビ – short rib.