Vending Machine Heaven
A Day of Eating in Japan
Japan is a land of vending machines. Standing in a busy subway station in Tokyo, I was amazed at the number of people buying sushi and Bento boxes on their way to work. The sheer volume ensured their freshness, even for sashimi.
In Nara, our breakfast at the youth hostel consisted of hot noodles chosen at random from a vending machine. Coffee came in cans, the colour of the button giving a clue as to the contents: red for hot or blue for icy cold.
I’ve had worse coffee. At least it was hot — so hot I could barely hold the can — but the taste was a tad metallic. Each day I bought a different brand, working my way through an unending range to find my god shot.
One morning for breakfast the owner of the small ryokan directed us to a nearby cafe, complete with a gorgeous hand-drawn map. On reaching the cafe I was completely confused when the waitress directed us to a vending machine, for I could see knife-wielding chefs surrounded by steam in the kitchen.
Beside each button on the vending machine were a Japanese label and a tiny picture. I pressed a few at random, popped in the coins, and was rewarded with some…
