OKKO: Double Hungry and Lesbians.
OKKO: Double Hungry and Lesbians.
It was 1pm on one of the most miserable days of the supposed Summer. The rain was coming down harder than a car full of scousers on their way home from Glastonbury.
Thankfully I hadn’t taken any drugs, as is my policy before midday, and my flatmate was off work. It was the perfect storm for a lunch date. We headed to the quaint Japanese, Okko. He is now earning enough where he can eat out every day whilst never seeming to have any money. I, meanwhile, am living off my savings, but see it as a duty to my community to support small, independent businesses, despite being technically unemployed. Anyone trying to live in London on less than £32k a year is technically unemployed.
Last night, after being housebound for the best part of 24 hours due to a lack of clean underwear, I caught wind of a lesbian party at the Dalston Superstore. After a small to and fro with the door staff, we were inside — my acquaintances have asked to remain anonymous. It became apparent after 5 minutes that it would be more damaging to my health if I didn’t do any drugs, and seeing as it was well after lunch-time, I indulged. I awoke this morning feeling bad, not from the hangover, but from an insult I received from an attendant lesbian, and as a result, I was unable to have breakfast. She told me that I looked like Helena Bonham Carter — in the context it doesn’t sound like much of an insult but she later conceded that she did not find her (and by default, me) attractive. Plus, I didn’t have a vagina. I couldn’t argue with that. I was double hungry so I looked at the menu.
Despite sounding like a harmless gang of private-school boys, Ra-men is actually a Japanese dish for poor people that can’t afford sushi: immigrants, artists and anyone who has been displaced from their East London council house as a consequence of gentrification. It consists mainly of water and salt, and I didn’t order it. The waitress’ face suggested she was Japanese, but her accent was Australian. I was mainly surprised that she wasn’t Spanish or Italian. The effects of the referendum were apparently already underway; we have replaced the EU with the AU. I think it started when we let them into the Eurovision song contest.
The service was lacking. We sat haplessly for quarter of an hour without being tended to, and when we finally got her attention we told her we needed a couple more minutes with the menu. I ordered sushi. I struggled to make any real strides in eating it, jabbing my chopstick fruitlessly into the raw fish, and I flirted with the idea of it being a poignant metaphor for my incompetence the evening before.
We lamented the loss of the English summer. As we gazed upward to the grey, billowing masses above us, we wondered whether it had anything to do with the increasing number of serial vapists, most of whom have never even had a cigarette. We hoped that they too would soon be made illegal, but conceded that even then it would probably be hard to get a conviction; Vape culture in our society is all too real.
The bill came to 19.60, and we both put in a ten pound note. Neither of us had change so we had to leave an under-tip. We were not happy about it, and we had to wait around for 6 or 7 minutes until the waitress was occupied, to ensure we were not there to see her disappointment when she discovered it.
