You know that feeling when you point to something on a menu or in a shop and you order it or buy it without fully knowing or understanding what it is? You cross your fingers and potentially other crossable things within reach and then wait with baited breath until the moment of truth.This happened to me recently.We were in Fukuoka and I had been working reasonably late in the knowledge that I had a conference call that evening at 10pm with England and America – more on that soon – which meant I didn't leave the hotel to grab dinner until after 9pm. I needed to go somewhere close and then eat and leave to be back in time. I had intended to try the local delicacy, Hakata Ramen, just a few blocks away, but I saw something literally seconds from the hotel so I went to investigate. Outside was a menu...in Japanese...so I ventured inside and a few people were sitting around. One man was sitting at the bar with the remnants of various dishes and bowls. The owners, a man and wife combo (from my Sherlock Bruerton deduction), appreciated my greeting in exemplary local dialect (not!!) and returned my greeting without me understanding a word of what they said. I summoned my even more extraordinary knowledge of international sign language and motioned for a menu. Their knowledge of self-taught, Kiwi sign language was equally impressive and they promptly supplied one. Like the sign outside it was all in Japanese with no pics. It did, however, have prices so I knew I'd be spending ¥700 on 'no idea', ¥1200 on 'still no idea' and ¥2500 on 'absolutely no idea'. I ummed and ahhed for a bit before plucking up the courage to ask for Hakata Ramen in broken English. It was like I'd never spoken English before. I'd never spoken so slowly in my life, obviously thinking this would make a huge difference. Blank looks from the husband and wife combo. Fortunately, the man sitting at the bar came to my rescue. He informed me this was a sushi restaurant (note to self: lots of raw seafood in a cabinet is not an indication of ramen, but rather, sushi). He then said it was very good so I pointed at what he had and used the remaining examples from my sign-language box of tricks – along with my frankly ridiculous broken English – and gave them the thumbs up and sat down. Mrs Sushi Restaurant Owner came over to me and laid down a placemat, chopsticks and hot flannel. She showed me a menu and pointed to the ¥2500 and then at the man-sitting-beside-me's empty plates and bowls. I thought to myself, 'ahhh, absolutely no idea' and smiled and nodded, giving a reassuring thumbs up. I then proceeded to cross my fingers and hope.Over the next 30-40 mins, bowl after bowl and plate after plate came out with a mix of absolutely delicious, recognisable things, as well as absolutely interesting and mostly delicious, unrecognisable things, some of which I tried not to think too hard about and just enjoy. It was the first time for as long as I can remember that I took such a plunge and I'm so pleased I did.We are creatures of habit in this job. We each have home comforts and habits that we bring on tour which help us compartmentalise this vocation of ours as we tour the globe and be the best version of King's Singers we can be. For the most part, things happen as we expect them to. And when they don't we adapt, sometimes with stress, sleep deprivation or hunger, other times a combo of all of three.I want to challenge myself for the remainder of this anniversary year – and beyond – to commit to being outside of my comfort zone on more occasions and take plunges or 'calculated risks' (for those that worry about jumping from various heights) into unknown waters. After all, what's the worst that could've happened in Fukuoka? A meal I didn't fully enjoy? There's always room service, fast food takeaway chains or mobile apps to fall back on. I can think of an increasing percentage of the world's population that would give anything to eat the scraps we all throw away on a daily basis. Now there's some food for thought.
You know that feeling when you point to something on a menu or in a shop and you order it or buy it without fully knowing or understanding what it is? You cross your fingers and potentially other crossable things within reach and then wait with baited breath until the moment of truth.This happened to me recently.We were in Fukuoka and I had been working reasonably late in the knowledge that I had a conference call that evening at 10pm with England and America – more on that soon – which meant I didn't leave the hotel to grab dinner until after 9pm. I needed to go somewhere close and then eat and leave to be back in time. I had intended to try the local delicacy, Hakata Ramen, just a few blocks away, but I saw something literally seconds from the hotel so I went to investigate. Outside was a menu...in Japanese...so I ventured inside and a few people were sitting around. One man was sitting at the bar with the remnants of various dishes and bowls. The owners, a man and wife combo (from my Sherlock Bruerton deduction), appreciated my greeting in exemplary local dialect (not!!) and returned my greeting without me understanding a word of what they said. I summoned my even more extraordinary knowledge of international sign language and motioned for a menu. Their knowledge of self-taught, Kiwi sign language was equally impressive and they promptly supplied one. Like the sign outside it was all in Japanese with no pics. It did, however, have prices so I knew I'd be spending ¥700 on 'no idea', ¥1200 on 'still no idea' and ¥2500 on 'absolutely no idea'. I ummed and ahhed for a bit before plucking up the courage to ask for Hakata Ramen in broken English. It was like I'd never spoken English before. I'd never spoken so slowly in my life, obviously thinking this would make a huge difference. Blank looks from the husband and wife combo. Fortunately, the man sitting at the bar came to my rescue. He informed me this was a sushi restaurant (note to self: lots of raw seafood in a cabinet is not an indication of ramen, but rather, sushi). He then said it was very good so I pointed at what he had and used the remaining examples from my sign-language box of tricks – along with my frankly ridiculous broken English – and gave them the thumbs up and sat down. Mrs Sushi Restaurant Owner came over to me and laid down a placemat, chopsticks and hot flannel. She showed me a menu and pointed to the ¥2500 and then at the man-sitting-beside-me's empty plates and bowls. I thought to myself, 'ahhh, absolutely no idea' and smiled and nodded, giving a reassuring thumbs up. I then proceeded to cross my fingers and hope.Over the next 30-40 mins, bowl after bowl and plate after plate came out with a mix of absolutely delicious, recognisable things, as well as absolutely interesting and mostly delicious, unrecognisable things, some of which I tried not to think too hard about and just enjoy. It was the first time for as long as I can remember that I took such a plunge and I'm so pleased I did.We are creatures of habit in this job. We each have home comforts and habits that we bring on tour which help us compartmentalise this vocation of ours as we tour the globe and be the best version of King's Singers we can be. For the most part, things happen as we expect them to. And when they don't we adapt, sometimes with stress, sleep deprivation or hunger, other times a combo of all of three.I want to challenge myself for the remainder of this anniversary year – and beyond – to commit to being outside of my comfort zone on more occasions and take plunges or 'calculated risks' (for those that worry about jumping from various heights) into unknown waters. After all, what's the worst that could've happened in Fukuoka? A meal I didn't fully enjoy? There's always room service, fast food takeaway chains or mobile apps to fall back on. I can think of an increasing percentage of the world's population that would give anything to eat the scraps we all throw away on a daily basis. Now there's some food for thought.
You know that feeling when you point to something on a menu or in a shop and you order it or buy it without fully knowing or understanding what it is? You cross your fingers and potentially other crossable things within reach and then wait with baited breath until the moment of truth.This happened to me recently.We were in Fukuoka and I had been working reasonably late in the knowledge that I had a conference call that evening at 10pm with England and America – more on that soon – which meant I didn't leave the hotel to grab dinner until after 9pm. I needed to go somewhere close and then eat and leave to be back in time. I had intended to try the local delicacy, Hakata Ramen, just a few blocks away, but I saw something literally seconds from the hotel so I went to investigate. Outside was a menu...in Japanese...so I ventured inside and a few people were sitting around. One man was sitting at the bar with the remnants of various dishes and bowls. The owners, a man and wife combo (from my Sherlock Bruerton deduction), appreciated my greeting in exemplary local dialect (not!!) and returned my greeting without me understanding a word of what they said. I summoned my even more extraordinary knowledge of international sign language and motioned for a menu. Their knowledge of self-taught, Kiwi sign language was equally impressive and they promptly supplied one. Like the sign outside it was all in Japanese with no pics. It did, however, have prices so I knew I'd be spending ¥700 on 'no idea', ¥1200 on 'still no idea' and ¥2500 on 'absolutely no idea'. I ummed and ahhed for a bit before plucking up the courage to ask for Hakata Ramen in broken English. It was like I'd never spoken English before. I'd never spoken so slowly in my life, obviously thinking this would make a huge difference. Blank looks from the husband and wife combo. Fortunately, the man sitting at the bar came to my rescue. He informed me this was a sushi restaurant (note to self: lots of raw seafood in a cabinet is not an indication of ramen, but rather, sushi). He then said it was very good so I pointed at what he had and used the remaining examples from my sign-language box of tricks – along with my frankly ridiculous broken English – and gave them the thumbs up and sat down. Mrs Sushi Restaurant Owner came over to me and laid down a placemat, chopsticks and hot flannel. She showed me a menu and pointed to the ¥2500 and then at the man-sitting-beside-me's empty plates and bowls. I thought to myself, 'ahhh, absolutely no idea' and smiled and nodded, giving a reassuring thumbs up. I then proceeded to cross my fingers and hope.Over the next 30-40 mins, bowl after bowl and plate after plate came out with a mix of absolutely delicious, recognisable things, as well as absolutely interesting and mostly delicious, unrecognisable things, some of which I tried not to think too hard about and just enjoy. It was the first time for as long as I can remember that I took such a plunge and I'm so pleased I did.We are creatures of habit in this job. We each have home comforts and habits that we bring on tour which help us compartmentalise this vocation of ours as we tour the globe and be the best version of King's Singers we can be. For the most part, things happen as we expect them to. And when they don't we adapt, sometimes with stress, sleep deprivation or hunger, other times a combo of all of three.I want to challenge myself for the remainder of this anniversary year – and beyond – to commit to being outside of my comfort zone on more occasions and take plunges or 'calculated risks' (for those that worry about jumping from various heights) into unknown waters. After all, what's the worst that could've happened in Fukuoka? A meal I didn't fully enjoy? There's always room service, fast food takeaway chains or mobile apps to fall back on. I can think of an increasing percentage of the world's population that would give anything to eat the scraps we all throw away on a daily basis. Now there's some food for thought.
You know that feeling when you point to something on a menu or in a shop and you order it or buy it without fully knowing or understanding what it is? You cross your fingers and potentially other crossable things within reach and then wait with baited breath until the moment of truth.This happened to me recently.We were in Fukuoka and I had been working reasonably late in the knowledge that I had a conference call that evening at 10pm with England and America – more on that soon – which meant I didn't leave the hotel to grab dinner until after 9pm. I needed to go somewhere close and then eat and leave to be back in time. I had intended to try the local delicacy, Hakata Ramen, just a few blocks away, but I saw something literally seconds from the hotel so I went to investigate. Outside was a menu...in Japanese...so I ventured inside and a few people were sitting around. One man was sitting at the bar with the remnants of various dishes and bowls. The owners, a man and wife combo (from my Sherlock Bruerton deduction), appreciated my greeting in exemplary local dialect (not!!) and returned my greeting without me understanding a word of what they said. I summoned my even more extraordinary knowledge of international sign language and motioned for a menu. Their knowledge of self-taught, Kiwi sign language was equally impressive and they promptly supplied one. Like the sign outside it was all in Japanese with no pics. It did, however, have prices so I knew I'd be spending ¥700 on 'no idea', ¥1200 on 'still no idea' and ¥2500 on 'absolutely no idea'. I ummed and ahhed for a bit before plucking up the courage to ask for Hakata Ramen in broken English. It was like I'd never spoken English before. I'd never spoken so slowly in my life, obviously thinking this would make a huge difference. Blank looks from the husband and wife combo. Fortunately, the man sitting at the bar came to my rescue. He informed me this was a sushi restaurant (note to self: lots of raw seafood in a cabinet is not an indication of ramen, but rather, sushi). He then said it was very good so I pointed at what he had and used the remaining examples from my sign-language box of tricks – along with my frankly ridiculous broken English – and gave them the thumbs up and sat down. Mrs Sushi Restaurant Owner came over to me and laid down a placemat, chopsticks and hot flannel. She showed me a menu and pointed to the ¥2500 and then at the man-sitting-beside-me's empty plates and bowls. I thought to myself, 'ahhh, absolutely no idea' and smiled and nodded, giving a reassuring thumbs up. I then proceeded to cross my fingers and hope.Over the next 30-40 mins, bowl after bowl and plate after plate came out with a mix of absolutely delicious, recognisable things, as well as absolutely interesting and mostly delicious, unrecognisable things, some of which I tried not to think too hard about and just enjoy. It was the first time for as long as I can remember that I took such a plunge and I'm so pleased I did.We are creatures of habit in this job. We each have home comforts and habits that we bring on tour which help us compartmentalise this vocation of ours as we tour the globe and be the best version of King's Singers we can be. For the most part, things happen as we expect them to. And when they don't we adapt, sometimes with stress, sleep deprivation or hunger, other times a combo of all of three.I want to challenge myself for the remainder of this anniversary year – and beyond – to commit to being outside of my comfort zone on more occasions and take plunges or 'calculated risks' (for those that worry about jumping from various heights) into unknown waters. After all, what's the worst that could've happened in Fukuoka? A meal I didn't fully enjoy? There's always room service, fast food takeaway chains or mobile apps to fall back on. I can think of an increasing percentage of the world's population that would give anything to eat the scraps we all throw away on a daily basis. Now there's some food for thought.
You know that feeling when you point to something on a menu or in a shop and you order it or buy it without fully knowing or understanding what it is? You cross your fingers and potentially other crossable things within reach and then wait with baited breath until the moment of truth.This happened to me recently.We were in Fukuoka and I had been working reasonably late in the knowledge that I had a conference call that evening at 10pm with England and America – more on that soon – which meant I didn't leave the hotel to grab dinner until after 9pm. I needed to go somewhere close and then eat and leave to be back in time. I had intended to try the local delicacy, Hakata Ramen, just a few blocks away, but I saw something literally seconds from the hotel so I went to investigate. Outside was a menu...in Japanese...so I ventured inside and a few people were sitting around. One man was sitting at the bar with the remnants of various dishes and bowls. The owners, a man and wife combo (from my Sherlock Bruerton deduction), appreciated my greeting in exemplary local dialect (not!!) and returned my greeting without me understanding a word of what they said. I summoned my even more extraordinary knowledge of international sign language and motioned for a menu. Their knowledge of self-taught, Kiwi sign language was equally impressive and they promptly supplied one. Like the sign outside it was all in Japanese with no pics. It did, however, have prices so I knew I'd be spending ¥700 on 'no idea', ¥1200 on 'still no idea' and ¥2500 on 'absolutely no idea'. I ummed and ahhed for a bit before plucking up the courage to ask for Hakata Ramen in broken English. It was like I'd never spoken English before. I'd never spoken so slowly in my life, obviously thinking this would make a huge difference. Blank looks from the husband and wife combo. Fortunately, the man sitting at the bar came to my rescue. He informed me this was a sushi restaurant (note to self: lots of raw seafood in a cabinet is not an indication of ramen, but rather, sushi). He then said it was very good so I pointed at what he had and used the remaining examples from my sign-language box of tricks – along with my frankly ridiculous broken English – and gave them the thumbs up and sat down. Mrs Sushi Restaurant Owner came over to me and laid down a placemat, chopsticks and hot flannel. She showed me a menu and pointed to the ¥2500 and then at the man-sitting-beside-me's empty plates and bowls. I thought to myself, 'ahhh, absolutely no idea' and smiled and nodded, giving a reassuring thumbs up. I then proceeded to cross my fingers and hope.Over the next 30-40 mins, bowl after bowl and plate after plate came out with a mix of absolutely delicious, recognisable things, as well as absolutely interesting and mostly delicious, unrecognisable things, some of which I tried not to think too hard about and just enjoy. It was the first time for as long as I can remember that I took such a plunge and I'm so pleased I did.We are creatures of habit in this job. We each have home comforts and habits that we bring on tour which help us compartmentalise this vocation of ours as we tour the globe and be the best version of King's Singers we can be. For the most part, things happen as we expect them to. And when they don't we adapt, sometimes with stress, sleep deprivation or hunger, other times a combo of all of three.I want to challenge myself for the remainder of this anniversary year – and beyond – to commit to being outside of my comfort zone on more occasions and take plunges or 'calculated risks' (for those that worry about jumping from various heights) into unknown waters. After all, what's the worst that could've happened in Fukuoka? A meal I didn't fully enjoy? There's always room service, fast food takeaway chains or mobile apps to fall back on. I can think of an increasing percentage of the world's population that would give anything to eat the scraps we all throw away on a daily basis. Now there's some food for thought.
You know that feeling when you point to something on a menu or in a shop and you order it or buy it without fully knowing or understanding what it is? You cross your fingers and potentially other crossable things within reach and then wait with baited breath until the moment of truth.This happened to me recently.We were in Fukuoka and I had been working reasonably late in the knowledge that I had a conference call that evening at 10pm with England and America – more on that soon – which meant I didn't leave the hotel to grab dinner until after 9pm. I needed to go somewhere close and then eat and leave to be back in time. I had intended to try the local delicacy, Hakata Ramen, just a few blocks away, but I saw something literally seconds from the hotel so I went to investigate. Outside was a menu...in Japanese...so I ventured inside and a few people were sitting around. One man was sitting at the bar with the remnants of various dishes and bowls. The owners, a man and wife combo (from my Sherlock Bruerton deduction), appreciated my greeting in exemplary local dialect (not!!) and returned my greeting without me understanding a word of what they said. I summoned my even more extraordinary knowledge of international sign language and motioned for a menu. Their knowledge of self-taught, Kiwi sign language was equally impressive and they promptly supplied one. Like the sign outside it was all in Japanese with no pics. It did, however, have prices so I knew I'd be spending ¥700 on 'no idea', ¥1200 on 'still no idea' and ¥2500 on 'absolutely no idea'. I ummed and ahhed for a bit before plucking up the courage to ask for Hakata Ramen in broken English. It was like I'd never spoken English before. I'd never spoken so slowly in my life, obviously thinking this would make a huge difference. Blank looks from the husband and wife combo. Fortunately, the man sitting at the bar came to my rescue. He informed me this was a sushi restaurant (note to self: lots of raw seafood in a cabinet is not an indication of ramen, but rather, sushi). He then said it was very good so I pointed at what he had and used the remaining examples from my sign-language box of tricks – along with my frankly ridiculous broken English – and gave them the thumbs up and sat down. Mrs Sushi Restaurant Owner came over to me and laid down a placemat, chopsticks and hot flannel. She showed me a menu and pointed to the ¥2500 and then at the man-sitting-beside-me's empty plates and bowls. I thought to myself, 'ahhh, absolutely no idea' and smiled and nodded, giving a reassuring thumbs up. I then proceeded to cross my fingers and hope.Over the next 30-40 mins, bowl after bowl and plate after plate came out with a mix of absolutely delicious, recognisable things, as well as absolutely interesting and mostly delicious, unrecognisable things, some of which I tried not to think too hard about and just enjoy. It was the first time for as long as I can remember that I took such a plunge and I'm so pleased I did.We are creatures of habit in this job. We each have home comforts and habits that we bring on tour which help us compartmentalise this vocation of ours as we tour the globe and be the best version of King's Singers we can be. For the most part, things happen as we expect them to. And when they don't we adapt, sometimes with stress, sleep deprivation or hunger, other times a combo of all of three.I want to challenge myself for the remainder of this anniversary year – and beyond – to commit to being outside of my comfort zone on more occasions and take plunges or 'calculated risks' (for those that worry about jumping from various heights) into unknown waters. After all, what's the worst that could've happened in Fukuoka? A meal I didn't fully enjoy? There's always room service, fast food takeaway chains or mobile apps to fall back on. I can think of an increasing percentage of the world's population that would give anything to eat the scraps we all throw away on a daily basis. Now there's some food for thought.
You know that feeling when you point to something on a menu or in a shop and you order it or buy it without fully knowing or understanding what it is? You cross your fingers and potentially other crossable things within reach and then wait with baited breath until the moment of truth.This happened to me recently.We were in Fukuoka and I had been working reasonably late in the knowledge that I had a conference call that evening at 10pm with England and America – more on that soon – which meant I didn't leave the hotel to grab dinner until after 9pm. I needed to go somewhere close and then eat and leave to be back in time. I had intended to try the local delicacy, Hakata Ramen, just a few blocks away, but I saw something literally seconds from the hotel so I went to investigate. Outside was a menu...in Japanese...so I ventured inside and a few people were sitting around. One man was sitting at the bar with the remnants of various dishes and bowls. The owners, a man and wife combo (from my Sherlock Bruerton deduction), appreciated my greeting in exemplary local dialect (not!!) and returned my greeting without me understanding a word of what they said. I summoned my even more extraordinary knowledge of international sign language and motioned for a menu. Their knowledge of self-taught, Kiwi sign language was equally impressive and they promptly supplied one. Like the sign outside it was all in Japanese with no pics. It did, however, have prices so I knew I'd be spending ¥700 on 'no idea', ¥1200 on 'still no idea' and ¥2500 on 'absolutely no idea'. I ummed and ahhed for a bit before plucking up the courage to ask for Hakata Ramen in broken English. It was like I'd never spoken English before. I'd never spoken so slowly in my life, obviously thinking this would make a huge difference. Blank looks from the husband and wife combo. Fortunately, the man sitting at the bar came to my rescue. He informed me this was a sushi restaurant (note to self: lots of raw seafood in a cabinet is not an indication of ramen, but rather, sushi). He then said it was very good so I pointed at what he had and used the remaining examples from my sign-language box of tricks – along with my frankly ridiculous broken English – and gave them the thumbs up and sat down. Mrs Sushi Restaurant Owner came over to me and laid down a placemat, chopsticks and hot flannel. She showed me a menu and pointed to the ¥2500 and then at the man-sitting-beside-me's empty plates and bowls. I thought to myself, 'ahhh, absolutely no idea' and smiled and nodded, giving a reassuring thumbs up. I then proceeded to cross my fingers and hope.Over the next 30-40 mins, bowl after bowl and plate after plate came out with a mix of absolutely delicious, recognisable things, as well as absolutely interesting and mostly delicious, unrecognisable things, some of which I tried not to think too hard about and just enjoy. It was the first time for as long as I can remember that I took such a plunge and I'm so pleased I did.We are creatures of habit in this job. We each have home comforts and habits that we bring on tour which help us compartmentalise this vocation of ours as we tour the globe and be the best version of King's Singers we can be. For the most part, things happen as we expect them to. And when they don't we adapt, sometimes with stress, sleep deprivation or hunger, other times a combo of all of three.I want to challenge myself for the remainder of this anniversary year – and beyond – to commit to being outside of my comfort zone on more occasions and take plunges or 'calculated risks' (for those that worry about jumping from various heights) into unknown waters. After all, what's the worst that could've happened in Fukuoka? A meal I didn't fully enjoy? There's always room service, fast food takeaway chains or mobile apps to fall back on. I can think of an increasing percentage of the world's population that would give anything to eat the scraps we all throw away on a daily basis. Now there's some food for thought.
