Tokyo, meet Tojo

Warning: this is a sad story

[Ed. Note: It is sadder that we thought. Tokyo is now kaput. The All-City Coney Island Eatery now occupies the space. See recent review]

Tuesday brought freezing weather, along with the first day of the 2010 legislative session. Great. Dragging into the office late, lamenting the invasion of Montgomery by blowhards with bad haircuts and gum-smacking mistresses, I wondered where a taxpayer could get a quick lunch without encountering polyester suits, pompadours or comb-overs.

With nothing to look forward to but months of demagoguery and liquor shortages, I despaired. It’s too cold to play golf, and the most popular pastime this time of year -- holding on to your wallet -- isn’t that much fun. When the Legislature's in session, lobbyists have the good tables and you can’t find an empty barstool anywhere.

I was about to drive through Burger King when the inbox lit up with a message from Tojo Yamamoto. The e-mail from my old friend was a classic example of Tojo’s elegant economy of words: “Tojo hungry.”

A call-out from Tojo always elicits a number of lunch suggestions but Gumper BoDiddly made the call. Remembering Tojo’s embarrassment over the ill-conceived Ndamukong Suh Hunger Strike, Mr. Diddly suggested a never-been-gumped target: "Tokyo" -- apparently the Gump’s only non-chain Japanese restaurant inside the Bypass.

Tojo, who was downtown teaching self-defense and anti-groping techniques to female state employees (no-bid contract), was absolutely giddy at the prospect of dining at an "authentic" Japanese eatery. Tojo responded that while he had never tried Tokyo, he was honored that we chose a Japanese establishment for lunch. He gave BoDiddly the ultimate seal of approval, e-mailing us with a gushing “Tojo like.” It was on.

What we wanted!

BoDiddly, Cornbread Carp, Clemenza, Shadow Pup and I arrived first and were waiting outside Tokyo when our big tomodachi* rolled up in his pimped-out Mitsubishi Galant. Imagine our shock when Tojo bounced out of his ride in the signature silk robe, as always, but WEARING SHOES. We had never seen such… Tojo in footwear! But as reported, it was colder than Nick Saban’s blood that day.

Sadly, this is where it started to unravel for poor Tojo. First of all, Tojo told us to follow his lead, as if to show us, hey, this is how we roll in the Land of the Rising Sun and I don't want you guys to look like a bunch of rubes. “Shoes off,” he said.

We went in shoeless only to find a shabby-looking, fluorescent-lit lunch counter with three or four overweight patrons guarding their food like they were Poindexters and we were trying to copy their pop quizzes. Worst of all was a sign that said NO SHOES, NO SHIRT, NO SERVICE. Words can’t describe the stricken look on Tojo’s face as he stood there holding his shoes (the excellent kimono, while very cool, is not exactly a shirt, either). “Tojo confused,” he said.

Tojo approached the lady behind the counter. They bowed and had a short conversation in Japanese. We waited in our socks, the fat stateys giving us the apprehensive once-over, apparently afraid we were there to seize their egg rolls. Tojo bowed again and turned to face us. “Shoes on,” he said, then paused and dropped his eyes before adding, “Shadow Pup not welcome.”

As LITG followers are aware, there is a particular bond between Tojo and Shadow Pup. You may recall that Shadow Pup’s keen senses of smell and genealogy once saved Tojo and the Gumpers from potential disaster at Choices Chinese on Commerce Street (Shadow Pup smelled a distant cousin in the walk-in cooler and led the group safely out of danger to a fantastic lunch at Cool Beans).

Imagine the awkwardness of the situation -- LITG’s A-Team barefoot in the cold at an ersatz Japanese restaurant, being told that our Lead Dog has to leave, while a 340-pound ex-professional wrestler best known for the dreaded “Stomach Claw” tries coming to grips with the dishonor of it all.

It got worse. At about this time the cook, a good-sized fellow as fidgety as that Asian guy in The Hangover, emerged from the kitchen with a meat cleaver to enforce the bullshit shoes/shirts/dogs provisions of the Tokyo policy manual. Tojo’s eyes narrowed as he shifted the center of his massive gravity to the balls of his feet, bent his knees slightly and sized up the cook. This thing was about to blow.

Luckily Shadow Pup saved the day once again, agreeing to wait in the car if we promised to take him to Hamburger King afterwards (I don’t think the Pup was comfortable at Tokyo in the first place, especially the way the cleaver guy kept eyeballing him).

Well anyway, mayhem averted, we put our shoes back on and everybody ordered the “special of the day,” which was a moderately tasty and inexpensive beef/chicken/shrimp concoction you've had a thousand times. It was heaped atop enough rice to give an Atkins dieter a starch seizure. “Hmph. Taste like Chinese. Pass soy sauce,” said Tojo.

What we got.

(you can almost see the MSG)

After lunch, Tojo bowed to the counter lady, glared at the cleaver-wielding, lucky-to-be-alive cook and left the building. Outside, he paused at Clemenza’s limo, where Shadow Pup was laid up in the back seat watching a DVD of Turner & Hooch. The bulletproof tinted glass slid down and we watched as Tojo gave Shadow Pup a scratch behind the ear, right where he likes it. They exchanged a few words then Tojo shuffled off to the Galant and drove away.


Editor’s notes:

Location: If you still want to know, “Tokyo” is located at 701 Madison Avenue at the intersection of Madison and Union, next to some tire place.

Food: If you want a couple pounds of middle-of-the-road Chinese at a fair price, this is your spot. Tokyo also scores a perfect "10" if you HATE THE EARTH. Every single container and utensil (eat-in or take-out) is made of styrofoam or plastic. Yep, and the shitty mass-produced duck sauce is in those shitty little plastic packets, too.

Note to Legislators: There is parking in back, which is good if you don’t want anybody to know you’re inside signing a pact with the devil or trying to get your girlfriend out of the Frederick's of Hollywood gear you bought her during the last special session.

Also: It must be noted that of the other Japanese places in town, one is a chain hibachi joint and the others are outside the Bypass. Although LITG does make occasional forays to the periphery, Tojo has never imposed his considerable will to steer the group to any of these establishments. He is a gentle giant, Tojo.

* Tomodachi = good friend. I think. Hope it’s not something that pisses Tojo off.