USA. A Mexican restaurant. We had not yet ordered anything, and the food was already arriving.
Chips. Salsa. Unrequested. Free.
I stopped the waiter. "We have not earned these."
"They just come with the table, man."
They come with the TABLE. In my land, hospitality is a debt. Every gift creates an obligation, weighed carefully, returned in the proper season with interest of feeling. Here, the gift arrives before you have even proven you can pay for dinner.
This is not an appetizer. This is a declaration: we trust you. Eat.
I ate with the gravity the moment deserved. And then — I must report this calmly — the basket emptied, and a new one appeared.
"Did we…?"
"Refill," the waiter said. "It's bottomless."
Bottomless. They have wells of salsa. The supply lines of this nation are beyond anything my ancestors imagined.
My friend warned me. "Don't fill up on chips, dude."
Too late. I had accepted three baskets. Honor demanded each one be finished — an unfinished gift is an insult. By the time my actual food arrived, I was a ruined man.
I was not hungry. I was not comfortable. I had been defeated by a courtesy.
Generosity that arrives before the request cannot be repaid. It can only be survived.
I know the rule now. I have made my peace with the basket. One basket. Two at the most.
Who am I deceiving. There is no number of baskets I would refuse. The trust of a nation is in that salsa, and I intend to honor all of it.
I went to a ramen shop in Sapporo. Proper local place, no English menu, just me and a bunch of salarymen on lunch break.
I ordered by pointing, food came, I started eating. Was using my chopsticks wrong I guess, dropping noodles, making a mess.
The guy sitting next to me at the counter, without saying a word, takes his chopsticks and shows me the proper way to hold them. Like a demonstration.
Then he goes back to eating his ramen.
I try it his way. Works better. I give him a nod, he nods back.
We eat in silence for a bit. Then he leans over and demonstrates how to properly slurp the noodles. Does it with his own noodles, then points at mine like "your turn."
I try it. It's loud, I feel embarrassed. But he gives me a thumbs up.
For the rest of the meal he like... coached me? Without words. Just demonstrations. How to eat the menma, how to finish the soup, everything.
When I was done he said "good" in English. Only word he said to me. Then he paid and left.
The owner came by after and said "Nakamura-san comes here 20 years. First time I see him teach someone. You are lucky."
I went back to that ramen shop three more times before leaving Sapporo. Nakamura-san was there twice. Both times he nodded at me, watched me eat, gave me one small correction each time.
Last time I saw him I got the nod with no corrections. Felt like graduating.
Reminder for all young parents:
You only get:
- 1 Summer with your baby
- 3 with your toddler
- 9 with your child
- 5 with your teenager
This time is precious. Don’t rush it.
Things you should do this summer in San Francisco + NorCal instead of sitting inside with Claude Code:
🌁 Grab fresh oysters from Tomales Bay
🌁 Pick strawberries, cherries, & blackberries in Brentwood
🌁 Walk the SF Crosstown trail
🌁 Picnic in Dolores, GGP, Lafayette, Crissy Fields, or Alamo Square parks
🌁 Go on a wine tour in Sonoma & Napa
🌁 Take the ferry from SF to Sausalito
🌁 Drive down to Santa Cruz and grab burritos on the beach
🌁 Visit the Ferry Building or Fort Mason farmers markets
🌁 Take a trip to Muir Woods
🌁 Drive down Highway 1 for insane views
🌁 Explore or camp in Carmel
🌁 Hike Mission Peak in Fremont
🌁 Visit Yosemite/Halfdome
🌁 Golf in Half Moon Bay
🌁 Polar Plunge at Aquatic Park or Ocean Beach
🌁 Dine at the Taco Bell Cantina in Pacifica
20 year old playing in the biggest game of his life after he’s spent years working towards this. Let’s cut out the toxic masculinity shit, emotion is okay