Japanese is so hot right now

Today Papadada and I had lunch at my favourite japanese spot in town, Naniwa. More like Nani-hell-to-the-yes. Not your regular sushi-train set up, but rather an a la carte scenario with the freshest of fresh makis, seaweed salads, sticky rice, tofu concoctions and other delicious tidbits that bring joy to the palette.

I had a major run-in with my wasabi. I am usually a pro with my soy-sauce-to-wasabi equation. I blew it big time. My nasal passages spent a brief moment in hades as the green fire roared through my schnozzle.

So we're waiting for our fish in a dish, sunning our wintry white limbs in the sun (by the way sun, thanks for making a friggin' appearance after eons of being AWOL), when a group of late 20-something guys and gals take their places at the little japanesie tables surrounding ours. Total scenesters. Seriously, Scene-Sters. There was so much cool exuding from their little posse they could hardly bear it themselves. Their vintage Ray Bans, skinny jeans and latest 'it' bags (even some man-bags thrown in the mix) were screaming, 'We are hipper than hip, cooler than cool, and we are gracing you with our presence.Watch us strut to the rhythm of our wickedness'.

We ended up being flanked by the try-hards. A mini-herd of them on either side of our table. Papadada wearing cargo shorts and a $5 t-shirt, me rocking the classic jeans and white t-shirt combo. No 'it' bags, no long thin ciggies, no designer tousled locks here.

These kids couldn't get enough of themselves. There were so many i-phones being flashed that Apple inc. would've had a joy-gasm somewhere in the Silicon Valley. And the conversations were hilarious. One of the coo-hool boys, whilst ordering, was asked by the waitress if he wanted rice with that. His response:

"Oh God, rice, no, I hate that stuff"

I died laughing and began translating to Papadada, without realising of course that this generation of frenchies more than likely has a strong grasp on the English language. Tough titties. Beat it hipsters. I will laugh at you time and time again.

Their dialogues were peppered with lots of "Aren't you glad I introduced you to that group of people" and "I was SO going to buy those same Ray Bans the other day. They are 'trop chock'" (french for 'way cool') and "Mon dieu, that weekend in Morocco was just what I needed". VOMIT! And can you please high-tail it back to Marrakesh, 'cause I just can't deal with how trendy you are. It's. just. too. much.

In all honesty though, the french can dress. What lay before us, perfectly posed on their japanese sun loungers, was a 4D fashion catalogue. Every single outfit was perfection, from the neutral patent ballet flats on one mademoiselle, to the classic tailored white shirt on a young monsieur. Makeup was minimal to let that natural french beauty do its thing. The boys' hair was perfectly messy. Seriously, I think I just threw up a little seaweed in my mouth.