Part 8 (1/2)

I didn't mention this in my letters to Ando because I was writing to him about women, but from the very first time I met Zen, he seemed obsessed with the fact that I am Jewish. didn't mention this in my letters to Ando because I was writing to him about women, but from the very first time I met Zen, he seemed obsessed with the fact that I am Jewish.

One of his favorite books, he would tell me, was Business Methods of the Jews Business Methods of the Jews by Den Fujita, the j.a.panese executive who founded Mc-Donald's j.a.pan. (Fujita, who died shortly before my trip to meet Ando, was sometimes called ”Jew of the Ginza.”) Zen was always threatening to sign up for JDate, insisting that as a j.a.panese man he was ”J” enough. Once, when we both still worked for the Internet company, I attended a Pa.s.sover seder at a San Francisco synagogue, and Zen asked to tag along. He wore a yarmulke and asked the four questions, and he smacked his lips after his first taste of matzo ball soup. As the female cantor led the congregation in by Den Fujita, the j.a.panese executive who founded Mc-Donald's j.a.pan. (Fujita, who died shortly before my trip to meet Ando, was sometimes called ”Jew of the Ginza.”) Zen was always threatening to sign up for JDate, insisting that as a j.a.panese man he was ”J” enough. Once, when we both still worked for the Internet company, I attended a Pa.s.sover seder at a San Francisco synagogue, and Zen asked to tag along. He wore a yarmulke and asked the four questions, and he smacked his lips after his first taste of matzo ball soup. As the female cantor led the congregation in ”Dayenu,” ”Dayenu,” a traditional Pa.s.sover song, he tried to follow along in Hebrew. When the song ended, the cantor translated the lyrics. ”If G.o.d had led us out of Egypt,” she said, ”and had not executed judgment upon the Egyptians, a traditional Pa.s.sover song, he tried to follow along in Hebrew. When the song ended, the cantor translated the lyrics. ”If G.o.d had led us out of Egypt,” she said, ”and had not executed judgment upon the Egyptians, dayenu. dayenu. It would have been enough. If He had parted the Red Sea for us, and had not let us through it onto dry land, It would have been enough. If He had parted the Red Sea for us, and had not let us through it onto dry land, dayenu. dayenu. It would have been enough.” Later, in my car, Zen said, ”Now I see why Jews are so successful. It's because you're so demanding.” I didn't know what he meant by that, so I asked him. It turned out that he had misheard the cantor and thought It would have been enough.” Later, in my car, Zen said, ”Now I see why Jews are so successful. It's because you're so demanding.” I didn't know what he meant by that, so I asked him. It turned out that he had misheard the cantor and thought dayenu dayenu meant ”it would meant ”it would not not have been enough.” If G.o.d had only parted the Red Sea, not enough! I set Zen straight, but he was skeptical. ”Do you really think anything short of the Promised Land would have been enough for you guys?” have been enough.” If G.o.d had only parted the Red Sea, not enough! I set Zen straight, but he was skeptical. ”Do you really think anything short of the Promised Land would have been enough for you guys?”

When he called out to me in New Osaka Station, Zen was wearing a maroon Banana Republic dress s.h.i.+rt that, he later told me, had been selected by his image consultant. It struck me that he resembled Ernie from Sesame Street. My hair was thinning in front, and I was starting to look like Bert.

”Hey, Zen.”

We shook hands. Zen rarely bowed.

”Hey, man,” he said. ”This is for you.”

Zen presented me with a small shopping bag, and opening it, I found that it contained a copy of his new book. t.i.tled Wow Method Wow Method, it embodied the philosophy of his management coaching practice. Like most new books in j.a.pan, Zen's came sheathed in a marketing banner. This one said, ”You can't change your life just by reading a book!”

Which was clearly meant to imply that you could.

”So, Andy. What are you doing in j.a.pan?”

I was hungry. ”Let's get something to eat and I'll tell you about it.”

I had visited Zen in j.a.pan once before, in Tokyo, and we had spent two hours trying to find a restaurant. He would suggest places, but I kept nixing them, hoping for something better. We searched until we got so hungry that we had to settle for the nearest yakitori bar. After a mediocre meal of skewered grilled meats, I said, ”I guess there's a cost in not choosing quickly.” To which Zen replied, ”You just figured that out?”

This time I was better prepared. On the way to the station, I had stopped by the Internet cafe and scanned Chowhound's international message board. An American exchange student had posted about an Osaka liquor store with a trapdoor that led to an exclusive sake-tasting cellar. The store's Web site listed rules governing the behavior of tasting patrons, such as ”Conversation should center around sake. Work-related conversation is prohibited.”

I told Zen about the place, and he said, ”Wow.”

We hailed a cab and when we arrived, it looked like any other liquor store, until the young male owner opened a hatch in the floor. We s.h.i.+nnied down to the bas.e.m.e.nt, where the owner led us through a network of white catacomb-like tunnels lined with sakes from all over j.a.pan. We chose several bottles, carrying them out to a round table, where the owner poured samples into small ceramic cups. Our conversation was borderline work-related, but we spoke in English, so the owner didn't give us any trouble.

”What are you doing here?” Zen asked again. ”Magazine story?”

”Not a magazine story. Do you know about Momof.u.ku Ando?”

Ando wasn't exactly the Bill Gates of j.a.pan, but he was generally known as a famous entrepreneur.

”The guy who invented the noodles?”

”Yeah.”

”What about him?”

”I'm here to meet him.”

”What for?”

Zen was one of the closest people in my life. Still, I wasn't ready to tell him about Matt and the letters to Ando. My answer was truthful nonetheless.

”I'm not sure.”

”Wow. When is your appointment?”

”I don't have an appointment.”

”Wow.”

The first bottle we tasted was an Urakasumi junmai, junmai, from Miyagi Prefecture. In my journal I wrote, ”textbook green apple flavor.” I related to Zen what had happened so far, and told him about Ando's shack and the museum. from Miyagi Prefecture. In my journal I wrote, ”textbook green apple flavor.” I related to Zen what had happened so far, and told him about Ando's shack and the museum.

”Just hearing about that shack makes me want to build one in my own backyard and spend a year in it inventing something,” Zen said. ”It's really giving me a hard-on.”

The ”hard-on” comment was an inside joke. When the venture capitalists politely asked me to replace myself as CEO, Zen and I interviewed several candidates. One was a middle-aged woman who shared her vision for the company over a sus.h.i.+ lunch. Zen and I were excited by her ideas, and near the end of the meal, Zen told her so. ”You know, talking to you is really giving me a hard-on,” he declared. The woman nearly choked on a bite of tuna, and later, I asked Zen what he was thinking. He told me that he was under the impression that hard-on hard-on could be used to express excitement of any kind, and in polite conversation. He had apparently gotten that idea from a movie. ”You know, like in could be used to express excitement of any kind, and in polite conversation. He had apparently gotten that idea from a movie. ”You know, like in Top Gun Top Gun,” he said, and he described a scene in which a U.S. Air Force gunner utters the phrase while firing on a target. I've never seen Top Gun Top Gun, so I don't know if it's true. Needless to say, the woman didn't take the job.

The cellar rules prohibited the consumption of any food except umebos.h.i.+ umebos.h.i.+ and Kinzanji miso-a chunky fermented bean paste from Wakayama Prefecture. We ordered an appetizer-size portion of both. and Kinzanji miso-a chunky fermented bean paste from Wakayama Prefecture. We ordered an appetizer-size portion of both.

”Do you think he's going to meet you?” Zen asked.

”It's not looking good. His PR flak is not exactly giving me a warm-and-fuzzy.”

Zen scratched his forehead.

”Andy, how fast did you put on your underwear this morning?”

”Huh?”

”Gimme the book.”

It took a second to realize that Zen was talking about his book. I handed Wow Method Wow Method back to him, and he opened it to page 29. back to him, and he opened it to page 29.

”Read this,” he said.

In big, bold characters, the writing on page 29 said, ”From one to ten, how would you rate the speed at which you put on your underwear this morning?” An explanation was on page 30. The idea was that your underwear-speed rating correlated to your excitement about starting the day. Zen postulated in the book that if you rated yourself each morning, you would begin to naturally make choices in your life that improved your score.

”The day will come when you will give yourself an eleven,” he had written. ”It would not be surprising if you scored thirty, or even three hundred.”

I tasted a shot of a daiginjo daiginjo from Nagano Prefecture while thinking back to getting dressed in the morning. The sake was sweet and smooth, and it smelled like bananas. from Nagano Prefecture while thinking back to getting dressed in the morning. The sake was sweet and smooth, and it smelled like bananas.

I gave myself a nine.

”Good,” Zen said. ”You're on the right track.”

For dinner, we ate mackerel and smelt at a grill restaurant around the corner. I ordered a side of s.h.i.+okara s.h.i.+okara-squid fermented in, among other things, its own guts-and Zen accused me of ordering it to impress our cute waitress. Truth be told, the purplish, slimy delicacy looks like the rotting innards of a small mammal, and the first time I laid eyes on it, I nearly threw up. But I had truly come to love it, and I didn't feel the need to write anything to Momof.u.ku Ando.

”I really love that stuff,” I told Zen.

”Sure you do,” he said.