While in Japan, I required the services of a noodle coach.
Our hosts kindly neglected to mention my pigly unkempt way with noodles, but my everyday dining companion pretty much gave me a complex about my technique. It turns out that I was often leaving a man down, letting the final noodle of every bite flap around unattended, the last drip of sauce ready to take off like a kid diving into the lake from a tire swing. There's more to this noodle eating than meets the eye.
At the airport, a last burst of coaching improved my posture and my noodle way improved, benefiting from solid coaching from the noodle coach.
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