Imagine, if you will..

Tokyo, Japan …this gorgeous view of Mt. Fuji. It’s one we might have had from our Shinkansen today, had the weather not been so overcast.

We took our final bullet train from Kyoto to Tokyo, as we now start to wind down our journey.

Our hotel turns out to be rather stunning — with a promised view of Mt. Fuji, weather permitting, as they always say. In the meanwhile, we can admire the interior views.

The view from our room is nice, even in the rain. We face Tokyo Tower, which gets lit up like the Empire State Building at night. I think we now have a Halloween theme.

After unpacking, we found our way back to Takashimaya, the absolutely magnificent real department store, where my new glasses awaited. Sad to say, we no longer have anything like it in New York anymore.

As one might have predicted, Mr. Sakai was out today. But we sent our regards, and picked up my new specs, which I expect will dazzle New York. You might see a photo if I can ever catch a better hair day. Would you believe it’s just as humid and almost as warm as when we left Tokyo a month ago?

Don’s Food Corner

Since we were in such a fancy old-timey department store, which featured a white-gloved elevator operator, I thought it would be neat to see if they still operated one of those grand restaurants that all fine department stores once featured. Unfortunately, just like American department stores, Takashimaya no longer has one either.

Instead they have two floors of small restaurants featuring different cuisines. It was like the Epcot center of restaurants. Mexican, Indian, Chinese, Japanese, American hamburger. And, wonder of wonders, a German restaurant that served SCHNITZEL. You-know-who became almost apoplectic when she spied the very word schnitzel.

The restaurant was closed when we got there. Despair set in. But then we found out that it was closed until 5 p.m. for “resting.” It was 4 30, so we waited.

It was all rather humorous. The young Japanese waitress was befuddled by our questions and demands — like no bell pepper sauce on the schnitzel. But she seemed to have embraced her role as a quasi-German because she had bleached her hair blond. (There are a lot of blond Japanese, both male and female.)

Besides the schnitzel, Jo ordered a salad that claimed to be cold ham salad. There was nothing traditional about it. It was a modern salad with arugula and radicchio as the main event and a sprinkling of some fried bits of pancetta. But that’s OK. The dressing was a bit of Balsamic vinegar. So German!

We were also brought a couple of slices of what the waitress called paté. We had to order a couple of slices of bread to go with the paté. The whole thing was completely flavorless, but it did come with a nice puddle of grainy mustard.

I ordered a platter of small sausages that had been promised to be served with German potatoes. The sausages, as flavorless as the pate, had a crispy skin, which was surprising. The potatoes were basic fried things with a few strands of onion fried along with them. No German would claim this dish as representative of his country.

Like all meals we’ve had in Japan, the various dishes did not come in any logical order or with any consideration that all the people at the table are to be served at the same time. Ultimately, however, the schnitzel arrived. Do I need to say that someone was disappointed? She can even be picky, if not crestfallen, in Vienna when it’s not exactly right. Here, well, the grading system was suspended out of pity. We couldn’t even determine was meat was used in this schnitzel attempt. Chicken? Pork? It didn’t matter. It was overcooked. Breading like sandpaper. Burned at the edges. And tough.

I warned Jo that this would be our last attempt at international cuisine in Japan. From now on it’s just Japanese. But that could include egg salad sandwiches from Family Mart. After all, it’s not just American tourists eating all those egg salad sandwiches; discerning Japanese are helping.