An Incredible Happiness

The word "happy" is seldom used to describe me or any of my many emotional states. But this weekend I learned the true meaning of happiness. I must first squelch whatever thoughts you might have about me finding happiness in another person (That's terribly unlikely). This time, happiness arrived in the form of a group of friends, many alcoholic drinks, and an incredible chain restaurant called Arabian Rock.

Yet, this was no mere restaurant, folks. This place is a way of life. One part Disney Land, one part Medieval Times, two parts Broadway acting, and a sprinkle of fantasy and Japan has created the most amazing theme restaurant in all the world. Many a time have I passed this restaurant longing for the courage to bask in its unbelievable atmosphere. This place was first found while wandering the local watering holes looking for a new exciting bar. My friends and I were drawn to the area by the classy and elegant look of the most expensive strip club in Kyoto, guarded by two sumo-sized yakuza men in sunglasses, even though the sun had long since set (maybe they were just getting ready for sunrise?). This particular skin vendor has a sign outside stating that for one million yen (about $10,000) per year you can have something. The kanji was too difficult for any of us to figure out. Yet, I digress.

Arabian Rock. A stunning name for a stunning place. This place was suggested to us by two drunken Japanese salary-men after their own Arabian Rock adventure (at the time they seemed like a sketchy source of information, yet they have proved terribly justified in their recommendation). From the very moment of walking through the door, which was conspicuously hidden behind a secret sliding wall requiring the rubbing of a lamp to open, I was in love with this place. The decor, the style, the overall feeling of the place was constantly making me feel more at home. As we waited to be shown to our seats, the deliciously attractive young Japanese woman in Genie garb appeared from the bowels of the restaurant and brought forth a lamp primed with a ether soaked cotton ball and a candle. She beckoned one of us to rub the lamp and as a hand touched the lamp, her candle touched the cotton ball which immediately evaporated in flames.

The meal was nothing particularly special, the only thing I remember about the food itself was that nearly every dish had cheese in it. Yet another reason for my happiness. About an hour into the dinner, the bland 1980's Arabian/disco music was cut off. Only to be replaced by the familiar tunes of a popular Disney childhood memory. But to my, and most of my friends' surprise, the familiar music was not from the Arabian themed Disney movie we expected, Aladdin. It was in fact the Japanese translation of the Beauty and the Beast soundtrack. (Now, I know you are all intrigued as to why this music started playing, sit tight. The story gets exciting.)

The sound of a crash and the blur of a yellow dress, followed clumsily by a giant Chubaka-esque man brought us out of our contemplative and drunken reverie. To our vast pleasure, there was a live action re-enactment of the Beauty and the Beast occurring around the tented off and cloistered dining tables. Eventually, the chaos stopped, the girls in our group and the table next to ours finally finished squealing with girly anticipation, and the good prince's mask came off to reveal...a moderately attractive Japanese man (big surprise there, if you ask me).

After this amazing feature film finished, desserts, all seven of them, were distributed and passed around the table. There was nothing really fantastic aside from the awkward lone, bright red pastry set off away from the others. This apparently intrigued my friend who immediately dove after it. To his surprise and to my excitement, (not because I enjoy seeing my friends in pain, but merely because I knew it would make for great blog material) the pastry was coated in the hottest sauce ever created by man or the gods. His eyes lit up as if his brain was in flames, and he swallowed, I think. We later learned that this oddball pastry is the practical joke of the dessert tray. It was called the "something something something Akuma something." Akuma, of course, means demon or devil. This is not even the funny part. As he is screaming for some sort of liquid to quench his pain, the table was already cleared and all of the liquids were gone. I tried a small fingertip full of this sauce and my mouth burned for fifteen minutes. I feel very sorry for my friend, yet it remains one of my favorite memories of one of my favorite nights ever.