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About Osaka

Favorite flick, *The Pianist*, pops in—Szpilman’s line, “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, stubborn as hell. Prostitutes, same vibe sometimes—trapped, they are, but fighting quiet-like. Met this gal once—Lola, she called herself—sassy, loud, missing a tooth. “Yoda, baby, you paying or praying?” she cackles. Laughed, I did—happy moment, rare it was! Told her, “Credits, I have not—wisdom, I offer.” Rolled her eyes, she did—said, “Wisdom don’t pay rent, shorty.” Fair, that is!

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She is an old (60s-ish) Asian lady who played a fairly obsequious but powerful character, like a financier or high-end buyer, perhaps for some kind of criminal.

So, I’m leaving the museum, and guess what? It starts pouring. Like, outta nowhere! I’m sprinting down Kōen-dōri, dodging puddles like I’m in some weird video game. I’m soaked, but I can’t stop laughing. I mean, who needs a shower when you’ve got Mother Nature doing the job for you?

His take on Japanese cuisine changed Sacramento’s dining scene. Now he’s up for a national honor