I was hungry once, so I dropped into an Italian restaurant in my neighborhood. But this wasn’t your typical Japan-based Italian spot, where all the staff and all the customers are Japanese. This time, my waiter hailed from the United States, just like me. How’s that for authentic?
This dude spoke very passable Japanese to the other customers, way better than what I have accomplished to date. But I can handle ordering off a Japanese-language menu—mostly. Still, this Yankee didn’t even take time to give me THE QUIZ, but instead opened our interactions in our common vernacular. “So, we’re out of the pork chops,” he said.
I had been eyeballing the beef anyway, so, no issue there. But I still did that mouth-agape thing that you see in movies when someone is at a loss for words. More importantly, even if I found the words, I didn’t know which language to communicate them in. Do I say “Excuse me” or “sumimasen” to start my order? “Check, please” or “o-kaikei onegaishimasu” when it comes time to settle the bill? All throughout the pandemic, encountering English in an eatery was rarely a thing. Suddenly, this guy who is like an expert in English or something forces me to respond in kind. I couldn’t explain it, but sitting in an Italian restaurant in Japan and conversing freely with the waitstaff in English just seemed wrong.
The thing is, there are other environments where I wouldn’t mind using my favorite first language. If I was injured and had to see an emergency-room physician, I would welcome a doctor who had a perfect command of both English and whatever other language those MDs use for medical-speak. Or if I was accused of some random crime, you bet I would want a lawyer fluent in the language of the Bard representing me. So why was I feeling so angsty about this host?
Maybe it had to do with status. After, I was the customer, and customers are gods, to use the Japanese idiom. The Caucasian with the apron was supposed to do my bidding. How dare he put on airs and act above his station by dictating our joint mode of communication.
A more honest assessment is that I was once again defeated by doubt over my Japanese language skills, tossed into turmoil by someone who looked like me but who was droning on in decent Japanese about the state of pork chops.
Clearly, all this negative emotion stems from multiple sources. But as I reflect on that encounter, the solutions are one in the same: continue the conversation in English. As someone who tries to ponder the place of foreigners in Japanese society over the decades to come, I see the wisdom in newcomers acquiring as much of the local language as they can. But there’s no reason to be a bleeding-heart fanatic about it. A little English never killed anyone.
I can spend all day fretting about my lack of Japanese prowess. It’s fine to take a break from such concerns when weighing the merits of risotto over pasta. Mr. Italy showed complete comfort in approaching me in English; I should add to that comfort. This also has the added benefit of bringing a bit of joy to those around us. I have been told by the natives that when a Japanese citizen hears English in their presence, their ears perk up, perhaps in an attempt to prove to Tanaka-sensei, their high school English teacher, that they really were paying attention that day. Some of them might even be awaiting the day when a restaurant worker will unintentionally slip into English so that they can get a little spoken practice in.
With ample time to ruminate on what transpired in that Italian establishment, I now understand what I should have said in response: “Can you confirm once more with the kitchen about those pork chops?”
[Image Credits: 登山家こむぎ/photo-ac.com and Freepik]
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