Chicken, but not as we know it

I'm not sure what it is about Japan that makes them enjoy foods that seem so inherently dangerous to us - like that fish that will blow you up if it's prepared slightly wrongly - but even though people don't think I'm a particularly adventurous person with food, I learned to really like sushi since first visiting Whitney's parents. This time, we went out to a Japanese place here in Berkeley the day after we arrived, not for sushi like I'd experienced before but for a traditional yakitori/shochu meal. I don't know what those words mean either, but it seemed to be composed of parts of seafood and poultry that you couldn't use anywhere else - up until that night, I could say truthfully that I hadn't eaten chicken kneecaps.

It was an unusual experience, but vastly improved from last year - because you've never known the meaning of tragedy until you've attended your own birthday celebration via Skype. At the end of the meal, they presented a cake made up of more traditional ingredients, thoughtfully decorated with the Russian naval flag.

Among the other items (that I could read) on the menu, one thing that I didn't try was the chicken tartare. Because there's a line between foods that are exotic and those that are just clearly a bad idea.