Not one piece — one fish

There’s a venerable taiyaki shop in my neighborhood — taiyaki being the fish-shaped pastry filled with sweet red bean — and walking past it always means walking through a delicious toasty smell.

Normally you need a reservation, but one day I happened to catch a walk-in window. In Japanese, you count most objects with -ko (piece) and living creatures — fish included — with -hiki. I asked for “one piece.” The okami-san, the lady of the shop, corrected me: “One fish.” I felt a certain pressure, and found it puzzling. The taiyaki was excellent.

When I told a friend about the shop, it turned out this is a famous bit. At that shop, taiyaki are counted one fish, two fish — ask for a “piece” and you will be corrected.

Today I happened to pass by again, and there it was: the good smell, and the walk-ins-welcome sign. I marched in like I’d been waiting my whole life, made eye contact with the closest person — the old master himself — and said hello.

“How many pieces?”

I was completely blindsided. Wait — aren’t you supposed to say fish?

Suppressing the guilty feeling of correcting the master in his own shop, I said, with no confidence whatsoever: “One fish, please.”

He passed the order back, and the okami-san handed me a piping-hot taiyaki in exchange for two hundred yen: “Here you go — one fish.”

Her eyes said, you get it, don’t you. Relieved, I thought:

So either one’s fine, huh.