Pull up a chair folks. This is going to be a brief look at a JET icon that, surprisingly, in my two years of spouting crap about living in Japan, I have yet to mention.

In you’re in Oz and your sole aim for a night out (or in, for that matter) is to get as fucked as possible for as little as possible (in other words, you’re a student) you essentially have two options: one, goon. two, passion pop. It’s a sure-fire recipe for passed out in a gutter for less than ten bucks success. If you want a similar experience in Japan you could head to your local supermarket and grab some cheap sake or shouchu and that would do the trick. However, amongst the JET community, there is a legendary tipple that has achieved cult status and, really, to go on a cheap bender with anything else would be sacrilege.

This god of cheap alcohols is called Mon Frere and it’s a sugarnated red wine (in the loosest sense of the word) and is available at my local supermarket in easy to open 1.8 litre cartons for a smooth 800 yen. The scary thing is, it’s really drinkable. Hell, after the second glass it’s enjoyable and by the time you’ve finished the carton you’d probably recommend ordering it at an Italian restaurant to go with pasta.

My first experience with MF was a cold Sunday night a few months after I’d arrived in Japan. For some reason, noone had really wanted to head out on Friday night. Ditto Saturday. By the the time Sunday had rolled around I was sitting in my apartment going a little stir crazy. I was all ready to pack it in and call it an early night when Lorna gave me a buzz on Sunday night, “Hey, I haven’t done anything all weekend, shall we get drunk?” We worked our way through a six pack of ludicrously bad beer, had a near religious experience with the Mon Frere and then decided to wander down the hill in the freezing cold to buy a carton of sake from a vending machine. School the next day was possibly the worst day of my life.

So began an obsession that has lasted for two long Suzurandai-living years. The times when my kitchen has not been graced with several empty cartons of the good red stuff have been few and far between. However, a problem arose. With Lorna heading back to fame and fortune in the land of the Beefeaters in a mere few weeks, our chances for Mon Frere induced happiness were rapidly running out. Last night, Lorna, her friend Rob and I worked our way through four litres of the stuff in very respectable time. We had to make an emergency call for Pizza mid-way through the second carton, but we got there in the end. I think it was a fitting tribute to both a great booze and the great times spent in its (and my fellow kimikage alcoholic’s) company.

I’d like to end with a quote from a denizen of that Big Daikon in the sky:

“_I only drink Mon Frere when I’m happy, and when I’m sad. Sometimes I drink it when I’m alone. When I have company I consider it obligatory. I trifle with it if I am not hungry, and drink it when I am. Otherwise I never touch it — unless I’m thirsty_”

Posted in Mwah on Wednesday July 27, 2005.

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