Not 15,” Natsuco Grace says twice, making a “5” and a “0” with her hands. Together, the duo estimate they’ve been to Texas more than 50 times. Her husband, Takeshi Yoshino, has himself been traveling to Texas every year for the past 26 years they return annually to buy barbecue sauce in bulk and to shop for the boots, belt buckles, and big hats that make up much of of their wardrobe. She fell hard for it all: the customs, the drawl, the dining, the country, the country music. ![]() Natsuco Grace first went to the Lone Star State decades ago to practice her horseback-riding skills. But Texas, says Natsuco Grace Yoshino, Texas is where the magic is. “We’ve been waiting for you,” she cries, before drawing me into her arms and squeezing me tight. A woman in a pink western shirt and cowboy boots approaches, takes my hands in hers, and cranes back her head, as if drinking in a long-lost relative. A slim man dressed head to toe in dark denim swings through my line of sight, tipping his 10-gallon hat in acknowledgement of disrupting my reverie. Glasses clink down on the wooden bar, and Strait sings on. His voice, smooth as rivers of syrup, floats down and around me, pooling at my feet. ![]() There he is on the ceiling, smiling down from a poster, there he is on a $1 bill, sheathed in plastic, pinned on the back of the bar next to a Texas A&M Forest Service patch and a bumper sticker for Fort Worth’s Martin House Brewing Company. George Strait wasn’t supposed to be in Japan, but when I push open the door to a bar called Little Texas on a cool Tokyo night, the so-called King of Country is here: hand on his hip, hand on his wide-brimmed white hat, a crooked smile tilted to the left, like a puppeteer pulled the strings unevenly.
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