Checked out of the swanky Asakusa hotel after WAYYYY too much breakfast and dropped our bags at the new AirBnB. The team is meeting up for the final couple of nights before our Japan adventure comes to an end.
But first – Ramen.
Aimi hunted out a shop a few streets away. No idea how she found it because it doesn’t strike me as somewhere that puts much store in advertising; it looks like it’s just been there forever. Her phone has also consistently been terrible for compass headings, so she’s always confidently going off in the wrong direction before turning around and confidently going the other way.
The ramen shop was typical of a lot of places in Japan. A long counter down one side behind which the cooks prepared meals, and a long bench at the counter with chairs and condiment sets spaced out evenly. Jugs of water, glasses and cleaning rags interspersed the seats, and the patrons all helped themselves during the meal and then wiped their place setting when they left.
We ordered at a touch screen terminal near the entrance. This is about the only technology visible in the place, as there were signs up saying not to use your mobile phone. Almost everyone obeyed and so it was nice just to relax into the ancient sound of cooking and ramen slurping. We just had our heads down in our bowls and by the time we surfaced we were both absolutely stuffed.
Heading back to the house, we bumped into Kai, Laura and Nath and set off towards Shibuya. Here we visited the Hachiko statue of the faithful Akita before ploughing through the famous mega-crossing in search of another Pokécentre… another one.
But this one was special because here we made our own unique t-shirts! No one else in the world (probably) has the same Pokémon t-shirts as we do! I also looked for a Nintendo Tokyo t-shirt but they were sold out of XL and L would have been a bit ambitious. Turns out that I’m carrying a bit of holiday weight and XL is a bit ambitious too – fat sad face.
So while the guys finished wandering around the geek shops, Aimi and I found our way up to a café on the roof. It wasn’t a view of the famous crossing but it was a free and high view of the skyline.
Now it was time to part ways as I headed off on my quest to find a sushi shop. I’d been denied sushi two days running so I was adamant I’d get some today. The team weren’t keen – worst vegetabalists ever – so I went on my own and, after a little train juggling, found the shop.
Inside, again, it’s a small shop with a counter down one wall and place settings all along it. I joined a very drunk Japanese couple on one side and a very well-travelled couple from Montenegro on the other. They met in the Czech Republic, lived in Germany for a while and now they are checking out Japan. But let’s get to the food…
Omakase is where you let the chef decide what to cook based on what they have available, what’s fresh and what’s seasonal. There was a board with only two things on it. According to Google Translate: “Matsu Sushi” and “Premium Sushi”. The chef pointed to “Premium”, and so that’s what I got. The BEST sushi I’ve ever had.
It’s made right in front of you, one beautifully crafted morsel at a time. I watched the craftsmen hand cut each leaf of fish, split open spiny urchins and sear perfect filaments of fresh mackerel. Then it’s laid out on the edge of the counter, not on a plate. I waited for it all to arrive, barely containing the drool, and then took a photo. I tried my hardest not to just scoff it all into my face at once. It was incredible, and while I was a bit nervous about the urchin, its actually really tasty.
Sushi, like a lot of things in Japan, is about savouring each individual bit. It would have been rude to just fill my belly and run out. Instead, I ate a piece and then chatted with the couples either side of me, using my limited Japanese, but often resorting to the perfect English spoken by the granddaughter of the proprietor.
This shop has four generations of the same family working there. The current owner’s father started the shop and he’s now 90-something years old. His son works behind the counter with him and the granddaughter does drinks and the orders.
Looking around, the decoration and cabinetry are beautifully crafted originals, worn smooth and polished dark by the repeated work of fingers over time. Every plate and bowl fit in the glass-fronted shelves like they were built for them. No random stacks of stuff. Everything has its place and there is a place for everything. It’s the antithesis of a franchise but, interestingly, shares that trait.
At the end of the meal they were kind enough to take a photo with me, although it felt a little awkward. I had tried to speak Japanese but it’s really hard. The daughter of the owner came out from the back of the shop for a chat right at the end, just as I was leaving. The culture of bowing and showing hospitality and being gracious and respectful is dramatically different to the West. I did my best to do the same, thanking them for the meal and their hospitality without drifting into a pastiche of full Eton College English posh boy.
It sometimes seems like Japanese hospitality is contrived and forced but then, when she made the effort to come out and speak with me, it can’t have been. I hadn’t met her till that point.
Throughout the meal she had been out back cooking or cleaning or something and so I didn’t know she was there. Had she wanted to, she could have stayed hidden and I’d never have known. Or even if I did spot her, I’d said my goodbyes to the owner and his granddaughter who had been dealing with me all night. She didn’t have to come and chat but she wanted to, just to ask where I was from and about my travel plans. She seemed genuinely interested to know if I had enjoyed the food and my trip through Japan.
Was she compelled by custom? Maybe. Did it feel forced? Only in the way that two people are trying really hard to cross a language barrier to find out more about the other’s life. I feel like it was genuine interest, at least it was for me.
Not quite full, but glowing with secret fresh sushi superpowers handed down four generations, I set off to meet up with the troop. They had found a dungeon restaurant that happened to be opposite another maid café, although they swear they hadn’t been in there…
As I arrived I pointed to my friends and said I was with them. But that wasn’t good enough; I had to order something. I was still a little peckish (big 6ft2 western man-lump needs more quantity than the quality I had eaten already) and saw what looked like a schnitzel with rice, so I ordered that. Then a huge meal arrived! I’d seen the picture, but of course had no idea what else came with it. I did my best to eat it all but there was just no way. No matter how tasty it was, I couldn’t finish it all.
The night ended with wandering around Shinjuku, enjoying the funny coloured buildings and Godzilla perched on top. Overpriced tourist pancakes satisfied our sweet craving before heading home.