Despite the city’s modern, neon-lit image, small, old and cluttered bars are not a rarity in Tokyo. Quite the opposite in fact. It’s just finding them that’s all, as they are often tucked away down side streets near the capital’s more suburban train stations. Although even when a potential drinking spot has been spied, it’s generally impossible to say what it will be like on the inside. Now and again of course the exterior suggests it’ll be interesting, but invariably it’s just a case of opening the door and hoping for the best. Amazingly, however, the best is very often what you get: whether it be an ex-French chef cooking up a storm; an establishment where the bathroom absolutely beggars belief; or a cozy little concern packed full of character but not necessarily particular when it comes to cleanliness.
And this place, to happily prove the point, was no exception.
Like so many others, it too has the clutter and memories of many a year. An impressive fifty to be exact. But what really sets it apart is the old lady who basically lives in the small space by the end of the counter. A counter that itself only seats about six, although even that would be a push.
And from her position there, she regularly scowls at and berates her son — now (supposedly) in charge of the operation. A lovely fella who, from years of practice, cleverly gives the impression of listening to her, when in reality he clearly isn’t doing anything of the sort.