Food and Drink

Back in July last year I wrote this about an incredible little coffee shop I’d just visited in Osaka:

“Japan has plenty of old and dated coffee shops. Establishments that look and feel like they belong in a completely different era. At the same time, it’s a spell that can easily be broken by a TV playing in the corner, or even something minor like a modern appliance or menu.

This almost 80 year old establishment, on the other hand, has no such distractions. Everything from the dust and grime to the ageing proprietor takes you back to an earlier time. A business that has been in the owner’s family since its inception, and with coffee only costing ¥160 a cup, it’s very clearly love rather than money that keeps him going. For how much longer it’s impossible to say, but until the day it finally closes, it’ll remain a place that is truly like no other.”

Sadly it turns out the shop didn’t keep going for much longer at all, as on a return visit towards the end of last year, it was closed. Not just for the day either, but forever — something confirmed by a chat to the man running the shop opposite. The lovely old master, he was disappointed to say, died in August. Here then, as a way to remember, are photos once again from that very special visit, along with the scene that I found several months later.

Old-style Chinese restaurants have appeared on these pages before. Some are thankfully still in business, whereas others have sadly shut up shop forever — their owners having died or were simply too old to carry on.

This one, however, is still very much a going concern, as despite being in operation for 48 years, the couple in charge show no sign of hanging up their pots and pans just yet. An incredible little place not far at all from the busy and bustling streets of Shinjuku, but both its interior and exterior seem to be from a very different time. One when life was a bit slower and convenient but dull chain restaurants didn’t dominate the city’s streets.

Tokyo is changing fast, with so many old buildings and businesses disappearing forever, but this traditional little fruit and vegetable shop is happily still going strong, and remains as beautifully untouched by time as ever.

The first photo is from June 2019. A shot I’d wanted for the longest time, but opening days and the weather had repeatedly made that impossible. However, even after eventually getting that one frame, a single image of such a special place never seemed enough, so on a recent return to the area, I thankfully got a couple more. It was as the light started to fade as well, which meant for something different. A nocturnal sight that did not disappoint in the slightest.

A friend and I first drank in this truly unique little bar about 10 years back, and each subsequent time we’ve dropped by for a few beers it’s been just as much fun as that initial, decade ago discovery. Something that a long overdue return the other day happily reconfirmed.

Its clutter, grime and welcoming nature make each visit both joyous and memorable, with even a rat making a brief appearance on one occasion. Needless to say the uninvited guest surprised us, but for everyone else present, its brief dash through raised barely an eyebrow.

In business for over 40 years, with the son now helping his mother run the place after the death of the master, there are dusty and discoloured mementoes attached to the walls and on pretty much every surface other than the counters. A bar where nothing really changes except the menu, and as the last 2 photos prove, even that doesn’t alter much. Not even the prices. And yet the images were taken 6 years apart.

So here then is a selection of my memories from those evenings spent there. Some are clear, whereas others are decidedly more hazy, but all of them I feel fortunate to have.

Many of my photographs over the last few years have been small series attempting to tell stories, or document older places and the people connected to them. Such opportunities, however, don’t present themselves all the time, and some walks are mainly filled with ordinary, everyday life, meaning they are mostly quiet and relatively uneventful.

The photos here are from one such walk last week. No moments or scenes really stood out, or in some way felt exceptional, and yet as is always the case, the long meander was an enjoyable one. It was also no less meaningful in its own way, and to use a probably overused word, it was also fairly mindful. The perfect way, for me at least, to be fully present and in the moment — simply taking everything in and occasionally photographing whatever presented itself. All done with no expectations or particular aim. An approach that in the end arguably did have a theme, if not exactly a story. One of the strangely appealing ordinariness of daily sights and scenery.