Food and Drink

When in a new area and it’s fast approaching lunch time, there’s always the hope that an interesting little place will present itself. And for me at least the Chinese restaurant below was pretty much perfect, as it’s old, cosy and happily displays all the dilapidation of its five-plus decades in operation.

Several weeks ago I documented the death of a traditional Tokyo bar. The terribly sad sight of a once lively little place that now lies empty and quiet. Why it shut, however, remains a mystery. Its former owner’s relatively advanced age is the obvious answer, but then again, the planned demolition of the building could easily be another.

The closure of the bar below, on the other hand, is unfortunately not lacking in facts. A friend and I drank there back in March 2016. It was one of those lovely chance finds, and one that was clearly very special from the moment we walked in. The interior, the sumo on the radio, and of course the smiling mama-san. A feeling of good fortune that only grew stronger as we relaxed, enjoyed our beers and heard a little bit about our host’s life. And it genuinely was only a bit, as by then she was 93 years old. The details of that night can be read about in the original post here.

After that visit we went back a few times, but always without success. They could easily have been days off. Maybe days she just didn’t feel like opening. Plus once it might have been because we were simply too early. Deep down though there was always the nagging worry that we were in fact too late, and in the end that inevitably was the case. She died at the grand old age of 96, and the bar has understandably died with her. It still looks the same (at least from the outside anyway), but it’s now merely a locked up building rather than a bar, a home and a simply wonderful place to sit down and while away the hours — or indeed the decades.

Tokyo’s old and traditional little bars are genuinely wonderful places to visit and spend some quality time in. There’s the joy, the banter and perhaps more than anything, the invariably advanced age of the owner. All positives of course, but the latter in particular offers the addition of extra wisdom and life stories, plus a refreshingly carefree attitude when it comes to hygiene and even heating.

The downside, on the other hand, is that every visit could well be the very last visit. Admittedly this is arguably true of any establishment, but when the sole person in charge is in their 70s, 80s and sometimes even 90s, there’s sadly only so long they can physically sustain the workload. And so one day the shutters come down, the demolition crew arrive, or as in the case below, the bar is simply stripped bare.

Back in February, I wrote this to accompany a series of photographs depicting some long-defunct vending machines:

“Japan is well known for its vending machines. With good reason too, as despite the ever-increasing number of convenience stores, the vending machine is still ubiquitous. Yet seeing one that’s no longer operational, let alone left to rot, is surprisingly rare.”

The ubiquity of such machines, of course, is most definitely still true, but the rarity of busted and forlorn looking examples, it turns out, is very much open to debate, as on walks in the last month, I’ve had the genuine pleasure of seeing the sad beauties below.

Just over 3 weeks ago, I made what turned out to be my last train journey and bar visit of the pre-coronavirus era, as shortly afterwards, it became apparent that Japan was not going to avoid the pandemic, and with photo work having already dried up, staying near home seemed both the safest and most sensible thing to do.

Now, of course, Tokyo is in a state of emergency, and after an initially slow, worryingly indifferent start, more non-essential shops and services have started to close. Bars, on the other hand, don’t have to, but they are expected to finish up at 8pm, with last orders for booze at 7. A move that really doesn’t make sense, but it will reduce the amount of people out socialising, meaning that in a roundabout way it may well prompt owners to shut up shop anyway.

By the time this is all over then, it’s inevitable that a fair few drinking places will have ceased to exist, particularly the city’s old, local bars, which are invariably run by the old, and sometimes even the unbelievably old. Similarly, it’s also possible that having gotten out of the habit, the number of people going for post-work drinks instead of heading straight home could be greatly reduced.

That said, such discipline won’t exist within every drinker, and regardless of how long the state of emergency lasts, or indeed how many places actually re-open, it’s hard to imagine the bloke below being content to quietly cradle a beer back home.