In 2008, I spent a few days in Tokyo on my way to Thailand. Alone and lonely on my first night there, I braved the chill November mist and happened upon a tiny corner bar in Roppongi. The exterior was so plain and unassuming, I wasn't sure it was open. I poked my head in and saw a man behind the bar and a lovely young woman sitting on a stool opposite him. I asked, "sumimasen, are you open?" The bartender looked at me blankly. The woman said, "yes".
I took a seat at the bar and spent that evening getting to know the bartender/owner/chef Yuta and his college buddy and best customer Aiko. Yuta spoke no English, but Aiko was fluent so she translated for us and before long, we were all communicating clearly.
Several carafes of sake and a bit of shochu later, Aiko broke out some paper, handed me a sheet, started folding and instructed me to do the same. It took me a bit, but I soon realized she was trying to teach me how to make an origami crane. It didn't go very well. My crane looked like an ashtray.
I had so much fun that I returned the next night. This time Yuta prepared some of his mother's specialties courtesy of the house. First, he presented me and Aiko each with a small, smoked fish. It's head was intact, and it's glassy eye regarded me with disdain, "no gaijin would have the stones to eat me." Thinking this was a joke, I hesitated and looked at my friends for some sign as to how I should proceed. Aiko promptly picked up her fish and bit off its head. Yuta did the same. I was afraid this was how it was going to go down. They looked at me and smiled in a way that said, "mmmm, yummy!" Not wanting to offend, I followed suit. The smoky, fishy flavor, along with the texture of crunchy fish skull and squishy eyeballs made my eyes water. I forced a sickly smile as I choked down the mouthful and drained my sake glass in a desperate attempt to eradicate the taste from my palate. Subsequent dishes included pan fried rice balls with fish parts and other fish part based recipes, all from Yuta's childhood.
As the sake flowed, the cuisine seemed to get more palatable until, at long last, it was time to say goodnight...
This past Friday, as we wandered around Roppongi, I tried my best to retrace the route to Yuta's bar. We got turned around once or twice, but ultimately found the small corner address that was home to my warmest memories of Tokyo. It was mid-afternoon and the place looked understandably deserted as most bars don't open until evening. Davida tried the door anyway, and was shocked when it opened easily. Inside, the place was dark, the bar and flooring had been pulled up and all telltale signs of an operating watering hole removed. No artwork, no collectibles, no money taped to the wall indicating that celebratory first sale. Even the small watercolor rendering of the place I had painted which Yuta proudly displayed on the wall behind the bar was gone, an article even the least discerning collector would surely have left behind.
When the door opened and a construction worker stepped in, momentarily scared to death by the white people milling around in the dark gutted space, we were able to learn from him that the place had been closed six months and Yuta's whereabouts were unknown.
In Tokyo, things move quickly and are ever changing. Businesses open and close, buildings are torn down and new ones erected in their place all in the time it takes to order and eat a simple rice bowl. I guess you can't go back.
-Ken
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