Locale, Meguro; Smoked Kitchen, Gotanda; Toritama Honkan, Ebisu
Another day, another lazily titled compilation blog to justify the annual spend on maintaining this website. Yawn.
But wait, you’re in Tokyo. One of the places to eat out. Shouldn’t you do more than just randomly compile a few recent experiences into a short blog entry? Probably. Maybe tomorrow.
Locale, Meguro, Tokyo
One of the criticisms levelled at Millennials like me by older generations is that we are spoilt and spend too much on avocado toast and flat whites to save for our futures. I think this is wrong, because a house deposit generally costs more than a decade’s worth of coffee, but also because pigeonholing a whole generation is lazy and really not funny.
Also, brunch is really nice and what’s the point of saving for your future if your future involves toast and beans that you’ve had to cook for yourself because your mortgage payments are too high to afford the small luxuries on a weekend morning? Life is for living, right?
Such debates were, however, far from my mind as I strolled down the Meguro river on a sunny Sunday in search of Locale, being the only place within a reasonable walking distance of our expensively rented city centre apartment which served a decent looking brunch. There comes a point at which, living in any new city, you crave the familiar, which for me as an older Millennial is, needless to say, some toast with avocado and egg on it for fifteen quid, generally served by a smiling inked hipster in a denim apron and white t shirt.
And, in fairness, Locale delivered. Well, nearly. Unfortunately the Gen Z’rs who ran the coffee shop where the coffee at Locale comes from were typically lazy and feckless and so weren’t open in time to serve coffee with our breakfast. Also, the chef appeared to be a classic resentful boomer, bringing a generally negative, bossy, side-eye energy to the place. I felt I could hear her muttering at our profligacy under her breath whilst also pocketing the profits, which is pretty typical boomer behaviour I’m sure you’ll agree.
Clichés and lazy stereotypes aside, the food was a solid 8/10, but the atmos was a total downer thanks to said boomer, so I’ll likely be spending my house deposit elsewhere on breakfast in future.
Smoked Kitchen, Gotanda (燻製kitchen 五反田店)
The name should really give this away, but this small underground izakaya likes to smoke things. Well, to be more accurate, it likes to smoke things like King Midas likes his furnishings to be gold. Everything is smoked. French fries, mayonnaise, soy sauce, sashimi, meat, eggs, cheese, Caesar salad(?). It wasn’t unpleasant, just a bit odd (especially when washed down with some kind of smoked beer and tomato juice cocktail).
The atmosphere was, unlike Locale , really great. Coming down the stairs from an almost unmarked entrance, I felt a bit like Walter White entering Gustavo Fring’s purpose built subterranean meth lab for the first time. “They built this here? How did they even get that down the stairs?”.
Anyway, a solid 7/10 on food and 9/10 on atmosphere. In my book the perfect place to return for a smoky pre-dinner nibble and a drink before moving on elsewhere for food which doesn’t leave you with a faint taste of ashtray.
Toritama Honkan, Ebisu
Some dishes need to be eaten in the place they are from to be really understood and appreciated. Jamon in Spanish summer in an open-fronted bar on a day just warm enough to make the oil slick your fingertips. Juicy, tender, chicken rice in a hot hawker centre in Singapore with the clatter of cheap plastic cutlery. Dim sum in a crowded restaurant in Hong Kong with massive tables, white tablecloths, the clinking of teacups and little other formality. All of these are essential, life-affirming experiences.
And if it wasn’t on there already, yakitori in Japan should be on that list. Yes, you can get yakitori elsewhere. But it is different here. More meaningful, a little otherworldly. Sitting at a wooden bar, sipping sake or beer or whatever your chosen booze is, while a chef quietly and expertly chars various chicken parts over a smoky charcoal grill is a real experience.
Although yakitori-yas come in all shapes and sizes, Toritama Honkan is typical of what the uninitiated might picture in a chicken based wet dream. Dark wood, low lighting, bandana-adored chefs and about a dozen seats at a narrow bar. I came there in particular to sample the “lantern”, a special skewer that combines grilled chicken innards with a grilled, unfertilised egg yolk hanging delicately from the end of the skewer. It sounds gross, but trust me on this one. Unfortunately, by the time I got round to ordering it, they had sold out for the day. Typical.
Anyway, the rest was hard to fault. Liver, Skin, Neck, Thigh, Chicken Oyster and lots of other yummy bits which neither me, my dining companion or the chef could translate, justified the trip on their own. I left wanting more, but knowing I’d had enough, which was a pretty great way to leave things. But one day I’ll be back for that damn lantern skewer. And I’m ordering it in advance next time.
