If you don’t read Japanese it can be a tricky business choosing a restaurant in a city like Tokyo.  Even in the lead-up to the 2020 Olympic Games, very few of the eating places have signs or menus in English.  Does that slightly intimidating entrance with the sliding door and noren lead to a cut-price ramen shop or a high-end, Michelin-starred kaiseki restaurant? Unless you want to eat somewhere that offers uncertain visitors photographs of the delights inside (and who wants to eat in those places?), sometimes you have no choice but to summon your courage, lift up the noren, and plunge inside without having a clue what awaits you. Those chefs who yell “irasshaimase” as you walk in are trying to be hospitable, but somehow end up adding to the uncertainty and stress.

On a chilly February evening recently, I ducked under a low doorway and into a tiny place in Ebisu that offered little more than six seats at the counter.  I was the first to arrive, so I couldn’t glance at other people’s plates to get an idea of what was on offer. A quick glimpse over the counter and into the kitchen was no help either.  When it became clear to the two guys running this tiny place that a menu would be useless to me, a lengthy mime show ensued which ended a little later with a enormous bowl of steaming noodles sitting in a broth of hard clams that I later discovered is called ushiojiru. It was delicious, of course, and perfect for a winter evening, but there were two more surprises in store for me.  First, the restaurant accepted only cash (unusual in Tokyo).  Second, the ushiojiru was shockingly expensive. Flying blind and solo, I’d wandered into Suzuran, one of Tokyo’s most celebrated and costly ramen restaurants.  Amid their smiles and my blushes, I slipped outside to a local ATM, returning to pay, and eventually to disappear into the Tokyo night with a full stomach and an empty wallet.