Only one block into the Shinjuku Golden Gai district of Tokyo, I realise my mistake. The idea of writing a guide to Tokyo’s ‘best’ tiny bars? It now seems rather…ridiculous. There are just too many — 70 on the first narrow lane I come across alone, and each tumbledown yokocho (alleyway) in this labyrinthine nightlife district is similarly crammed with dinky watering-holes. Some contain just half-a-dozen seats, others are standing-only tachinomiya.
Pity the first-timer, then, who’s faced with the sensory overload, decision anxiety and FOMO of these seemingly endless neon-lit options. Should I settle in this spot when there are hundreds of alternatives literally round the corner? Maybe they’re having more fun next door? It’s like the bar equivalent of swipe culture.
My partner and I had drawn up a hitlist of venues in Hotel K5’s library bar Ao, trawling online reviews from the comfort of its crimson velvet banquettes, while pre-gaming with seasonal sours (black barley and chestnut, fig leaf and rose). But, heading into Golden Gai’s Friday-night crowds, our best-laid plans are quickly derailed. The first spot doesn’t seem to exist, despite Google Maps’ insistence. Another is at capacity — not hard when its dimensions are roughly that of a single bed.
Helping to narrow down choice a little, many venues display ‘no foreigners’ signs in their windows (legally, customers can only be refused based on language, not ethnicity, so a fluently Japanese-speaking Westerner could argue their case for one of the coveted seats). Others have an eyewatering otoshi (cover charge), which is fine if you’re planning to linger, not so much when the brief is bar-crawling.
Diving out of the rain, we snag the last free stools in Albatross. The taxidermy-covered walls vibrate with punk rock, and the barmaid’s nail art is a gothic masterpiece, encrusted with crystal skulls. Bottles of Japanese whisky glint beneath a disco ball and mismatching chandeliers. A group of strapping Texans wedged on the staircase make the place look positively Lilliputian, and body parts inevitably press against each other as new arrivals contort themselves into the remaining pockets of space. Still, everyone contentedly sips their drinks, pleased to be out of the downpour.
K5 Hotel
Three doors down and Pitou marches to entirely different beat: minimalist decor, soothing jazz tunes and natural wines. The owner, a Central Saint Martins alumnus, pours out various amber-hued, skin-contact tipples made from indigenous koshu grapes. Customers trade bar recommendations across the counter, often with wonderfully enigmatic directions (‘Find the fourth building after the archway and slide open the unmarked door. Say Akito sent you…’).
This is how we hear about Open Book. Behind a sign-less exterior, its shelves are, as the name suggests, filled with Japanese literature — although you’d struggle to read anything, since there’s barely room to swing a Hello Kitty. Open Book embodies another truism about Tokyo bars: besides being pocket-sized, they’re often perfectionists, specialising in one type of drink — in this case, lemon sours. This humble highball — a mixture of distilled spirit shochu, club soda and lemon juice — gets elevated with double-chamber filters extracting citrus essence and homemade syrups.
Absinthe, meanwhile, is the focus at Bar Trench — a Metro ride away in the well-heeled, tourist-lite district of Ebisu. With its dimly lit, Belle Époque interior and old-school drip serves (pouring the green stuff over a sugar cube on a spoon), it’s easy to imagine Toulouse-Lautrec, Degas et al lazing at a neighbouring table.
Ebisu does a fine turn in clandestine, late-night lairs. Janai Coffee looks like a regular hipster café, but show the barista you’ve solved the online riddle and they’ll point out the hidden entrance to its subterranean speakeasy. Espresso martinis all round. A10’s entrance is concealed behind some metal lockers; after fumbling around in the dark, debating whether we’re accidentally accosting a regular apartment building, the whole storage unit swings open to reveal the hidden staircase leading down to one of Tokyo’s iconic listening bars. A 1,000-strong vinyl collection looms above the liquor, the turntables spin and the supreme sound-system envelops us. It’s ideal for that point in the evening when conversation starts to slur.
Truth is, Tokyo nightlife is a multiverse; in the most sprawling of cities, with its intimate, idiosyncratic bar culture, you’re hyper-aware of an evening being able to split off in infinite alternative directions, if I’d reached for that door instead of this neighbouring one, hooked down the previous alleyway, stayed for just one more round… Who knows, perhaps there’s a parallel world in which I had an even better time by toddling along Drunkard’s Alley (Tokyo’s other treasure trove of tiny pubs) and getting mesmerised by the actual hypnotist bartender at Fushigi no Heso? Well, with a name meaning ‘Mysterious Belly Button’, clearly it’s a place of curious happenings.
So, let’s forget being definitive or superlative; these were simply the bars I enjoyed on my Tokyo bender. A pretty representative bunch, running the gamut from dignified to dive, which the next day had me feeling as if a sumo wrestler had squashed my head. They’re fun spots. You should go. But if the person jammed next to you at the bar has recommendations, be prepared to go off-piste.
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