tokyo comes alive at all hours of the day — the early mornings are dotted with joggers and dog-walkers, mid-afternoons linger with santal 33 from post-shopping pitstops, up until the 5 o’clock chime dances through the city: tucking in the day and waking up the evening.
there is something particularly special that happens every weekday from 11:30 to about 15:30: the lunchtime rush — my favourite time of the day. queues spill out of establishments boasting their lunch special. known to entice the office worker, who is forever in a rush but will always have time for something delicious (no tesco coronation sandwiches here). give or take 600-2,500 yen, one can tuck into an appetiser, main, sides, soup, and something sweet if you’re lucky.
typically served all on one tray, the lunch special is arguably the perfect meal. trying a taste of some of tokyo’s best restaurants can be done if you go for lunch — at a competitive price too.
a ticket back to japan comes with countless things to look forward to: heated toilet seats, hot tea from the vending machines, a respectable level of silence on the subway, but nothing can compete with the anticipation on the tip of my tongue as my tastebuds long to quench their thirst for the taste of home.
elsewhere, lunchtime often gets the short end of the stick — every since brunch came along, it’s necessity was called into question. for myself, lunchtime in berlin is often leftovers jazzed up with something briny and brought to the alter with a soft boiled egg. no complaints here, but there’s definitely some sparkle missing in the mix.
day one back in tokyo, the clock is beginning to flirt with midday, and i’m staring at the dining directory at the basement of roppongi hills (what a website, if i may add). stomach rumbling as i survey the glossy images for each restaurant, all systems are a go and i’m ready to spin the wheel of fortune to see which culinary dream of mine will come true today.
it’s easy to get lost in option paralysis, but i’m trusting that the winds will carry me in the direction meant for me. still staring at the guide, i decide to get moving to survey the options in real life. pictures may say a thousand words, but the length and type of crowd in the queue read between the lines.
lap one: beginning at the teppanyaki place i meander around the circular layout, glancing at the larger than life menus, on the lookout for anything to catch my eye. i pass by the kaiten sushi place that we used to go to after kindergarden. raw fish and i weren’t friends yet, so i can only vouch for the kappamaki and inari zushi (which are delicious), but the tamagomaki itch didn’t need to be scratched right now.
next up is a trendy ramen place with too many tourists and it’s competitor with a similar clientele. as i make my way back to my starting position, and it was clear who the top contenders were:
the three options all passed the test of delicious japanese dishes that i haven’t gone near due to it’s lack of existence abroad or because engaging with it elsewhere would be a stab in the back to my tastebuds.
round two: the good thing in japan is that what you see is typically what you’re going to get. there’s no big mac magic here, so for my second lap i dedicated time to inspect the menus more diligently than the first, hopefully to decide on one dish that i would order.
the first contender was oyakodon, translating into mother and child, this is a fabulous dish of chicken and egg blanketed over a bed of rice. the photograph of the egg yolk on the menu was luring me in, but for whatever reason my feet kept on going.
the noodle shop came into view, and after weaving my way between the tiktokers drooling outside of the neighbouring ramen spot, i greeted the menu and was immediately hypnotised by the egg yolk holding stake on the bottom left corner of the menu.
weak at the knees i had no other choice but say yes. the omurice would have to wait.
after placing my order a the ticketed vending machine, the cypress wooden door slid open and i was invited in. jazz music perfumed the air with subtle notes of hushed slurping as solo-diners tucked into their bowls. i took my seat in the corner of the wrap-around counter, and let the peaceful atmosphere melt into my pores as i waited.
when my bowl arrived and it was as if the image from outside had come to life. i didn’t take a photograph because doing so felt far too invasive. before my first bite, it was clear that this was something to be treasured.
i unwrapped my chopsticks and felt a gravitational pull to the pickled daikon — the perfect invitation for my stomach to open.
many crunches later, the subtle sweetness and sourness carried on the back of a konbu tang sprouted goosebumps on my arms: this was a flavour far far away from berlin’s sauerkraut.
the prelude ended and it was time for the main act to begin.
chopsticks in hand, i gently pierced the egg yolk open with a similar precision to the game of operation. choosing my incision point carefully in order to optimise yolk-spillage-surface-area.
my first bite dove straight into the pool of yolk that wept out. the unctuous flavour made itself at home with my tastebuds. it was love at first bite: these noodles were the kind that you’d bring home to meet the parents.
this is the flavour my heart longed for in the deepest depths of homesickness that had been simmering on the stove for the past eleven months. the small amount of sauce combined with the egg yolk created a chemical reaction resulting in a dressing so viscous it required all senses to engage. the noodles brought the flavours alive, giving the sauce and all it’s fixings a new dimension with every subsequent chew.
falling more and more in love with the contents of the bowl, i had reached the meal’s midway point, which prompted a pause for a sigh or two of gratitude. taking it all in, i saw a peculiar sign resting on the counter highlighting additional sauces and spices one could order to make their meal their own.
have you been there the whole time?
i was perfectly content in the backseat, but having the option to get in the drivers seat and play with the levers of seasoning sparked a feeling of glee. it was as if everything i i’ve always wanted in a meal was turning into a reality before my eyes. all i had to do was ask.
the black shichimi and vinegar promptly arrived, signalling the start of the second act.
a couple of dashes and glugs later, my already ridiculously delicious bowl boasted a new set of wheels. doing laps around my tastebuds, the additional spice snd acidity took us off script as we ventured down paths of my own making.
—
planes may have touched down, dogs greeted, bags maybe even unpacked, but i’m not really home until my tastebuds tell me so.
Next time: Omurice!