Alfresco Dining in Eccentric Settings

When I first moved to Tokyo in 1982, Yatai — mobile street food stalls — could be found all over the city. They would usually appear in the early evening in front of stations or in strategically located business areas and disappear after the stations closed or there was no more pedestrian traffic in the area. There were, however, some that plied their trade all night. The all-nighters usually had a loyal following of shady characters working or involved in the mizushobai — a euphemism for the night time entertainment business that comprises bars and clubs as well as establishments providing the full range of sexual services from straight heterosexual to the most unusual and imaginative options possible.

In those days the Yatai either sold ramen—Chinese-style wheat noodles in a pork or fish broth flavoured with soy sauce or miso and topped with pork, sliced fish cakes, or vegetables —or oden, a Japanese hotpot consisting of fish cakes, potatoes, daikon (giant radish) boiled eggs, and konnyaku (gelatinous cake made from the tubers of the devils tongue plant). Some yatai offered patrons improvised seats and tables upon which to dine (beer crates and planks of wood), but most of them offered standing space only.

Many yatai had been operating on the same pitch for many years, and they had a loyal group of patrons who would frequent them two or three times a week. One such yatai was located behind Yotsuya station. It was run by a real eccentric character who ruled his ‘mise’ (translated as 'shop') with an iron fist. I was a regular at Sasaki-san’s ‘mise’ for many years. I enjoyed the food, drink and banter of his yatai so much that I based the eccentric landlord of the Japanese tavern in my ebook, “Blinded by the Night”, on Sasaki-san.

The yatai seated about twenty people, ten around the stall with the others sitting on two benches either side of a table, which consisted of a board perched on top of some empty crates. It served only oden, sake (Japanese rice wine) and shochu (distilled liquor). The oden was excellent, and itself a reason for stopping by. But the main reason for a visit to this particular yatai was the atmosphere. Every patron was considered an equal and expected to participate in the conversation and the banter on completely equal footing.

There was one rule, and the master (Japanese equivalent of ‘proprietor’) enforced it with the ruthlessness of a medieval despot: No talking about or indicating rank or status! This effectively meant that talking about one’s job, company or educational background was prohibited because they were clear indicators of status, and so was exchanging or even showing a meishi (business card).

The rule, which was not written down or displayed anywhere, was explained to newcomers before they even ordered anything. Naturally, some people took offense and left immediately, but most people accepted and even appreciated it.

Any infringement of this rule would lead to instant eviction from the yatai. Once the master made a decision to evict someone that decision was final. No amount of apologizing or appealing would reverse the decision. But eviction did not mean a permanent ban. People evicted were always welcome to return, provided they obeyed the rule—and many people did return.

There were, of course, some people who either never learned, or perhaps enjoyed the procedure and attention of being thrown out. These serial offenders were sometimes given a temporary suspension of one or two weeks, after which they would be welcomed back as if nothing had ever happened—until the next time they were evicted.

The topics of conversation varied with the season and with what was happening in the world. Baseball and sumo were popular topics, as were culture, politics and society. Discussions were often heated—fueled by the hot sake and sochu—with everyone around the stall, or even those sitting at the table, getting involved. Everybody had an opinion, and every opinion was respected, even if not agreed with.

The master’s favorite topic was sex, of which he had an encyclopedic knowledge. Every single night the conversation turned to the subject, and it was discussed enthusiastically by all present—including the females, of which there were many regulars. In fact, the banter between the master and the female regulars—ladies ranging from early twenties to late fifties—was one of the special features of the yatai. Some of the ladies, no matter how reserved or modest they affected to be at work, could surprise or shock newcomers with the ease at which they handled the sexual innuendos being thrown back and forward.

The yatai, unfortunately no longer exists. A few years ago the master retired and thus one of the few true bastions of equality in Tokyo vanished. That it no longer exists, however, does not mean that it will be forgotten. I, like many other patrons, will always remember it. How could we ever forget a character like Sasaki-san, a man who welcomed everyone on the same terms irrespective of rank, status or gender? How could we ever forget his ‘shop,’ a place that served excellent oden, reasonable but not the best liquor, and a fantastic evening of conversation and entertainment (at least one person was evicted every night and the scene was always highly amusing)?