The blogger of Tokyo Espresso declared that his search for great espresso in the city was over and admitted that it might as well be the end of his blog.
Look what we found inside:
It is a hole-in-the-wall in an inconspicuous corner of a little lane. It asks to be walked past. It doesn’t just stop at fitting right into the eclectic character of the Kitazawa area of Tokyo, it generously makes you feel like you fit in too. By walking in, ordering a drink, and waiting for an intolerably long time (maybe even in Canadian standards), you cannot do anything but stare out the open doorway and huge window right beside. There’s a bench under the window, and if you lean too much, you could probably flip right out and land on the road. Likewise, every person who walks by, every ruckus down the corner, cannot escape your eyes and ears. The little doughnut shop across the street didn’t either and so we discovered another gem while waiting.
The said place only opened this year in April. Its owner barista moved back from 10 years of espresso training in New York and makes your well to satisfy himself more than you. He grinds his beans with a rhythm, pulls his espresso, and steams his milk in the smoothest way possible. Most distinctively, he will stomp the steamed milk pitcher on a marble slab a solid five times that might frighten most people.
He pours, and is more interested in making the next cup than whether you pick it up or not (his wife worries about that).
I knew all this about him, but couldn’t find a way to get his attention (without potentially making him grumpy for disturbing him). Eventually I did: I landed on the floor because the bench collapsed. I almost did a happy dance for getting him out of the counter. But instead, I got a few words in about espressos, New York, and where I was from. I managed to make him smile, and got him to show off his English. He won’t remember me, but he’s the (totally unlocal and untypical) highlight of the Tokyo that I’ve constructed in my short stay there and if I had come even half a year earlier, I’d have missed him. And by missing him, I’d have missed the huge local autumn harvest festival that drew thousands of people out carrying miniature shrines and banisters and an even bigger crowd on the street watching and joining in. Even our local Tokyoites didn’t know what it was, but happy faces and lively bodies sprawled all over the pavement doesn’t really need translation.
I suppose the publication of these faces is illegal, but if you really would really like to sue me for showing happy memories, please let me know and I will take it down so that they don’t upset you.
*Photo credits are to my dad*