Eat at an izakaya in Japan

“Last night, my friends and I ventured into an izakaya on this street and after we parted the cloth curtain in front of the Japanese-style sliding doors, we entered a place that is the type of place I always image when I think of Japan. There was a large sushi counter and bar right past the main entrance. Older men smoked cigarettes and discussed the past and bygone eras while salarymen unwound from a long day’s work in the nearby entertainment district. Japanese-only menus lined the walls of the store while vacated seats were quickly filled by new parties eager to have a cold Kirin Lager and enjoy some a la carte items, which are standard fare in the izakaya. The atmosphere in this izakaya was electric – men yelled for servers to refill their beer, I yelled for more karaage (fried chicken) and some shrimp sauce, and a couple seated behind us were on a date. The combination of the smoke filling the restaurant, the unique aromas coming from the kitchen, the sounds of orders being placed, customers leaving and entering the restaurant, and patrons calling for their next plate all make the izakaya a memorable experience in Japan.”

“No English menu (pictured below), few English words spoken by the staff and zero Japanese spoken by us, we finally found a way to communicate and asked for their recommendation. This was accomplished through a lot of hand gestures to understand what part of the chicken we were getting, including the neck and what turned out to be the skin. The additional things we took a gamble on, knowing that we were getting 5 skewers each, pictured below. The round balls were meatballs (sausage we think, which were amazing) and another was beef. The chicken skin had worst texture ever but the staff had been so accommodating and helpful with us that we forced it down with lots of sauce, determined not to leave anything. Ugh. The staff also gave us a few free things to try like a baked potato [...] Once they got confident with the few English words they knew, they tried more to communicate with us a lot more, and it helped that it wasn’t busy. By the end of our stay, we were chattering away to each other in semi broken English.”

“Now, what follows the deferent entrance is a stunned silence as my frame grows to fill the space, and the entirety of the clientele turn and stare in slight perplexity. I then proffer a greeting, and the mama-san offers one in return. The Earth resumes its rotation, and the uncles resume their conversation. On this particular night I was hesitant, unable to make headway in what looked like a bar filled with few people but no available seats. A few customers cleared a chair in the middle of their row at the bar though, and then the questions commenced. “Where are you from?”, “When did you come to Japan?”, “What schools do you teach at?”, “Your Japanese is very good [it’s definitely not].”