Favourite Restaurants #4: Kaiten Sushi, Shinbashi, Japan

When I first started travelling to Japan, I would generally stay at the Shiba Park Hotel. My business there was at the Japanese national standards body, whose offices were just across the street from the Tokyo Tower and a short and pleasant walk through the Shiba Park itself from the hotel.

In the evening a longer walk - fifteen minutes or so, one subway stop - led to the Shinbashi area. This is a maze of tiny side streets, packed with minuscule restaurants that fill with salarymen (the Japanese word for middle-class office workers) at lunchtime. After work they're back, for a beer or two with their colleagues, and a plate of noodles or sushi before setting out on their long commute to the distant suburbs. It was in one of these, many years ago, that a friend who was learning Japanese managed to order a plate of chicken sashimi (yes, just raw chicken) with a bowl of what tasted like rotten strawberry jam.

Close to the main square at Shinbashi Station, the one with the steam locomotive in it, is a kaiten sushi restaurant. Kaiten - written 回転 in Japanese - just means "turning round". You've probably been to one - instead of ordering from a waiter, you have a conveyor belt in front of you covered in little dishes of sushi. You take whatever you want, and at the end they figure out your bill by counting the plates. This system depends absolutely on having a very high turnover. It takes only a short while, maybe 15 minutes, for the fish to start to dry out and look distinctly unappetising. Kaiten sushi tends to be a lunchtime thing, when there are big crowds in a short time.

An additional benefit of course is that you don't need to be able to speak the language. Assuming you can recognise the things you like - or don't mind taking a risk - you just pick things out as they pass.

A further sophistication of the same idea is to replace the conveyor belt by a canal with little boats carrying the plates of sushi. This was an American invention - Isobune Sushi in San Francisco's Japantown claims to have invented it, though for all I know so does every other boat sushi restaurant in the country. To my great frustration, I have never been able to work out what makes the boats move round the canal.

But back to Shinbashi. We first went to the Kaiten sushi on our first trip together to Japan (though we'd both travelled to Japan before). It's a very unassuming place, full of salarymen during the week and shoppers at the weekend. It's important to go when it's busiest, before about 1.30 - as I explained before. Sometimes that means a bit of a wait, then you squeeze onto two tiny stools (if there are two of you of course - though it's very common for people to eat there on their own), squashed between the other diners. Service is minimal, though courteous and attentive anyway since this is Japan. Every three places or so there's a hot water tap, a pile of cups and a box of teabags (o-cha - green tea - of course), along with a chopstick dispenser, napkins, soy sauce and pickled ginger. You just take what you need and wait for your favourite sushi to roll by. If you want beer or sake, you have to order that.

In the middle of the island, three or four sushi chefs toil continuously, replenishing the dishes. If you watch them carefully you can see what they are making, usually in batches of half a dozen or so dishes, and if it's something you're waiting for, you can prepare to grab it quick. The normal protocol is just to take things from the belt, but if you want something that isn't there or is a bit special, you can ask one of the chefs and they'll make it for you.

When you've had enough, you just stand up and walk to the door. The cashier shouts to the other staff, who counts your dishes and shouts back the price, you pay - usually in cash - and that's it. There's nor formality to it and of course, in Japan, no tipping.

For some reason we really took to this place. Every time we go to Japan we manage to squeeze in a visit. It hasn't changed in the 20+ years we've been going there, although I guess the staff must have moved on. Each time we dread that it will have closed - so many of our favourite spots in Tokyo have closed and been replaced by office buildings, like the "Rubbery Pancakes" breakfast spot next to the Shiba Park. But, so far, it has still been there every time.

Memorable Meals #1: The Governor's Lunch, K, Japan

A few years ago my then-employer decided to open a development centre in Japan, and asked me to take care of making it happen. As a confirmed lover of Japan, I was delighted to do it. It was initially going to be quite small - and as it turned out, it has stayed that way - so the initial office was in central Tokyo, in one of the sales offices. But at the time, there was talk of expanding to something much bigger, maybe hundreds of engineers, and of opening a second office later on, outside Tokyo. This led to an invitation to one of the Japanese provincial towns, where the prefecture had established an advanced research centre for computer science. I'll be discreet about the actual place, just like in Japanese (and Victorian) novels, and call it K.

As a consequence, I was invited with our Japanese country manager to visit the town and its research centre. Also on the agenda was lunch with the Governor of the prefecture (roughly the equivalent of a US state).

There was a lot involved in setting up our operation, and I was in Japan for three weeks. Luckily we were able to work things so my wife came over with me, and we rented a very nice apartment in the Aoyama district of Tokyo. That's a story for another time, but meant that we both went along to K. We took the train, starting with the Shinkansen (bullet train) line from Tokyo out towards Niigata on the Japan Sea coast. It was February - Tokyo was cold, around freezing. The train trundles through the Kanto plain for about an hour then suddenly plunges into an enormous tunnel, over 20km long.

When it came out, we were quite unexpectedly in a true winter wonderland, with huge banks of snow beside the tracks and enormous snowflakes falling gently to ground. We changed to another train, which followed the valley for a while, then plunged into another giant tunnel. At the other end it was still snowing and we thought we must be high in the mountains still - until we saw the sea. Something I know now - but didn't then - is that the Japan Sea coast gets huge amounts of snow - tens of metres are common, even at sea level. The journey continued along the coast, past small fishing towns and villages, still in falling snow. I love travelling by train in Japan, and this was perfect. By the time we arrived at K it was dark.

The next morning, the day of the lunch with the Governor, was fine, though cold. Isabelle went out shopping and sightseeing - the town has a famous park dating back to the samurai era. It was really bitterly cold and there was snow everywhere.

The lunch was very nearly a disaster before it even started. The country manager was horrified to see me on my own. "Where is your wife?" he asked, shocked. It turned out that she was expected at the lunch too - which was a surprise to me, since in Japan business is entirely conducted between men. Women in the professional workplace are treated as honorary men, but families remain unknown even to colleagues who have worked together for decades. Luckily I managed to track her down - thank goodness we both had rented Japanese cellphones. We snatched her up in the main shopping street, in a kidnap scene from a bad movie.

The restaurant could have been anything from the outside, but once inside we realised that it was an extraordinary place. It had been there literally for centuries, since the days of samurai warlords. It's the kind of place that foreigners just never see, that you see on Japanese soaps when the political bosses get together to fix something behind the scenes. Being Japan, there is absolutely nothing ostentatious or showy about it, everything is in the details.

We took our seats around the table - or rather, non-seats. The Japanese tradition is to sit cross-legged on woven grass mats, or tatami. However even the Japanese find this uncomfortable, and increasingly you find an invisible hole under the table where you can put your feet, as you sit conventionally on the edge of the tatami. In this case, it was even heated to keep our feet warm. Each place had a menu card, and ours had been translated into English. The polite conversation began. It was difficult - we had a translator, but it's difficult to be spontaneous when every remark has to be translated. In addition to the Governor, there was also the head of the research institute that we would visit in the afternoon.

I came close to making a big mistake. There'd been a program on the television the previous night about the railway that used to run to a nearby rural town, very nostalgic with shots of old people coming home from the market, interviews with schoolchildren trying to make a museum out of the station. By way of trying to make relevant conversation, I mentioned it. What I couldn't know was that another nearby long rural line was about to close, no doubt the reason the program had been shown. Rural railways are a very emotional topic in Japan - they were being built until relatively recently, in fact this one only opened in 1964, and the Governor had heard more than enough about the topic lately. The language barrier came to our aid as he defended the decision to close the line.

Every dish was exquisite, served with charm and elegance. They were all delicious. At a refined meal like this, there are numerous dishes, all served separately and cleared before the next one arrives. That's unusual in Japan, where it's more common to bring most dishes at the same time, and the notion of a western-style course is much more fluid.

Well, there was one dish that caused us some difficulty. The Japanese name is "konowata", pickled entrails of sea slug. Remarkably, you can reuse the sea slug afterwards - its entrails grow back again, a useful evolutionary trait as it turns out. Luckily for us, it is astoundingly expensive, about $50/kg, which means we only got a tiny amount of it. It was the centrepiece of its course, but could be readily swallowed without touching the sides.

There were 15 dishes in total, each served on a special plate or dish which no doubt has some traditional significance. Beer and sake were served throughout, though we drank very little considering what was in store for the afternoon. Finally the meal came to an end and, after the usual polite formalities and much bowing, we went out into the snow.

It's unlikely I'll ever experience another meal quite like that one. The evening meal, in a hotel with the heads of some local computer companies, was utterly unremarkable. The next day we returned to chilly Tokyo, by plane this time, but the memories of the Governor's Lunch will be with us forever.

Jottings from Japan

(I wrote this back in November, on my way back from Japan, but for some reason never got round to finishing and posting it). More pictures here.

My second trip to Japan this year, for the usual reason: trying to spend some time with my wife as she zooms around the world, bouncing off of various cities such as (in this case) Belfast, Seoul and Paris, in that order. I'm burning up my collection of airmiles and so (poor me) the only way I could get the dates I wanted for this trip was First Class on Singapore Airlines. Summary: not bad! Unfortunately on the LA-Tokyo route, they aren't yet running the Airbus 380 - I would have loved to have tried that in First. But the 747 wasn't bad either. Though there are things they do which, in my opinion, create unnecessary stress for the passenger- such as having to choose between Dom Perignon and Krug.

I tried both, alternating every time I had a top-up. The Dom, I can report, was much lighter than the Krug - surprising since compared to lesser champagnes Dom has a lot of body. But it was almost spring-like compared to the Krug's biscuity heaviness. Both were pretty good though, as was the Griotte Chambertin I had with the main course. My only disappointment with the flight was entirely my own fault - I left a half-finished book, which I was thoroughly enjoying, on the plane.

I stayed, as usual, at the New Otani. This is a wonderful hotel, in my opinion the most agreeable in Tokyo. It's the only hotel in the world to have its own private 16th century samurai garden, which guests (and indeed anyone else) can wander around freely, or admire over breakfast from the restaurant. The story is simple enough: in 1964 Japan hosted the Olympic Games, but didn't have a large, modern, western-style hotel. Mr Otani, a successful industrialist whose statue can be found tucked away in a corner of the samurai garden, was asked to help. But where to find the land in super-crowded Tokyo? In addition to the Imperial Palace, Tokyo has a second palace used for visiting heads of state and such. What could be simpler than to use some of its vast grounds for the hotel? And somehow, Mr Otani managed to get the part containing the samurai garden. Incidentally the New Otani appears in the James Bond movie You Only Live Twice as the headquarters of the evil empire - construction was complete but the hotel had not yet opened when the film was made in 1964.

The first day I worked, visiting our Japanese reseller, a typical Japanese "fireside chat" type of meeting. Then in the evening I traveled down to Haneda, Tokyo's domestic airport, to meet my wife. Well, it used to be Tokyo's domestic airport. The Japanese government has finally opened it to international flights, as an alternative to the super-inconvenient Narita. Now there's a vast new international terminal, complete with its own subway station. Quite a change from a couple of years ago when I flew to Korea from Haneda - the terminal was a tin shed somewhere on the outskirts of the airport, with only an infrequent shuttle bus service.

The next day we took the train to Hakone, a journey I've already described here. But first we went to Shimbashi for sushi, to the same kaiten sushi restaurant we've been visiting now for nearly 30 years! It's a low-price operation for the salarymen in the area, but because the turnover is so high, the fish is wonderfully fresh.

Hakone was wonderful, we were incredibly lucky with the weather - the previous day had been overcast and damp, today was bright sunshine. We stayed at a traditional Japnaese ryokan, selected through the wonderful service of japaneseguesthouses.com. The bath was at just the perfect temperature, which means just bearable, the kaiseki dinner was excellent. And in the morning, looking closely at the prints which lined all the corridors, we realised that they were original Hiroshige - which means worth a small fortune, tucked away inconspicuously in a modest inn.

Hakone can be visited as a day-trip from Tokyo, and everything is organised for just that. The train ticket includes all of the various means of transportation required - a bus along a twisty mountain road to Lake Ashi (Ashinoko), a quick walk to find the ancient cedar avenue which was once the main road from Tokyo to Kyoto, then a lake steamer disguised - improbably - as a pirate ship, complete with swashbuckling pirate captain, photographer in tow. In the 25-minute journey the pirate captain walks around the whole boat, and just before you dock he returns with the pictures for sale.

One reason why Hakone is so popular is the fantastic views of Fuji-san, first from the lake and later from the cable-car that crosses the mountain. There's a change in the middle, at one of the surreal, hellish, sulphur-laden volcanic springs that are found only in Japan. But the journey isn't over yet - at the bottom of the cable car is a funicular, and then a tiny train that twists and turns around corners that even a car would struggle with, back to the mainline train station. Along the way we visited the Hakone Art Museum. There were two things to see there: the wonderful autumn foliage on the maple trees that fill the garden, and the throngs of photographers, all with the very latest cameras and extraordinary lenses, taking pictures of the wonderful autumn foliage.

On Saturday, we had the great good fortune to go along to a Japanese family event, the annual sushi party of the company where I used to work. It's difficult for westerners to get to meet Japanese families, and we're really very lucky to have such good friends who will invite us to something like this. Everyone was there, colleagues, spouses and their children. The food was truly amazing, and went on forever, and the company was wonderful too. I'm incredibly lucky to have such good friends in Japan.

I spent Sunday on my own - my wife had to return to another meeting in Europe. I went to Ueno Park and visited the Science Museum, recalling my first ever visit to Japan in 1982. It has changed a lot - for one thing it has doubled in size, and it is much more modern and visitor-friendly. Back then it was just a lot of dusty display cases. But one thing that hasn't changed is that there is absolutely no allowance whatsoever for non-Japanese visitors. Apart from a few signs in the hallways, nothing is labeled in English. Now - unlike then - I can just about read the signs, though it takes a long while. But it is reasonable enough when you consider how few foreign tourists there are in Japan, apart from Kyoto. A while back we went to the Museum of Modern Art, in another corner of Ueno Park, and
we saw just one other foreign visitor there. Of course it's self perpetuating - Japan apparently does want to attract foreign tourists but for as long as you need to be able to speak and read some Japanese to survive, it just isn't going to happen.

Finally on Monday it was time to return. As usual I took the bus out to the airport. At the first-class check-in desk the lady was very concerned - never a good sign, especially when you're using an airmiles ticket. There are just so many things to go wrong. She walked away, talked to colleagues with a worried look on her face, made a phone call. I feared the worst, beginning to envisage a hasty one-way ticket purchase and the uncomfortable return journey in economy. Finally she turned back to me.

"Mr Harper... did you leave a book on the aircraft when you arrived?" Well yes, I did.

"I'm very sorry, the book is in our office, would you mind waiting a few minutes while my colleague collects it?"

This could only happen in Japan! Once I left a valuable (to me) notebook on Swissair (yes, it was a long time ago), in Business Class. When I called, they said, "Oh, we never keep anything, it will have been thrown away." But Singapore Airlines - in Japan - even kept a $5 paperback for me, unasked.

It got better, too. As I was waiting in the emigration line, after security, someone came running up to me, apologising - I'd left my laptop behind at security... and they had to run after me to return it! If I'd done that at Heathrow it would already have been on E-Bay!

The return journey on Singapore in First was as good as you'd expect - there's really nothing to be said.

Living Life Backwards on the Romance Car Express

Ever since the very first time I visited Japan, nearly three decades ago, I've wanted to travel on the Odakyu Line's Romance Car Express. They have these really cool trains with the driver's cab 747-like on the roof, so passengers in the first car have a panoramic view of the track ahead. And how could you resist the name? I've even contemplated travelling the length of the line just for the sake of it. On a recent trip I finally had a reason. We were travelling to Hakone, for a stay at a traditional Japanese inn (ryokan) and to do some autumn leaf spotting, and the Romance Car is the ideal way to get there, in fact the only direct service from Tokyo.

So we went out to Shinjuku station, supposedly the biggest station in the world if Tokyo hasn't overtaken it by now. Tickets are only available from machines, and while I suppose I could have figured it out in the end, I was very relieved when a helpful member of staff showed up and guided me through the whole thing, including buying the special all-inclusive Hakone Tour ticket. This kind of extraordinary personal service only happens in Japan. I chose our seats in the very end part of the Romance Car, and off we went to catch our train.

All passenger trains in Japan have the locomotive built in, from the Shinkansen down to the humblest one-car rural train. That means they're symmetrical - the front is the same as the back. And in the case of the Romance Car, that means there is an observation car at the back as well as at the front. And guess where our seats were... the booking system doesn't warn you that your view will be of the track receding behind you.

The view of course is exactly the same. But - which I hadn't expected - there's something very surreal about seeing the world zooming away backwards behind you. After a while it begins to feel like your whole life is running backwards. The journey only lasts about 90 minutes. If it lasted for several hours, I'm sure you'd start to get younger, eventually becoming the little boy in short trousers whose Dad used to hold him on the bridge parapet to watch the trains go by.

The most surprising thing is the level (grade) crossings, of which there are a great many. They open within seconds of the train passing - whereas they close much earlier, for safety. So as soon as you pass, the barriers open and - Japan being a crowded place - cars, bicycles and people flood across the road.

On the way back we bought regular tickets for a car in the middle of the train. We weren't sure we could take the Living Life Backwards experience again.

Business Meetings in Japan

If you're used to doing business in the US, business meetings between Japanese companies seem very strange at first. In the US, a meeting generally lasts several hours and is planned well in advance. The discussion is focussed, with an agenda and a deliberate progression towards a conclusion. At the end, though there are generally no formal minutes, there are action items and agreements. You know what you've achieved, whether it was a lot or a little.

When I first started working closely with my Japanese colleagues, I just couldn't understand what was happening. Meetings, even at a high level, can happen at short notice. They're rarely longer than an hour. And at the end, as a Westerner you have little idea what has been discussed, and no idea at all what has been concluded. It's just like a cosy chat amongst old friends. Very often, it's not at a formal conference table, but sitting in armchairs around a low table. For this reason I call this meeting style the "Fireside Chat".

An OL ("office lady", a kind of general administrative assistant, invariably female and fairly young) brings in drinks - hot tea in winter, cold barley tea in summer. The head people from the respective teams start a conversation, others join in occasionally, showing due respect. At the end one of them looks at their watch and says, "ah, I think it's time to finish" (actually what they say is a lot less explicit than that). Everyone stands up and files out to the elevator, performs the ritual elevator bow, and the visitors depart. "What was that all about?" you're left thinking to yourself.

Since business does get done in Japan, just as effectively as anywhere else, you can't help wondering how this works. Of course the well-known Japanese dislike of conflict plays a part. But there are as many reasons for business partners to disagree in Japan as there are anywhere else - price, specification, availability, all that stuff - yet they evidently do get resolved somehow.

In the end I realised that geography has a lot to do with it. In the US, such meetings typically involve a plane journey, often an overnight stay. They're expensive and it's important to get the most out of them. In Japan, most large companies have their offices in Tokyo. It's rare that it takes more than a half-hour taxi or subway ride to get there. So meetings are cheap, and you can afford to do them quite often. They don't need to be so focussed, it's OK to let things kind of evolve naturally over several of these apparently rather loose discussions. That coupled with the natural Japanese way of doing things just leads to this completely different style.

Of course, as with everything in Japan, it may be that I've missed the point completely.