Kabukicho. If you have ever given more than a passing glance to the famed entertainment capital of Japan, then you know. Hundreds of buildings housing hundreds of mysterious bars, hostess clubs, cabarets, and massage parlors. It's a maze of the unknown, especially if you are an underpaid teacher. Every experience I have had here, and by here I mean deep Kabukicho, has been at the introduction of a more savvy Japanese friend.
Who could possibly know that one of these tiny clubs actually has a kitchen where they serve homemade ramen.
We ordered a few drinks, and a couple bowls to share with the group. Enka was on the karaoke machine, and some chicken stock was being heated in the back.
The homemade liquor reeked of peat, but luckily we had already been out for a few hours before this, and alcohol of any grade had simply become more booze.
The soup was overly salty, just what one would expect at a bar. Apparently Leonardi Di Caprio came to this same spot. Not sure if he had the ramen.
The owner, as is customary, saw us off to the elevator. The hostess with the 2 hour hair and sulky disposition didn't play into the equation.