In the West, tofu is considered a boring dish desperately in need of other ingredients to make it interesting. Not so in Japan and especially in Kyoto. Tofu is a well-known component of Kyoto regional cooking, and locals consider tofu to be the star of the show. When visiting Kyoto during November and December’s peak leaf-viewing season we always make sure to book a meal at one of the city’s wonderful selection of tofu-centric eateries. Our very favorite is Tousuiro, a Kyoto institution where the tofu is made in house from domestically grown soybeans. At Tousuiro, tofu turns into a dazzling spectacle. The meal is not only delicious: It is the perfect Kyoto experience.

Japanese trains have garnered worldwide admiration and praise for their punctuality, efficiency and cleanliness. The country’s railway network is supported by a strong surrounding infrastructure, and some stations have become tourist spots in themselves. And whereas eating at a train station might be a last resort in other countries, in Japan, you might find yourself at a gourmet destination. In 2005, JR East, the largest of the Japan Railways corporations, began to push the concept of ekinaka – literally “inside station” – as a way to expand their business in the face of a declining and ageing population. Previously, stations might have had small kiosks selling magazines and snacks inside the ticket gates, and perhaps a standing soba noodle shop, cheap bowls purchased by a ticket vending machine at the door.

How thrilling to know it’s possible to reach far back into Japan’s gastronomic past merely by visiting Azabu Juban’s Sarashina Horii Soba for a bit of “living history” in the form of a pleasantly simple meal. The Sarashina cooking lineage stretches back over 200 years and is always evident in the shimmering, high-quality plates of buckwheat noodles coming from the kitchen. In 1798, Nunoya Tahei, a Mastumoto City textile merchant famous for his soba skills, founded the Sarashina soba lineage when he was encouraged by Hosina, the local feudal lord, to open a shop making a style of soba popular in the Japanese Alps area of Nagano.

Many people think of miso as the soup that gets tacked onto every Japanese meal. We can still remember our first experience of Japanese food in the West, when the waiter brought the soup at the end of the meal, and someone thought he’d forgotten to serve it at the beginning. Any self-respecting Japanese meal, just about anywhere in the world, will end with miso soup. The miso used in the soup is a paste that will determine the flavor of the soup. There are basically three kinds of miso: red (akamiso), white (shiromiso) and mixed (awase), which has a brownish hue and is the most common variety used in miso soup.

On the forested Mt. Oyama, only one and a half hours away from Tokyo, the sleepy atmosphere is broken by a cheering crowd. It’s mid-March and women are sitting in a row on a stage, shoveling cups of tofu into their mouths as fast as they can. It is messy, distinctly inelegant and a whole lot of mad fun. These women are challengers in the Wanko Tofu speed eating competition, which also sees men and children compete in respective rounds. All this, along with a gigantic four-meter pot of boiling tofu and several other street food snacks, is part of the annual Oyama Tofu Festival, which celebrates the area’s long history of producing especially delicious tofu and marks its 30th anniversary this year.

So ubiquitous as to be rendered almost invisible, the sticky bottles of soy sauce that decorate every table, counter and shelf in Japan are never far from reach. Both an ingredient and a condiment, there isn’t a chef in the land who would begrudge a diner a dash of the sleek black sauce – be it at a Michelin-starred sushi restaurant or a back street ramen joint. While the bottles are often slung behind stacked menus, their everyday presence is no sign that their contents should be underestimated. As common as table salt but infinitely more complex, the sweet, salty mix offers a glimpse of the sought-after umami flavor Japan is famous for.

At a sleek counter, diners are perusing a menu of modern Vietnamese cuisine with a Japanese twist to be paired with sake. They might begin with something light – delicate rice paper rolls filled with shogayaki, ginger-fried pork and a Japanese home cooking classic – before moving onto a modest portion of motsuni, a dish of beef intestines stewed until tender. The chef smiles across the counter as he prepares the next dish, and then asks how they like the pairing with a robust yamahai sake. Just a few paces away, a similar scene is playing out at another counter restaurant and another, with diners hopping between them. Two floors of tiny restaurants are tessellated into a modern, stylish space. However, while the set-up might look like yet just another modern food hall, the underlying concept marks a growing trend within Tokyo’s dining scene to turn to the city’s past for inspiration.

A grim sense of irony checked my delight at discovering one of my favorite restaurants had begun offering a lunch menu. Arossa Shibuya, a small, cozy restaurant that prides itself on excellent Australian meat and wine, stopped daytime service over a year ago, long before the coronavirus crisis. But as a sign of the times, they have resurrected their offering, beefing up the course and the price, likely as a bid to reel in more revenue. Watching the global pandemic unfold from Tokyo has jarred uneasily with a surreal sense of continuity across the city. Whereas several countries were under strict lockdown, Tokyoites were requested to show “self-restraint” and avoid the three Cs: crowds, closed spaces and close-contact settings.

The consumption of sake is a sacrosanct affair in Japan. In Japanese, the term “sake” technically denotes all alcohol, though it is often used interchangeably with the less ambiguous “nihonshu.” The true genesis of the island nation’s archetypal brew is lost to time, though the divine concoction of water, rice, yeast and koji mold likely originated, or at least became more standardized, sometime during the Nara period (710-784 AD) when Empress Genmei consolidated rule over an agrarian society. Most people in this fledgling nation state participated in animistic and ancestral folk worship, within which rice, and by extension nihonshu, came to play important ritualistic roles.

As I sit down to write this on Tuesday, March 17, I am feeling uncomfortable. In truth, that’s mainly because I am overly full. Earlier, I cycled across town to a neighborhood I’ve never visited because a friend and I absolutely had to eat matcha cheesecake. We had been ogling it salaciously on Instagram and decided today was to be the day. Nowadays, lunches or café visits are done in small groups – normally just one-on-one with plenty of hand sanitizer. Home parties are on the rise. Uber Eats is apparently doing major business. I just passed a delivery man sleeping in the sun in the park. Exhaustion perhaps? Or making the most of spring, which is finally here?

Unusual takes on ramen abound in Tokyo, from carefully balanced chocolate and lamb creations for Valentine’s Day to algae-tinted blue broth, but few leave you with cravings and daydreams lasting for weeks. Adding a quality twist on ramen is a challenge – simplicity is one of the dish’s most vital elements, as with most Japanese cuisine. Yet friends Yamada and Sumida struck gold with one perfectly measured twist: smoke. Tucked away near Rikkyo University in a quiet area filled with student-friendly restaurants and cafés, their modest ramen joint Kemuri (which means “smoke” in Japanese) serves their latest experimental dishes without straying from the joy of good ramen at its best – quality ingredients cooked to perfection.

Once the province of late-night slurping at street carts or standup counters, instant meals and cheap dining, ramen has undergone a renaissance over the last 18 years, making it onto haute hipster tasting menus in the West and creating punishing waits outside the “it” ramen-ya of Tokyo and Osaka. As the New Year began we decided to revisit the roots of classic ramen dining in Tokyo and paid a visit to the original Afuri ramen stand in Ebisu. Could it already have been 17 years since this place opened its doors to a hungry mob? Tucked into a back street in the warren that surrounds Ebisu station and facing the back exit of Ebisu yokocho (the newest trendy eating alley in Tokyo), this clean, well-lighted place has stood the test of time and continues to thrill.

In a few years time, one might look back at the year 2019 and feel a bit sorry for it. That’s not for lack of delicious things to eat: record numbers of restaurants continue to open – although fierce competition means around half shut their doors within two years. But 2019 risks being forever overshadowed by 2020, when Tokyo will host the Olympics and Paralympics for the first time since 1964. It certainly is a preparatory year for the anticipated influx of overseas visitors. Fortunately, the city was able to lay claim to hosting the Rugby World Cup and did very well, both at demonstrating Japan’s omotenashi (hospitality) at its best and in the national team beating Ireland, causing one of the biggest upsets in the tournament’s history.

When Japan’s last shogun ceded control of the country in 1868 and a centuries-old closed-door policy was reversed, foreign influences on the country grew from a trickle to a steady stream. Foreign residents were confined to restricted living areas, one of the largest one being in Yokohama, just south of Tokyo. Capitalizing on their fellow expatriates’ homesickness, some enterprising Westerners began importing or even brewing beer. In fact, the brewery that would become Kirin, one of Japan’s most ubiquitous tipples, was founded by a Norwegian by way of America in 1869 or 1870.

When we think of wine hotspots (or even coldspots), Japan is not the first place to come to mind. But the story of wine production in the country is a surprising and fascinating one, with roots in the modernization efforts of the 19th century. We spoke to Chuanfei Wang, an expert on Japan’s wine culture, to learn more about winemaking in the country. Wang received her PhD in Global Studies from Sophia University Japan in 2017; her dissertation explored how Japanese wine producers, consumers and cultural intermediaries incorporated Japan into the global wine world from a sociological perspective.