Hello from Tokyo! I arrived here Sunday night after two weeks in Taipei — and several days hiking Japan’s Northern Alps, in Nagano prefecture. I can’t recommend that adventure highly enough, as both a physical experience and a culinary one. Everywhere my old friend Justin and I hiked, we found delicious things to eat, from soft-serve ice cream with its own cultlike devotion at a riverside lodge to beautifully packaged chirashi bento lunchboxes to local craft beers at an isolated hut 10,000 feet above sea level. If you crave the peace and quiet of high altitudes, enjoy a challenge, and want to eat and drink extremely well, you need to get yourself to Kamikochi, where it all begins.

While I could recount to you all the travails of those mountain days, I want instead to tell you about a single day — my first day here in Tokyo, a city I’ve visited countless times since my first Japan trip, back in 2007. It is, I think, typical of what this, one of the greatest food destinations on the planet, has to offer, as well as an approach to eating your way through it that doesn’t rely on Michelin stars, impossible reservations, overhyped trends, and lines around the block. Here we go!

Around 8 a.m., I leave our hotel in search of something to eat. We — me, my wife Jean, and our teenage daughters Sasha and Sandy — are staying at the OMO5, a chic and very comfortable Hoshino Resorts property in Gotanda, a business-y neighborhood in the southern part of Tokyo, right on the Yamanote line train that circles the city. Seven minutes’ walk from the hotel, across the Meguro River, lies Saison, a serious bakery whose spread would easily pass muster in any gluten-dependent European city: sourdough, quiche, and various sweet and savory laminated pastries. I pick up a croissant, a pain au chocolat, and a kouign amann, feeling a twinge of guilt for not, you know, having an elaborate Japanese breakfast of rice, miso soup, grilled salmon, and pickled vegetables.

But it’s only a very, very small twinge of guilt. Partly because I’ve been eating a lot of that stuff anyway (they serve it in the mountains!), but also because Tokyo is a city where you can and should eat anything from any cuisine you like. They have it all here, and it is all extraordinarily well-executed. An Ethiopian restaurant will have spongy injera just like you once tasted in Addis Ababa; a tapas joint will deploy the waxy, useless napkins that bothered you in Spain. You don’t have to eat sushi every meal. To not eat any Japanese food¹ in Tokyo might be the most Tokyo thing of all!

Back at the OMO5, I stop at the lobby’s coffee station — where you hand-grind beans, from the Amameria Espresso shop, to brew in your room — then head up to the 19th floor and distribute Saison’s goods. The croissant is textbook, as buttery as it is flaky, and the kouign amann excels, not too sweet, and with a pleasant, crackly dryness. Sandy consumes her pain au chocolat before I even get a chance to ask for a bite. We’ll take that to mean it meets her expectations.

We have come to Tokyo for one main reason: to shop. Jean is a fashion designer, so this counts as, I guess, “research,” and my teenage daughters are, well, teenage girls. And hey, I like buying cool clothes that fit, too!

Our first stop is Harajuku. Though the neighborhood was made famous by Gwen Stefani², it no longer feels quite as wild and outré as it did in the “Harajuku Girls” era of 20+ years ago. Instead, it’s a massive youth/fashion district of thrift and vintage stores, department stores, candy shops, curry shops, crêpe shops, and animal cafes (cats, owls, pigs) that eventually shades into international big brands, from Birkenstock and The North Face to Gucci and Ralph Lauren. In among these are a host of restaurants I recognize from New York: Down one back alley, Luke’s Lobster occupies an Airstream trailer (that used to be an independent smashburger joint); elsewhere, the beloved Brooklyn brunchery Buttermilk Channel, which closed down at the end of 2024, lives on near the corner of Omotesando.

While the girls shop for cosmetics at Cosme, I wander down to Niko and…, a small chain of clothing-and-housewares stores, where I find a special display … on gyoza! There are gyoza bags, gyoza plates, gyoza umbrellas, gyoza-print Hawaiian shirts, gyoza flip-flops — all incredibly cute.

So when it comes time to actually eat, it should not surprise you that Jean and I go for gyoza. (We’ve left Sasha and Sandy to their own devices.) Harajuku Gyoza Lou is old, no-frills, cheap, and awesome. We get seats at the counter and order Set B, with enough pan-fried gyoza for two people, plus rice, soup, and a bowl of blanched bean sprouts with a splash of meat sauce. (And a draft beer for me!) The counter turns out to be a fine spot, as we can watch the endless production of dumplings — first boiled, then drained and doused with oil to sear, then spatula’d up in crispy sheets. Interestingly, almost none of the workers here us Japanese; my guess is they’re Nepali, which is now the fifth largest foreign population in Japan, and growing fast. Wherever they’re from, they make excellent dumplings, garlicky and rich but also light and greaseless. Jean and I are tempted to order another round, but then we remember: Gotta save room for an afternoon snack!

This one’s easy: We wind up back at Niko and … so I can show Jean the gyoza merch, and I happen to notice their cafe sells soft-serve ice cream, generally known here as “soft ice.” I can’t resist, and I’m glad I don’t. The default here in Japan is not vanilla but milk flavor, lightly sweet and deliciously pure — you really get to focus on the baseline quality of the main ingredient. Niko and …’s soft ice is very good, served in a chocolate waffle cone. But not as good as Le Tao, a Japanese soft ice vendor I love in Taipei.

But as Jean and I wander around afterward, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake, because one street away we see even more snack options: gelato at Initial, doughnuts at The Little Bakery. Oh well! They will still be there — and I will still be hungry — tomorrow!

As the day winds down, Jean and the girls reunite while I go off on another mission: making dinner reservations, not for today but for tomorrow. Sandy has requested we return to an izakaya we ate at in 2019, Tatemichiya, in the Daikanyama neighborhood. I’m glad she asked for it, because I love this place! It’s a punk-rock izakaya where you’ll hear the Ramones or Black Flag while you eat sashimi and drink shochu, and its walls are decorated with the work of Japanese artists, both fine art and manga. The most famous of these is Yoshitomo Nara, whose deadly-cute girl drawings you’ve probably seen (and who has a big solo show at David Zwirner in NYC this fall). Tatemichiya is just a ton of fun.

But! In the years since we’ve visited, it’s been “discovered” by foreign tourists, who’ve caused the owner some problems — skipping out on reservations, ordering a single drink just in order to take photos for Instagram. These days Tatemichiya is a little hesitant about foreigners, so I walk over to make my reservation in person, anticipating some resistance but ready to reassure them I’ve been there before and understand the rules³. But there’s no resistance whatsoever! I score a table for four. The hostess reminds me, “Don’t be late.” I won’t!

That went much faster than expected, so I find myself with time on my hands. Consulting Google Maps, I find what looks to be an ideal cocktail bar not far from where we’re having dinner in Ebisu. It’s in a basement, lots of dark wood, cool jazz playing softly on the stereo, a menu of classic drinks, only one other customer, enough light that I can sit and read a bit of the Martin Amis novel Money. I order a Manhattan and admire the bartender, a skinny guy with glasses, a baggy white button-down, and blue-and-orange rep tie, as he stirs my drink, one pinky elegantly extended.

This should be perfection. I should be overjoyed. But there’s one problem: The cocktail is … not good. It might be a vermouth issue, or an incorrect ratio, but something just tastes wrong. (Which is why I’m not giving you the name of the place.) Maybe I ordered wrong? I sip it politely, read my book, and at precisely 6:54 p.m. ask for the check. It’s…

I connect back with Jean, Sasha, and Sandy outside Ebisu Hinai-tei, a yakitori restaurant Jean and Sandy found last year and have been raving about ever since. Chicken is the specialty here, and we order nuggets of skin skewered in stacks, thigh chunks alternating with fat scallions, chicken meatballs glazed with soy sauce and accompanied by incandescent egg yolks, and some of the best wings we (or you) have ever eaten. We get cold chicken ramen, in a powerful broth ever so slightly gelatinized, and family-style oyakodon, or poached chicken and egg over rice. Everything is superb, including an arugula salad with fresh figs and mozzarella, and the waitress recommends a sake whose fresh sweetness reminds us that it was, not all that long ago, mere grains of rice. And somehow we order and enjoy all of this with minimal Japanese and without an English menu, thanks to the cheerful forbearance of the staff (but much to the chagrin of our easily embarrassed children).

For a food and travel writer like me, it’s tempting to “claim” Ebisu Hinai-tei as a “discovery.” After all, it hasn’t been written about, as far as I can tell, anywhere but Japanese websites like Tabelog. But the “discovery” isn’t even mine — it’s 13-year-old Sandy’s. Last year, when she was in Ebisu with Jean, she was craving oyakodon, so she searched it up and landed on Ebisu Hinai-tei. Should you go there? Sure, if you’re in the neighborhood. But to me, this feels like a lesson in how Tokyo — not to mention many other cities — works. There are incredible places to eat everywhere, waiting for you to uncover them, to give the unknown, the unwritten-about, a shot. It takes a little effort, but the payoff is usually worth it, and you’ll walk out into the Tokyo night — or the Buenos Aires night, or the Ho Chi Minh City night, or or or — like we do, full and happy, reflecting on one wonderful day of fine eating and looking forward to the next.

I’ve still got a few more days here — join the Shut Up ‘n Eat community (it’s free!) and let me know what else to try.

The LA pizza scene is very good these days thanks to fantastic chefs like Chris Bianco (Pizzeria Bianco), Daniele Uditi (Pizzana), William Joo (Pizzeria Sei), Chris at Ozzy’s Apizza, and others.  An influx of NYC-based chains like Joe’s Famous and Prince Street, along with those chefs, have turned LA into a pizza town.

Philly cheesesteak, however, is a different story!  So when my friend wanted to try Sonny’s, a relatively new pizza shop which introduced a Philly cheesesteak, I knew we had to try it.  Most people who have spent time in Philly have their faves, and mine is Angelo’s, which made some news in NYC when they partnered with #1 Eagles fan Bradley Cooper to open Danny and Coop’s. The verdict: Sonny’s is very good! The key is always the bread, and their hoagie with sesame seeds is right on. Their meat is cooked with onions, Cooper’s Sharp cheese, and jalapenos — extremely tasty.  I say it’s pretty close to Angelo’s, but Philly’s finest still wins with their bread, meat quantity, and Cooper’s Sharp with Long Hot Whiz Cheese, and Long Hot Peppers. That combo is unbeatable (unlike the Eagles)!

Speaking of sandos, I had some time to kill between appointments, and I decided to drop by Saffy’s Coffee and Cafe. The last time I had dinner at Saffy’s was a few years ago, so I wanted to see what the brunch/lunch menu was about. Saffy’s is owned by the chef couple who opened the iconic Bestia and Bavel in DTLA’s Arts District, both still tremendous restaurants which are always packed. The pastrami brisket and lamb kebab pita is one of the most delicious sandwiches I’ve had this year! Both meats are unique in their textures and cooked with different methods, but the end result of combining them into a soft pita with veggies, and I think two or three kinds of sauces made this a winner.

Lastly, I want to give a shout out to Jimmy Sugishita, who I have been ordering bentos from since the pandemic and recently launched an invite only omakase dinner. Jimmy is one of the most talented Japanese chefs in town, and he makes the most amazing bentos like the chirashi (sashimi over rice), grilled fish like nodoguro and mackerel, sabasuzhi, torotaku (my fav), and more. Jimmy is an expert at sourcing and working with purveyors directly from Japan to get the best fish, rice, vinegar etc and it shows in the Tokyo level quality and execution of his bentos and dinners.