Friday, July 1, 2011

Bunzou, Otemachi (鍛冶屋 文蔵)

Did I mention that we went to Honoka? I think we went to Honoka. Did we? Certainly we took the train after. Or something that looks like a train.

With all our friends. They love us, just sitting there giggling, speaking broken Japanese, maybe taking the odd picture.

Maybe, hell. It's OK, we're foreign. Well, I'm foreign, and he's country. (That's good!)

I can't believe we went from Musashi Koyama back to Otemachi just to meet Takeashita and have one last drink. Ugh.


Ugh. Deathtrap ho. Let me keep my shoelaces out of this one.

Tried to go someplace decent, that cup sake place in the basement. It was closed. We ended up at Bunzou, which I knew wouldn't be very good.

Funny how a place can telegraph its intentions. Maybe even without meaning to. They're doing the country-style thing here, but it's obvious that it's going to be lame.

[The fact that the Danke Brothers Group has 29 restaurants under this brand alone is also a tipoff, but I haven't felt sufficiently troubled during my time in Otemachi to look that up.]

Lots of semi-private rooms for after-work conferences. 'Semi-private' is no barrier for my Lumix.



No privacy at all when you're just at the next table.

We ordered some butts and some breasts. And some onions. As men do. And a drink. Or two.

But those guys had to get the train, and I had to ride my bike home, so we didn't last long.

It's nice at night, out on the bridge. Always a great feeling to ride home, especially when you've already changed into shorts and t-shirt. Especially when you remember that the police sub-station is on the left side of the bridge, so you take the right side to avoid questions about why your light isn't on and what you've been doing and whether your bike is in fact stolen.

Harder to take a clear picture when you're riding in the middle of the street. With oncoming traffic.

Home again. Monnaka.
03-3548-8095

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