Cha Cha Hana

Still on day 2 of the trip, I was already exhausted from a full morning that started really early. So I re-energized myself with some really great plum-flavored tea in the hotel room (and leftover shortbread cookies from our recent dinner at The French Laundry in Yountville - I know, how lucky am I?!?), we went in search of our first izakaya meal. I had requested a reservation at the trendy Cha Cha Hana, but was informed by the Park Hyatt concierge that they had no more reservations available that night, but we could walk in. It was recommended in multiple food blogs, so I was pretty excited about it, and the email seemed pretty hopeful, so I decided to give it a go.

It is located in a sub-district of the greater Shinjuku area of Tokyo called Kabukicho, which we quickly discovered was a sort of red light district as we wandered the neighborhood in search of the restaurant. We still did not have a full understanding of how addresses in Tokyo worked and how to read the Japanese atlas that my friend Jenny had kindly lent to us (don't worry, we figure it towards the end of the trip), so we had to wander a bit. Thanks to my online research, however, I knew to look for a quaint side-street and this symbol (I found out later that this is a handwritten version of the kanji for "hana"):

If I hadn't recognized the entrance and the symbol from a picture in the NY Times, we would never have found the place, since it looks like a dark house and has no other signage (no "Cha Cha Hana" in English or Japanese in front).

Our optimism paid off, as we were seated promptly upon arrival. It's like a Japanese home in that you take off your shoes at the entrance, and the main dining room has a raised tatami floor.

They sat us at the bar in front of the bartender, around the corner from which was the sushi chef. Both men were mighty impressive - the sushi chef for his clean, meticulous style (as you'd want from your sushi chef) and his unique sushi/sashimi plates (I swear he designed a new plate for every customer); the bartender for his skill with the ice pick, which he used to break up ice in his palm (we were waiting all night for the ice pick to slip and spill his blood all over the ice), and the proficiency with which he prepared drinks.

Per a food blogger's recommendation, we ordered some sashimi, our first in Tokyo. I wasn't expecting it to blow me away and we didn't order much, since we were really here for small plate specialties, but I was very impressed with its presentation, quality and freshness. We had some kanpachi and sake. Yummm!

Also impressive was the Shamo chicken, a special breed that is known the world over for being a cockfighting, "show quality" (is there such a thing?) chicken, but my friend Jenny had mentioned that her foodie friends in Japan know it to be particularly delicious, so I got very excited when I spotted it on the menu.

We tried a number of other dishes, including a Japanese yam dish (the circular dish below), and a couple of super-delicious desserts - a black sesame mochi with a dark sugar syrup sauce and a tofu "tiramisu" that contained red bean filling and a matcha sauce.

Everything was more delicious than we could have hoped, except for the clam yakisoba, which had mushy, sticky flat noodles that overpowered whatever clam flavor there may have been.

When we left, the street that seemed so charming before dinner was now a little creepy, with the rustling of homeless people settling in for the night, a constantly crying cat, and a falling-down drunk businessman unsuccessfully being propped up and guided by his date for the walk back to the subway (or maybe to a nearby "love hotel," who knows).

Neglecting my blog

I've been a bad blogger, and I apologize to my (two) readers. At first, I just got busy with the trip, executing and managing my packed itinerary. Then afterward, maybe because it was such a beautiful experience, I just couldn't bear to let go of it. Every time I thought of writing about it, I just kept thinking there was no way I could do my memories justice with words. It wasn't rational, but it was enough to keep me from writing.

On the other hand, this incomplete story has been nagging me. So I've convinced myself to finish this in small bites, chewing slowly. Now, where was I? Oh yeah, early morning on day two.

So I thought that being exhausted and falling soundly asleep at 10pm the night before meant that I was golden - no jet lag for me. I was mistaken. I was wide awake at 4:30am, and Mark was not, which is why I had the luxury of writing the first blog entry. Mark awoke around 6am, the sun was already up (no daylight savings in Tokyo), and thinking it was too early for breakfast (despite my stomach's protests), I decided we should go for our first swim.

The pool on the 47th Floor (you actually have to go through the spa entrance on the 45th Floor and take a private elevator to get to the pool/gym) was as spectacular as advertised, with 365 degree views - Mt. Fuji, Yoyogi park, and central Tokyo. I was able to get a couple of pictures taken before the attendant informed me I was not supposed to take any pictures at the pool. They provided us swim caps (mandatory), towels and robes (so that we wouldn't be walking the hotel halls in wet clothes). I vowed to swim again before we left, and Mark vowed to return to the treadmills facing Mt. Fuji and go for a zen run while looking at the beautiful snowcapped peak, but neither of those things happened.

The plan was to have ramen at Ichiran for breakfast, since one semi-reliable source had said it was open 24 hours. It was nearly 10am when we got there, by which time I was starving, and to my dismay, the sign said they were open from 11am-6am - not quite 24 hours, and I just happened to be there during one of the few hours they were not open.

No problem, I had a backup: Ohitsuzen Tanbo, which according to the NY Times, was known for the quality of its steamed rice. It was a couple of subway stops away, but if it was open by the time we got there, it would be worth the trip. The subway system wasn't difficult to figure out, but being our first day navigating the streets of Tokyo, we had a hard time finding the street once out of the subway. We went in the right direction, but it wasn't exactly where I thought it would be, and I was having trouble containing my hunger monster. Sensing that the hunger was really getting to me, Mark put on his super-navigator cape and started seriously reading the street signs. This was the first time I realized how useful his knowledge of hiragana (Japanese alphabet for sounding out Japanese words) and katakana (Japanese alphabet for sounding out Western words) was, because none of the store/restaurant signs were in English. I never loved him more than when we turned yet another corner, and he read the sign out loud; but my exuberance quickly faded when I saw they weren't open until 11:30am! The menu posted outside looked so good, though, we decided it would be worth the wait.

We decided to pass the time in a nearby Starbucks, and to see if there were any different offerings in a Japanese Starbucks. I got excited about the matcha frapuccino, but Mark insisted they had that in the U.S., and it turned out to be mediocre anyway.

Ohitsuzen Tanbo, however, was by no means mediocre. Being the first restaurant we were navigating that (a) was not expecting us, and (b) had no token English-speaking waitress, it was challenging, but in a wonderful way. I imagine since being mentioned in a NY Times article, they must have had some American tourists come in (the menu outside had English and pictures), but they clearly didn't expect tourists regularly, and indeed we didn't see a single tourist there throughout our entire meal. So their usual menu is simply the Japanese menu on the right side of the picture above - no pictures, no English - which they unquestioningly placed in front of us. After muttering something about "eigo" (which means "English"), they understood and brought out their English menu with the pictures. We ordered, fielded some additional questions we didn't really understand that presumably were about whether we wanted the regular amount of rice or double, to which Mark somehow communicated that the regular amount of rice was fine, we were on our way.

But our hurdles didn't end there. There was a teapot with tea or broth, we didn't really know, and then numerous condiments we had no clue what to do with. Luckily, the restaurant filled up quickly with nearby office workers after our arrival, so we ate slowly, watched others, and learned that after eating a little bit of the rice and meat/fish, you make a bowl of rice soup with the tea/broth and mixing in the condiments. Maybe I was just really hungry, but it was the best rice I had ever had up to that point, and the whole meal was perfectly satisfying and delicious.

I had no room for ramen anymore, and quite frankly, was exhausted from the morning's pursuit of food.