It's a long, narrow place, dark, woody, not at all Japanese. More like an English or American gentleman's club from the early 20th Century. It's not cool because it is familiar; it's cool because it is cool. Blood red carpet with a floral design, velvet upholstered chairs, wall sconces, a well-worn mahogany bar, gorgeous vintage glassware, a fine selection of whiskey behind wood paned glass doors, barmen in crisp white shirts and black bow-ties.
And jazz! Oh, the jazz. The barman pulls out Dave Brubeck's "Time Out" - on vinyl! - and plays it all the way through. This is followed by Chet Baker's "Let's Get Lost" and John Coltrane's "My Favorite Things".
Despite being a "whisky" bar, I order a gin martini because it is on the cocktail menu, and this seems like the kind of joint where they'd know how to make one. And they do. One of the things I love about the Japanese is their incredible attention to detail. The barman prepares a very small (3 ounce?) etched cocktail glass with an olive skewered on a fine metal toothpick. This goes on a refrigerated shelf to chill. He takes a beautiful glass cocktail shaker (because it is not going to be shaken), places two large, perfectly square ice cubes in it (using ice tongs), then fills it with water to chill. He spins the ice cubes around with a long cocktail spoon, then pours out the water. I know that this is going to be a classic pre-1950s martini when I see the bottle of Angostura bitters come out. He measures one jigger of Beefeater gin and a half jigger of Noilly Prat vermouth into the cold shaker after several drops of bitters. Stirs. He places a paper coaster with a sort of graphic marigold design before me, removes the chilled glass from the refrigerator, pours the martini and pushes it gently toward me.
Where do they learn this? Do they send them to America in a time machine for training? Impressive and beguiling. Kampai!
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