Loach hot pot and Tokyo ramen:more of Asakusa

More of my stay in Asakusa. As the day faded, the Tokyo Skytree glowed blue beyond an elevated railway. Buses crossed the intersection and the city lights began to come on. Tonight I was going to taste a flavor of the common folk that has lasted since the Edo period.

Heading south from Kaminarimon, you come upon a shop front full of old-world charm: Komagata Dozeu, a loach restaurant founded in 1801. Beside the noren curtain dyed with the word dozeu, a row of red lanterns glowed.

I passed through a noren with more than two hundred years of history and found a space that still holds the essence of Edo. Old photographs hung on the walls, along with a sumo ranking sheet from June 1872. Beyond the curtain, the kitchen was busy.

The specialty here is, above all, dozeu nabe. The loaches, already prepared, arrive packed side by side in a thin iron pan.

The green onions come heaped in a wooden box. I scooped them up with chopsticks and piled them on until the loaches disappeared. The table is a thick board called a kanaita, laid over rattan matting, and the iron pan sits on a charcoal brazier. This style, I was told, has not changed since the Edo period.

I poured a non-alcoholic beer and waited. Once it was bubbling away and the onions had turned soft, the Edo dish was ready to eat. I lifted loaches and onions onto my small plate.

The loaches are tender right down to the bones, with no muddy taste at all. The sauce, rich with bonito stock, suits the soft, fluffy flesh perfectly.

If you like, add some shichimi spice from a bamboo tube. As the pan cooks down, keep topping it up with warishita, the seasoned broth, and since the green onions are free refills, add plenty more.

Sitting before the pan steaming over the charcoal, a thought came to me: how many people have spent this same delicious moment here?

One thing you must not forget with dozeu nabe: white rice, served in an ohitsu rice tub. Lifting the black lid revealed glossy, freshly cooked rice.

I filled a bowl and ate it with the sweet and savory loaches. I just couldn't stop.

All around the room, full of Edo atmosphere, people were cheerfully gathered around their pans. For a while you forget you are in the middle of a huge city. When you leave, don't forget the wooden tag for your shoes. Outside, the lanterns under the eaves had been lit.

I also took the Ginza Line, Japan's oldest subway, and went to Tsukiji for the first time in years. Tsukiji Outer Market, the kitchen of Tokyo, was so crowded with people looking for delicious seafood that the street was packed.

Tsukiji's famous tamagoyaki, the rolled omelet, is hugely popular too. At the shop fronts it was being cooked fresh, under signs for omelet on skewers, and plenty of people walked by holding pieces on little plates. It is a fascinating treat you can't help eating whenever you come to Tsukiji.

Then something caught my eye: a tamagoyaki sandwich. At Shoro, a long-established tamagoyaki shop, a poster advertised the Shoro Sandwich. Okay, let's get this.

For the way back, I walked from Tsukiji to Hinode Pier and took a water bus to Asakusa. Japan's oldest subway to Tsukiji, then the waterway home. Asakusa turns out to have surprisingly easy access to central Tokyo.

Beyond the windows spread the bay and its waterfront towers; the remnants of Edo, when water transport was the mainstream, are still reflected in Tokyo's growth and its transport network. Kachidoki Bridge, which even gave its name to a Kochikame movie, is a symbol of the Sumida River. Past Tsukishima, which I visited on an earlier trip, the towers of Tsukudajima come into full view. I love this view.

Hello there, yellow Sobu Line train. After Ryogoku, it's Asakusa already. Beyond the red Azuma Bridge, a building topped with a golden sculpture came into sight, and the boat docked. I'm home.

Night. Lights glowed at the foot of the Skytree. Back in my room, I opened the Shoro sandwich I had brought from Tsukiji.

The yellow band read "The taste of Tsukiji: Shoro Sandwich," and "Plenty of dashi: a tamagoyaki maker's taste of home, with Shoro tucked inside." With a can of non-alcoholic beer beside it, I picked up a piece.

A thick slab of rolled omelet sat between slices of white bread. When I bit in, the dashi came seeping out. I sat down in the chair by the window, the illuminated Skytree outside.

Step out of Asakusa Station and this is the first building you see. A yellow vertical sign spells out Kamiya Bar. The address is 1-1-1 Asakusa, which sounds wonderfully cool.

Founded in 1880, Kamiya Bar is known as Japan's first bar. Its building, put up in 1921, is a nationally registered tangible cultural property, and a plaque saying so is set into the tiled wall.

Denki Bran, which appears in the works of Osamu Dazai, is the house specialty. The display case was lined with amber Denki Bran, draft beer, and plenty of dishes that go perfectly with beer. You buy a meal ticket and sit wherever you like.

The chaser for Denki Bran is draft beer. That is the Kamiya Bar style. Beside the mugs of draft beer poured at the counter stood little glasses of amber Denki Bran, and a card on the table read "Made for each other: draft beer and Denki Bran." What a stylish way to drink.

When I was young, curious as could be, I once tried drinking it this way. It is a strong spirit, faintly sweet and fragrant with herbs, and though I thought this was a dangerous way to drink, I soaked up the romance of Asakusa through a tilting view. I can't recommend it to anyone who doesn't hold their liquor well. Tonight I had a non-alcoholic beer.

Asakusa is also famous for yoshoku, Japanese-style Western food. I tasted the stylish flavor once loved by gourmet literary masters in the form of crab croquettes. Breaking through the sauced crust with my chopsticks revealed a white center. This modern bar, born in the Meiji era, was still thick with the air of Meiji modernization and the scent of Asakusa romance.

Beyond the main hall of Senso-ji at night, the Skytree rose into the sky. To finish the evening: a long-established neighborhood Chinese restaurant.

Walk along Yanagi-dori, behind Asakusa Kannon, and you come to Asahi. Paper lanterns under the eaves, and a navy noren dyed with the words Chinese cuisine. It has the kind of look that just draws you in. I hear it is popular with locals and taxi drivers alike.

A machi-chuka, a neighborhood Chinese diner, said to date back to the Taisho era. The noodle section of the menu was full of tempting choices: ginger soba, cilantro soba, Sichuan cold noodles. The house specialty, I hear, is ginger soba, piled with grated ginger. But this time, I went orthodox: plain chuka soba.

As the chuka soba arrived, the lovely aroma of dried sardines and chicken bones rose from the bowl. My heart leapt.

Medium-thick noodles with a firm bite, and a broth so rich it almost tastes sweet: a flavor that makes you smile without meaning to. In the bowl printed with the name Asahi were tender slices of roast pork and green onions. The pork was delicious too.

The gyoza, neatly browned and reassuring to look at, had crisp skins and juicy fillings, with a real presence of their own. The golden fried rice was the very taste of machi-chuka. A night thoroughly satisfied by flavors rooted in the neighborhood.

As you would expect of a restaurant that has long been loved in Asakusa. Even with a full stomach, my steps were light. I walked down a lantern-lit lane and under the Hanayashiki-dori sign. The Asakusa night was growing late.

An Asakusa extra. On a sunny day, an electric kettle stood by the window of my room, the base of the Skytree visible through the glass. Stepping out onto the rooftop with a cup in hand, I found the Skytree towering there too.

Asakusa has been the center of Japanese popular entertainment since the Edo period: a town that respects the good old days while welcoming new winds, and so keeps evolving. That was on my mind as I looked out over the sunny Sumida River.

Mizuguchi, an eatery serving meals and drinks, has been in business since 1950. In the bustling dining room I had what I took to be its signature iri-buta, pork and onions stir-fried together, along with ham and eggs, rice and soup. A place wrapped in a warm, gentle air, kind even to travelers. That is how I felt.

There are still so many places I would like to share. At a shop lined with paper bags of ningyo-yaki, I bought a single one of the little cakes. A price tag nearby read "Shochikubai castella cakes." A street lined with rickshaws, and a lively street hung with oden lanterns.

I picked at a bowl of stew topped with tofu, and rested at an outdoor table near Hanayashiki. A banner read "Asakusa Hanayashiki, 170th anniversary." At the end of a lane, the Skytree peeked out once again.

But that is for another time. By the window of a boat on the Sumida, I wonder: what kind of life will I meet next?