cotoha Hotel Asakusa

‘Tonkatsu is food for the masses’, explains the second-generation chef, as he aims to serve up fare that is familiar and comforting. Copper pots polished till gleaming and plain wooden counters display a craftsman’s spirit. Two pots are used: one containing hot oil and the other cooler oil. Pork loin is shorn of extra fat and thinly battered. Tonkatsu is the star attraction, so no meat is added to the pork miso soup. As the chef works, a photo of his father in chef’s whites watches over him.

‘Simple and minimal’ is Noboru Arai’s guiding philosophy, grounded in precision. Using few ingredients and minimal seasoning, he pursues a refined, elegant expression of French cuisine. He communicates regularly with chefs of other countries, borrowing from a wide range of culinary cultures in search of originality. While French in spirit, the proprietress greets guests in kimono—an Asakusa touch that reflects the charm of Tokyo’s traditional downtown.

Asakusa is a second hometown for the chef, who has lived here since his apprenticeship. He inherited both spirit and skill, along with tools and serving ware, from his mentor. He reveres the old teachings of the sushi world but does add a few twists of his own. He adds sweet potato shochu to rich soy syrup; to rolled omelette, he adds soy milk. The character for the chef’s surname of ‘Oku’ developed from a combination of the characters for ‘house’, ‘rice’ and ‘palm of hand’; a sign, he contends, that he was destined to run a place where he would fashion rice meals with his hands.

A veteran eel shop loved by Asakusa locals since the early years of the 20th century. The restaurant is named after the previous proprietor, Hatsutaro; by happy coincidence, ‘ogawa’ means ‘little river’, the favoured habitat of eels. The current proprietor’s wife runs the restaurant with her family, preparing kabayaki with a sauce recipe handed down from the founder. It is a pleasure to wait, enjoying appetizers with sake, while the chef grills your eel. The many ‘senjafuda’, slips of paper posted on shrine pillars by worshippers, attest to the shop’s many loyal customers.

Asakusa Hirayama hangs out its shop curtain near Kappabashi; the calligraphy is done by the chef’s grandmother, a calligraphy teacher, expressing her joy in her grandson becoming an independent restaurateur. The counter seating harks back to his background as a kappo cook and his cheerful demeanour makes guests feel welcome. Soba is preceded by standards like jellied broth of conger eel or stew of duck breast. Tempura items are deep-fried one by one, as good as you’d find in a tempura specialty shop. The 100% buckwheat soba noodles, prepared with homemade flour made with unpolished buckwheat,

‘Harmony’ and ‘circulation’ are the keywords of this dining experience. Through his partnerships with farmers, the chef returns compost to revitalise the soil. The prix fixe presentation starts with a bowl of soup. Vegetable ends are used in the soup’s creation, expressing a wish for a society that doesn’t waste food. Prepared with French techniques, the fare is simple and light. The grey of the interior creates something of a laboratory feel.

A genre-defying cuisine paired with tea-based cocktails. While rooted in French techniques, the chef seamlessly weaves in elements of Chinese and Japanese cuisine. The duck dish, for instance, is prepared by ladling hot oil over the skin, much like Peking duck. The tradition of serving tea and sweets after a meal, known as ochauke, reflects Japanese hospitality. Chef and mixologist work in harmony, refining the distinctive world of ‘wither and decay’ or ‘kokyu’.