DAY ONE
I’m in Kōenji – the city’s youth subcultural centre. A one-time punk neighbourhood, now home to vinyl shops and hipster-filled coffee shops. Here, you can jostle at crowded counters as you work your way through Japanese snack food staples.
It’s while ambling in the bustling neighbourhood that the smell of burning charcoal combined with roasting meat hits me – an aroma that can only mean one thing: yakitori.
I allow my nose to lead and soon find myself on Kōenji’s “Yakitori street”, on the west side of Kōenji Station.
This is where I watch as an attentive chef continuously rotates negima skewers over a charcoal grill, while basting them in a sweet soy sauce and mirin mix.
Also, on Kōenji “Yakitori street” a queue of hungry-looking salarymen (all in
