Tokyo's Limousine Bus Lady

Four Seasons Hotel Tokyo at Marunouchi

Prominently placed in the Marunouchi central business district, adjacent to Tokyo Station, Four Seasons offers a striking, contemporary setting within the landmark glass-clad tower of the prestigious Pacific Century Place.

'Rub hotels': Vegas in a box

Choose your room from dozens of decors, such as this cosmic theme.

What's so Japanese about a love hotel?

I made a recent discovery: love hotels! Not dirty, sleazy hotels on the other side of the tracks, but hotels that are cleaner than a "minshuku," cheaper than a business hotel and located near the main shopping district. What's love got to do with it? Nothing, necessarily.

While minshuku and "ryokan" may offer a traditional Japanese experience, you can also get a uniquely Japanese experience at a love hotel.

What's so Japanese about a love hotel? Although love hotels were invented to cater to the world's oldest profession, and still do, they are not limited to any specific clientele. Almost every Japanese has stayed in a love hotel at one time or another, and for all the right reasons. They're clean, cheap, and accessible. When you consider that the master bedroom in a Japanese house consists of a futon on some straw mats closed off from the rest of the house by paper doors, you begin to realize there has got to be an alternative. After all, Japan has 120 million people. Where are they all coming from?

With the need to get away, Japanese love hotels offer the equivalent of a Las Vegas getaway without the long flight, jet lag and visa requirements — Vegas in a box! Cheesy, tacky and gaudy — bring it on! From the street, lighted plastic palm trees beckon to you in front of candy-colored, turreted castle walls. Many hotels follow fairy-tale themes, perhaps to encourage you to get in touch with your inner Rapunzel. One love hotel chain has a replica of the Statue of Liberty as its symbol. Come to the land of freedom. Liberate yourself!

The truth is that there is never a love hotel very far away. Some love hotels are small and family-run, while others may have large banners outside advertising cheap afternoon rates. Which makes you wonder, since most people are at work during the day, who are these ads targeting? Ladies who ovulate on their lunch breaks?

Perhaps it is part of some family planning scheme. Wives can send their husband a cell-phone message: "Quick, let's hit the Louis L'Amour."

Once inside the hotel lobby, the entire check-in process is automated to ensure the highest level of privacy. No face-to-face interaction with desk clerks. There is nothing stopping anyone from waltzing in, using the touch screen to choose among dozens of themed rooms as if they were karaoke rooms, and then stepping into the elevator that takes you up to heaven.

Once you get into your room, you will see a big-screen TV, a large immaculately made bed and a refrigerator stocked with drinks and amenities. A menu offers reasonably priced food and drink delivered to your room — but even then, you don't have to open your door and actually make eye contact with anyone. Instead, the food is placed in a special window accessible from the inside of your room, dumbwaiter style. Food and drink is automatically added to your bill at check out — by automated touch screen, of course.

Rooms vary in decor and facilities, but most will have a large Jacuzzi bath, and others may have a TV above it. You may find a slot machine in the corner for some casual gambling between naps. Lighting is infinitely adjustable through a large panel on the wall. Perhaps you have a round bed that rotates with the press of a button. It comes with a remote control in case you should want it to warm up its rotations while you are in the Jacuzzi. Some rooms have wading pools, others have PlayStations, and yet others have the latest high-tech stereo systems. All rooms offer free amenities such as shampoos, soaps and lotions. You could truly live here. Possibly even give birth.

In a country where women are waiting later and later to have children, infertility is on the rise and doctors say stress can inhibit conception, love hotels could be more important than ever. They are one way to encourage the population into copulation.

So while love hotels in Japan promote conception, they remain to foreigners a mis-conception.

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Shinjuku's Club Wire

The outside of Shinjuku's Club Wire may look unassuming, but venture inside and you'll most likely be greeted by this smiling doorman.

If you've picked the right night of the week — the electro-rock sounds of DJ Duck Rock.

Duck Rock rides a new club wave

In the late 1970s, a club called Tsubaki House opened on the fifth floor of an office building on the southwest corner of Yasukuni and Meiji streets in Shinjuku. At a time when disco was still the rage, Tsubaki House was one of the few venues in Tokyo doing something different.

Though it was located five floors above street level, the bands and DJs who performed there were at that time firmly underground. I saw Pig Bag and Cabaret Voltaire play there in the early '80s. If you know those bands then you'll understand the level of obscurity I'm talking about; if you don't, then you've just confirmed it.

Tsubaki House also gave a lot of local talent their first break. DJ Kensho Onuki hosted his first London Nite event there 26 years ago. While other DJs were still spinning hits from "Saturday Night Fever," Onuki and his friends started playing straight-up rock and punk songs and, consequently, earned themselves a cult following among alternative-minded Tokyoites.

When Tsubaki House closed, London Nite kept going and it is still is, even now. For the last 10 years, the party has been held at Club Wire in Shinjuku, which, oddly enough, is located on the other side of Yasukuni-dori from where Tsubaki House used to be. But unlike Tsubaki House, Club Wire is (appropriately enough) located underground in a basement, deep beneath Hanazono Shrine.

The space that Club Wire occupies also has a history. This unique temple location first opened as a lounge-style nightspot at around the same time that London Nite launched at Tsubaki House. Raphael Sebbag from United Future Organization used to spin Latin music there before acid-jazz had even been heard of.

When the current owner took over the space 15 years ago, he restyled it as a dance club, calling it Milo's Garage. Though not a gay club, it became popular with many of the people from the nearby gay district of Shinjuku 2-chome.

A few years later, the owner decided to reopen it as Club Wire. And in stepped Onuki and crew to give it hardcore credentials of a different kind.

After a decade of Friday nights at Club Wire, London Nite recently dropped a notch in the schedule to a Tuesday evening. But as one generation moves on, another is always ready to move in and take over.

DJ Duck Rock, one of my current favorite turntable talents, has started hosting a new party at Club Wire every Thursday night. Duck's new Twist events have only scored a humble pre-weekend time slot, but I would have given him Onuki's old Friday-night spot.

As his name suggests, Duck is into rock. He's also a master of mixes and mash-ups, meaning that he takes some of the same old rock and punk classics that Onuki plays and pumps them up with a dance beat or layers the sound by splicing two or more songs together. Electro-rock, as this style is known, is not exactly new, but it is breathing new life into old songs.

"I take rock and twist it around, make it weird. That is Duck Rock," says Duck Rock.

The Duck's first unofficial gig as a DJ was in 1989 at Hayao Mastumura's first Nude Trump store in Koenji. (Matsumura now owns several clothing stores and a couple of bars, including Piano, in Shibuya). That night, 40 to 50 people jammed into Matsumura's then tiny shop with drinks they bought at a convenience store. His first official gig followed soon after at Boogie Boy, a non-gay bar in Shinjuku 2-chome, a short-lived but very hot spot because of the music played there. Though he only managed to go to Tsubaki House once before it closed, he has been a guest DJ at London Nite three times at Club Wire.

"When I was a teenager, I read a review that Onuki wrote about a Queen album. Then I met him. He was like a god to me," says Duck.

I know that a lot of Japanese of Duck's age feel the same way. Ever wondered why there are so many punk bands in Japan? I suspect that Onuki and his London Nites were a big influence.

But time moves on and for now, it seems, Duck Rock is riding a new "mix and mash-up" wave.

Club Wire, Hanazono Building, B1F, 5-17-6 Shinjuku, Shinjuku-ku, Tokyo. Open every Tues., Thurs., Fri. and Sun. night and most Saturdays. Opening times and cover charge varies, depending on the event. Drinks 600. wire.meeeplus.net

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Tokyo's peace behind the glitter

IHT.COM: Few cities are more prone to stereotyping than Tokyo, with its Blade Runner-esque neon canyons, nutty street fashions, sky-high prices and all-round high-octane urban intensity. All the above are indeed there - in spades - but the real Tokyo for the most part confounds expectations. Visitors are rarely prepared for the other side of the city, so unlike its raucous alter ego: the quietness of the subway, the peaceful residential streets, the old-fashionedness of the place.

These days, years of low inflation and a healthy exchange rate mean that Tokyo is far cheaper than it used to be and often astonishingly good value. The streets are safe, the restaurants consistently excellent and the transport system the most efficient of any major city. The service is outstanding, as is the attention to detail - whether it's in the presentation of food or gift wrapping in shops. Even the most critical travellers are likely to be charmed by the courtesy they encounter.

Leaving Japan is like emerging from a cosy cocoon into a harsh, brusque world. Well-heeled foreign residents, frankly, have the best of all worlds: the low crime, the good food and service and the high standard of living, without the social and family obligations that the Japanese often wish to escape from.

There are certain irritations - limited green space being one - but overall they are a small price to pay to live in this unique city. The Tokyo region is vast, with a population of 12.5 million people, or 10 per cent of Japan's total population. It is a 2,187-square-kilometre prefecture of its own, comprising 23 special wards, 26 cities, five towns and eight villages. Tokyo proper (the central district of 23 wards) is a mystery in some ways. Just how has an industrialized city of 8.5 million people, with the highest population density in Japan, come to where it is today without suffering all the usual social ills, the crime and inefficiency, of urban living? Long may it remain so.

Tokyo metrics

Population: 8.5 million (12.5 million greater Tokyo).

International flights: 62 carriers serve 99 cities/36 countries. Over 120 flights a day to US & Canada; 35 to Europe, dozens to Asia.

Crime: murders, 125; domestic break-ins, 13,637 (greater Tokyo, 2005).

State education: there are no fees for tuition or textbooks in state schools for the period of compulsory education. Tokyo has six prominent universities. In 2006 97.7 per cent of students went on to high school.

Health care: Japan has a system of universal health coverage, although how it applies to individuals varies according to factors such as age and work status. Private health insurance is rare in Japan.

Sunshine: annual average, 1,903 hours.

Temperature: in January the average temperature is 6.8C, in July 25C.

Wired: phone coverage in Tokyo is ubiquitous. Most people access the internet through their mobile phones, and as a result free wireless access is limited. This is set to change as Tokyo plans to go completely Wi-Fi.

Tolerance: Tokyo has a discreet but thriving gay scene, although many remain silent about their orientation in the workplace. Strict immigration and asylum policies mean that Tokyo is less racially diverse than other major cities. In 2005 there were 360,000 foreigners in the city. Japan in some ways is behind other countries on gender equality.

Drinking and shopping: no problem getting a drink at 01.00 (or 03.00) in Tokyo. The city is paradise for shoppers - 11.00 to 20.00 daily (department stores open earlier). Convenience stores (conbini) are a part of daily life in Japan and are open all hours.

Transport: Tokyo has a clean and efficient subway system. Cabs cost ¥660 (€4) for the first 2km and are worth it for a polite ride with lacy seat covers.

Local media: five major national dailies plus one Tokyo daily; four of the five publish both morning and evening editions. Plus tabloids and daily sports papers.

International media: a number of English language papers are printed in Japan: International Herald Tribune/Asahi, Daily Yomiuri, The Japan Times, Financial Times, USA Today and The Wall Street Journal Asia plus The Nikkei Weekly.

Green space: 4 per cent of the city.

Access to nature: in summer, Tokyo citizens flock to beaches in Chiba to the east of the city, or Kamakura and Hayama to the south, which are all an hour by train.

Environmental initiatives: there is a strict recycling policy for household rubbish.

Monocle metrics: It's cheaper than London, shopping doesn't get better and the residential lanes off the main streets are properly cozy.

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Tokyo Uncovered: Cha Cha Hana

Cha Cha Hana is camouflaged as a private home.


Diners hide out at Cha Cha Hana.

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Tokyo Uncovered: Piano Bar; Le Baron

Piano Bar is decorated in King Arthur style, with red velvet-covered walls.

A doorman at Le Baron in Tokyo, which is harder to find than its parent club in Paris.

Tokyo Uncovered: Casba

The stairway to Casba.


At Casba, a basement lounge favored by the fashion crowd, the action picks up after 2 a.m.

Tokyo Uncovered: Drunkyard's Alley; Le Baron

The rows of tiny bars along Nonbeiyokocho, or Drunkard’s Alley, in the Shibuya district. Hidden nightspots have become all the rage among a certain Tokyo set.

Le Baron is one of the few intimate dance clubs in the city.

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Tokyo Nightclubs

IT was the middle of the night as a Japanese skateboarder and concert promoter named Chris led me through Tokyo's Shibuya district — a sort of futuristic Times Square — with its hyper-commercial vertical sprawl of glass office towers and flashing neon billboards advertising the latest cellphones and pop stars. We threaded past the sleeping shopping malls and shiny multiplexes, down a series of winding streets and through a stone pedestrian tunnel, until we emerged beneath raised train tracks.

In what seemed like a prewar red-light district, dozens of pocket-size bars are tucked in a long, ramshackle shed that was pieced together shanty-style with slabs of corrugated metal, mismatched wooden boards and battered shoji rice screens mended with newspapers and ragged cloth. We trolled up and down until Chris found a particular dusty glass window.

He looked through a peephole, but instead of going through the front door, we ducked down a small side alley, where an older woman, presumably the owner, greeted Chris by name and bowed. After trading our sneakers and stiletto boots for Japanese house slippers, we slipped inside the club, Shisui.

It was a cramped space, with a few older men sitting at a thatched bamboo bar. The hostess pointed to a ladder and up we climbed into an even smaller room, furnished with nothing but a straw mat, a few cushions and a low table. A kimono clown doll and a dusty wooden guitar hung on the wall — boho signs, Chris pointed out, of the Ben Harper-listening, yoga-taking skater set who have adopted this as their unofficial, V.I.P.-only clubhouse that fits about four. A very elite club by the size of things.

Such hidden nightspots have become all the rage among a certain Tokyo set — weaned on anime and text messaging — that has graduated from dancing under the strobe lights at big Western-style nightclubs. Infused with a knowing, postmodern nostalgia for pre-Sony Tokyo, these hard-to-find hangouts feel as intimate as living rooms and are often just as small. They are not advertised on party fliers or virally hyped on Mixi — Japan's answer to MySpace — but, oddly enough for a society intravenously hooked up to high-speed gadgetry, traded solely by word of mouth.

Tokyo, especially after dark, is notoriously hard to penetrate. With its winding mazelike streets, the city is a challenge for even seasoned taxi drivers. (Many bicyclists have GPS devices on their handlebars.) So imagine hunting down the restaurants, bars and clubs that are stashed away in patchwork alleys, nondescript apartment buildings, faceless office towers and basement stairwells illuminated by red bulbs.

Discreet, out-of-the-way bars have been a staple of Japanese culture for decades. Before World War II, Tokyo was filled with these pocket-sized dives — called nomiya (counter bars) — with space for just six or seven stools. Behind the counter was a proprietor, whose role was both confidant and caregiver to the regulars. When the city was rebuilt, however, most were bulldozed in favor of larger, glossier, more Westernized offerings.

Now a younger, postwar creative class is reviving nomiya culture — with a decidedly modern spin.

“I don't go out that often, but when I do, I like to go to these little secret places,” said the contemporary artist Takashi Murakami, tinkering with a trademark anime sculpture. “There is something very familiar and personal about them that I find comforting. They may have a modern design, but the feeling is more like traditional Japan.”

For those looking to trade their track suits for a kimono, the retro-chic is partly a reaction to Tokyo's bloated cosmopolitan nightlife, which continues to be dominated by huge dance clubs with aspirational American names like Harlem, Air and Unit. One of the more popular these days is Womb in Shibuya, which draws thousands on Friday nights dressed in almost identical T-shirts and limited-edition sneakers, dancing to techno under blue lights, a giant disco ball and the ubiquitous chill-out lounge with white vinyl banquettes.

Hidden bars, by contrast, are as Japanese as geishas and toro. Some, after all, are the unadulterated originals, built as brothels before the war, and somehow overlooked by bulldozing developers.

The largest remaining tract is Golden Gai, a ghetto of vintage bars on a bamboo-lined backstreet in the Shinjuku district that is clogged with so-called hostess bars. In the 1960s and 70s, when prostitution moved elsewhere, the Golden Gai became a refuge for boozy intellectuals, including the writers Yukio Mishima and Akiyuki Nosaka. (It is also where Wim Wenders filmed scenes for his 1985 documentary, “Tokyo-Ga.”)

On a Tuesday evening last January, the narrow alleys of Golden Gai still exuded a seedy air, lined with a few rusty chairs and mops leaning against walls. A bar, Flapper, retained its forlorn plastic sign, a cartoonish silhouette of an hourglass-shaped temptress, with red letters rendered in a pre-computer font. Through a crack in the door, I spied a rumpled, bleary-eyed bartender holding court with a group of young men in crisp jeans and expensive sweatshirts.

But I was with Travis Klose and Masa Sakamaki, filmmakers who made a documentary on the bondage photographer Nobuyoshi Araki. Their friends wanted to go across town, to a harder-to-find, and therefore more exclusive, bar in the residential Koenji district.

It was 2 a.m. when the taxi let us out at a vegetable market. Metal grates were pulled down, the aisles were empty and bits of lettuce were strewn on the concrete. We pushed aside a quiltlike curtain and stepped into Oiwa (Big Rock), a tiny sepia-toned room with jugs of amber liquor that looked like Asian moonshine, a few Polaroids tacked to the wall and wooden sculptures carved by the owner. The wallpaper was so shoddily applied it sagged like old canvas.

Mr. Klose and his entourage slouched on the five stools. Without even asking, the owner fired up a two-burner hot plate and whipped up buckwheat soba noodles and omelets. When two new people crammed in, the conversation flowed like an intimate dinner party — a rarity in a society that frowns on small talk among strangers.

THERE'S a new focus on traditional culture developing among my Japanese friends,” Mr. Klose said. “They are starting to wear kimonos and reject the Western ideology pushed on them by their parents' generation. I think it's the new punk.”

Sampling Japanese tradition as a way of subverting stereotypes is also a theme in contemporary art. At the Mizuma Art Gallery in Meguro and at the Mori Art Museum, emerging artists like Hisashi Tenmyouya, Makoto Aida and Fuyuko Matsui are using Nihonga — a traditional painting style that uses mineral pigments and charcoal — in a way that imbues their drawings of flowers, birds and mountains with social awareness.

Flowers and birds are not exactly common in modern Tokyo, a city of impersonal glass towers and seedy boulevards. The closest thing to a mountain may be Roppongi Hills, a sprawling four-year-old complex with cinemas, apartment towers and the Mori museum centered around the 54 story Mori Tower, neatly mapped out in an air-conditioned and artificially illuminated grid marked with a giant M that looks like the ruling empire out of a science fiction movie. The gritty and low-tech aesthetic of hidden bars, by contrast, feels positively homey. That's true even when the nomiya has been tricked out beyond recognition.

After our impromptu late-night snack at Oiwa, we headed down the alley to Piano Bar, hidden behind an ornate wooden door. A couple of years ago, several young upstarts took over the shoebox-size space and remodeled it in King Arthur style. Crystal chandeliers were hung from the ceiling, a faux fireplace mantel installed and the walls covered in red velvet and gold frames.

Despite the tight fit — the cumulative floor space felt as large as a genie bottle — the three Japanese men with Beatles Liverpool-era haircuts sitting on the velvet cushioned stools invited us to join them and the drinks began to flow.

This hidden-bar craze may have its roots in retail. More than a decade ago, a streetwear label, A Bathing Ape, opened an unmarked shop in a deserted part of Tokyo. It became an instant hit in the fad-obsessed, brand-saturated city. Copycats sprouted.

“Everyone knows that the best stuff in Tokyo is in a small room on a little side street,” said Nicole Fall, a trend spotter who recently started a concierge service, Bespoke Tokyo, that helps tourists find the city's secret treasures.

“Not Found,” an appointment-only clothing boutique that opened last winter, is among the latest to play this card. Wander down a main thoroughfare in Azabu Juban near Roppongi and you might stumble across it. From the sidewalk, it looks like just another concrete office building with a signless door. The rail-thin space, which carries only a few articles of precious clothing hanging behind thick-glass displays, was opened by the 33-year-old founder of a tech company as a sort of luxe closet for his closest friends.

“Imagine trying to find the words ‘Not Found' on Google,” Ms. Fall said. “There's about a million entries. It's brilliant camouflage. Japanese are hobbyists and obsessives. They'll trek to a little town so they can eat a certain type of asparagus or mushroom that's only available a few days out of the year because that's when it's in season.”

Hidden bars, of course, tap into the same desire to be in the know. They are as exclusive as a limited-edition sneaker, and addresses are guarded by their patrons like PIN numbers.

That might explain the white-hot popularity of Casba, a groovy haunt in Shibuya that draws fashion elites like the Rei Kawakubo and Marc Jacobs. From the sidewalk, it is virtually undetectable; the only clue is a little sign, no larger than a desk lamp, at the bottom of a dark stairwell.

But at about 3 a.m. on a winter night, a stream of taxis began pulling up to this gray apartment building. Inside, the scene resembled a fashion photo shoot, with Japanese surfers mingling with beau monde types in what looked like a 1970s California living room, with turquoise banquettes and shag pillows.

Reiko, the owner, flitted about in a leopard-print mini-dress and pink tights, greeting guests with hugs and gossip. To be accepted into this clique, one must befriend Reiko. Her approval, it turns out, is granted if she shows you her Polaroids or, better yet, takes one of you.

Mark Dytham, a British architect who is an owner of a gallery-cum-nightclub, Super Deluxe, took me there. The secrecy cultivated by a bar, he explained, serves the same weeding-out function as a velvet rope, but in a Japanese way. The Japanese, according to Mark, are shy and polite by nature, and don't like to use the word no.

“If you are intruding on a close-knit scene, the proprietor will ignore you and maybe overcharge you,” Mark said. “You won't be asked to leave, but you will want to leave.”

We stayed several hours, until Reiko came by with her camera.

Hidden bars have become so pervasive that like all trends, they are beginning to seep into the mainstream. Le Baron, a branch of the celebrity-packed Parisian club, opened near Omotesando Street last December. Marc Newson, the product and furniture designer, is an owner.

It's not easy to find. After getting lost, wandering down narrow lanes and dead-ending at darkened storefronts, we finally spotted a single neon pink “B” next to an empty parking lot. The doorman nonchalantly directed us to the basement, which looked like a sex club in a Hong Kong action film, with pin-size red lights and sealed Plexiglas stripper booths.

There were model types from Paris grooving on the elevator-size dance floor, a filmmaker from New York, a couple of graphic designers from Seoul and a Mexican fashion designer enthroned on a chocolate leather club sofa who called himself Jesus. Apparently, they were all in on the secret.

VISITOR INFORMATION

The hidden bars, clubs and restaurants of Tokyo are intentionally hard to find. Here is a sample of the hundreds concealed behind unmarked doors and down shadowy stairwells. If possible, call ahead for detailed directions and, in some cases, reservations to guarantee admission.

BARS

The Tokyo outpost of the Parisian fashion hangout Le Baron (Aoyama center Building, Minami-Aoyama Minatu-ku; 81-3-3408-3665; www.lebaron.jp) is one of the few intimate dance clubs in the city. Owned partly by the design superstar Marc Newson, it is tricked out in high bordello kitsch, with gentlemen's club leather couches and lots of burlesque red.

In the shadows of the high rises and train tracks in Shibuya is Nonbeiyokocho, or Drunkard's Alley (1-25-10 Shibuya, Shibuya-ku), a cluster of alleyway bars that can fit 5 to 10 people. There are no exact addresses, so peek through the key-sized peepholes before entering. Piano Bar (81-3-5467-0258) is out of King Arthur, with red velvet-covered walls and a small piano. Tight Bar (81-3-3499-7668) is a retro-future lounge with white tiles and rounded, space age windows. And Shisui (81-3-3407-2371) is a prewar throwback with a worn wooden bar and an upstairs V.I.P. room popular with the skater crowd.

The Hong Kong vegetable street market hides a handful of traditional pocket-sized bars, including Oiwa (3-22-2 Koenji Kita north; 81-90-9348-1050), where the owner, an older bohemian artist with a Jack Kerouac air, serves traditional cocktails like shochu and soymilk, and whips up buckwheat noodles and omelets on a tiny stove.

Casba (Wakamatsu Building B1F 2-14-15, Higashi Shibuya-Ku; 81-3-5467-5402), a retro-furnished basement lounge on a nondescript street, picks up after 2 a.m. when the fashion and design crowds stumble in.

RESTAURANTS

Cha Cha Hana (1-1-1 Kabukicho, Shinjuku-ku; 81-3-5292-2933) is a lively restaurant in a small house at the end of a stone footpath. It serves nouvelle delicacies like grilled Japanese yam and yolk with bonito flakes (630 yen, $5.15 at 124 yen to the dollar), and potato dumplings stuffed with scallops and served with a wood-ear crab sauce (630 yen). Dinner for two with sake runs about 5,000 yen.

Knock on the gray metal door of this white-tiled apartment building to find Higashiyama Gantan (Sun Royal Higashiyama 109, 1-8-6 Higashiyama, Meguro-ku; 81-3-3791-4807). It's an industrial-minimalist bar, with private dining rooms popular with fashionistas and sneakerheads who swoon over the sashimi and techan nabe (a rich stew). Dinner for two, about 10,000 yen.

The no-frills, hard-to-find Sushi Kanesaka (8-10-3 Ginza, Chuo-ku; 81-3-5568-4411) is a favorite of the artist Takashi Murakami. One bite of the premium grade fish and perfectly textured rice, prepared by the 35-year-old sushi chef and owner, Shinji Kanesaka, makes it clear why. Dinner for two without drinks, is 20,000 yen.

HIDDEN IN BROAD DAYLIGHT

Mizuma Art Gallery (2F, Fujiya Building, 1-3-9 Kamimeguro, Meguro-ku; 81-3-3793-7931; www.mizuma-art.co.jp) is the place to see the new school of contemporary artists, including Hisashi Tenmyouya and Makoto Aida, who subvert traditional Japanese art for social commentary.

Not Found is so word-of-mouth that the only way to find this closet-size boutique, which sells Japanese designer labels such as Mastermind and Foundation Addict, is to troll the streets of Azubu Juban and ask an in-the-know passer-by.

IF YOU CAN'T FIND HIDDEN TOKYO

Don't despair. For a price, there are concierge services that will hand-lead you to secret, impossible-to-find spots. Bespoke Tokyo (03-3462-2663, www.bespoketokyo.jp), run by two British expatriates, charges $84 an hour (minimum three hours).

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