Enjoying each other’s company is the the main dish at Kin Don, tucked into a small neighborhood in Tokyo. Patrons enjoy drinks and snacks, and old-school karaoke (at left) is the nightly entertainment.
At a throwback pub in Tokyo, snacks and libations are on the menu, but caring is the house specialty.
By MIKEY HIRANO CULROSS
RAFU STAFF WRITER
The sign on the door reads “welcome” and it’s far more than a formality.
Tucked inconspicuously behind a shared storefront on the outskirts of Tokyo sits a gathering place that’s a throwback to a simpler, warmer era.
Homier than your typical corner pub or bar, Kin Don in the neighborhood of Nishi Ooi best resembles what became known as a “snack” in the postwar Showa years across Japan.
Soft lighting, plush chairs and eclectic decorations from near and far give the small gathering place a true feeling of a home away from home. The clientele further augment the environs – chummy with one another and enthusiastically welcoming whoever happens through the door.
“It’s a very local place, like a living room in a second home,” said Hisae Murata, who opened Kin Don nearly 21 years ago.
Murata – yes, the regulars call her “Mama-san” – serves beer and mixed drinks and will supply some simple snacks. For some customers feeling a bit more peckish, she might even whip up a quick meal.
“Sometimes I’ll try to fix something, some home cooking, depending on what I have on hand.”
It’s truly a visit to a time of selfless service that came to be a hallmark of postwar Japan, and one that many fear is being lost in an age of social media and online isolation.
Of course, this wouldn’t be a proper Showa-era pub without old-school karaoke, with everyone cheering on the singer or grabbing the extra microphone and joining in the chorus.
Within one minute of introducing myself, I found myself sharing the vocals with another patron for a passable rendition of The Beatles’ “She Loves You.”
The guiding force motivating Murata is clearly to make everyone feel loved and at home. Repeat customers are welcome to serve themselves drinks from a large refrigerator in a corner of the room, and folks will occasionally stop in just to say hello even if there’s no time for a pint and a chat.
“Sometimes, customers and I will just sit and watch TV, without much conversation,” Murata said. “It really is like having a family here.”
Murata is practical in her welcoming nature. She opens her place at 6 p.m. and will stay until the last customer heads home. Signs around the room indicate closing time is 12:30 a.m., but those are posted as a clever strategy to get troublesome patrons to move along.
The business is not a huge money-maker – there are only and handful of customers on some nights – but running the snack has served as a kind of salve to help the 70-year-old Murata emerge from personal tragedy.
A native of Miyagi Prefecture, she came to Tokyo after getting married. Kin Don was a kind of labor of love. Her husband passed away during COVID, followed by the death last year of her stepson, with whom she was very close.
Murata said there were more than a few occasions on which she decided to close the bar, but those thoughts were repeatedly supplanted by the solace she found in sharing her story with patrons. She has on many nights found herself counseling customers who might have their own feelings of despair.
“She’s on her own, but she’s not alone. This really is here family here,” said a regular customer named Yuko. “I think she thrives on the engagement with customers, and customers really rely on the care and camaraderie here.”