Daikichi, my local izakaya bar in Toki-shi. I loved this place. They did amazing chicken cheese (“chikkin chyeezu”) which was just hunks of chicken on a stick, grilled with cheese on top and some mysterious browny-red sauce. It was amazing. Amazing despite the fact that the guy behind the bar cooked them right there, fanning them with a big fan, with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, ash dropping into the grill. Hell, maybe that’s why it tasted so good.
One time I was with a couple of friends at the karaoke place down the road. The three of us were chucked out at 1.00 am. Someone suggested we go to Daikichi and carry on drinking pints of Asahi Super Dry and sweet, fruity Chuhais. Would it still be open, I asked. Maybe, they said. Daikichi doesn’t have a closing time. The guys who work there stay open so long as there’s customers. A few minutes later we had drinks in front of us and were waiting for our bacon-wrapped asparagus.
The walls were covered in posters advertising big local wrestling events. One of them featured a weird-looking guy in a kind of black rubber face mask. He was apparently one of the locals.
God, I miss that place.