The Best Places in Japan

Warm light and Taisho-era woodwork set the mood in this intimate tempura counter in Nishishimbashi. The chef trained under one of Japan's most rigorous tempura masters, and the framed certificate on the wall is in the mentor's own hand. Classic Edomae pieces, shrimp, sillago, conger eel, come out closer to grilled than fried, a controlled heat the style is known for. Some fish arrive unfried entirely, which is either heresy or the point, depending on your priors.

A basement tempura counter in Dojima where the sign above the door was brushed by the chef's mother, a calligraphy instructor, which tells you something about the kind of place this is. The chef trained at a hotel before going solo, and his goal is tempura so lightly coated you question whether it was fried at all. Sea urchin with nori and wagyu wrapped in perilla leaf are the signature moves.

A tempura counter in Nara where the chef came up through ryotei training before dedicating himself to the fry. The omakase moves in alternating seafood and vegetable courses, with cottonseed oil keeping the batter notably light. Sea bream fried with its scales pressed into pine-cone ridges is the kind of detail that makes you sit up. Eel and venison show up too, for a chef clearly not content with the standard repertoire. The meal closes with tencha, tempura over rice flooded with fresh-brewed dashi.

A tempura counter in Nishitemma built around an older Osaka tradition: Kamigata-style, which means pale batter, cottonseed oil with a light scent, and white-fleshed fish pulled from Osaka Bay and the Seto Inland Sea rather than the usual shrimp parade. Vegetables come from around Kansai. The meal ends with the house tendon, seasoned with salt instead of the sweet sauce you'd expect, a quiet regional argument made in a single bowl.

A basement tempura counter in Ebisu where the chef taught himself the form by eating his way through every style he could find, which gives the menu a restless, self-invented quality. Batter traps tiny air bubbles and fries in fresh-pressed sesame oil, so each piece lands lighter than expected. Produce and seafood travel up from Shizuoka and Suruga Bay, and the meal closes with a cup of Kakegawa tea.

Wooden tablets inscribed with neighborhood supporters' names line the walls, giving this tempura counter the feel of a local shrine as much as a restaurant. The chef, born and raised in Iriya, runs the meal in the classical Edomae style, moving from delicate tiger prawn and squid through to bolder catches you won't find on most menus. Old Tokyo feels closer here than it does almost anywhere else in the city.

Tucked into the fifth floor of a Kagurazaka building, this intimate tempura counter fries each piece in cold-pressed sesame oil, which pulls the flavor forward in a way vegetable oil simply doesn't. The chef alternates seafood and vegetables so the palate keeps resetting, and the sea urchin, wrapped in nori to hold its shape, is the kind of quiet flourish that makes you sit up straight.

A tea-house craftsman shaped the clean lines of this tempura restaurant tucked into Nakagyo-ku, where the ground floor holds private rooms and the upper floor is all counter seats with the chef at work. Cottonseed oil keeps the fry notably light. The prix fixe moves between seafood and vegetables in rotation, and the ryokan that manages the place keeps it honest by offering tendon at lunch, hoping you come back long after checkout.

A soba and tempura restaurant in Yushima where the name itself is a wish that you eat your fill. The kitchen leans into Edo-era tradition, shiba shrimp skewered and fried in a style that predates the reclamation of the bay where those shrimp once swam. The omakase lets you lean into pure tempura or fold in small dishes around it, depending on your appetite and your mood.

A white dining room where nearly every serving vessel once belonged to the chef's mentor, which tells you something about the philosophy before a single dish arrives. This is a quiet Japanese restaurant in Ningyocho where the cooking aims for honesty over flourish, though the seasonal tempura rice, inspired by the old tenbara style and finished as chazuke on a second helping, shows there's a personality behind the restraint.

A yakitori counter where the chef grills free-range Hinai-jidori chicken over both charcoal and wood flame, a combination you don't see often. The chicken is aged to concentrate its flavor before it ever meets the fire, and every skewer is built in an inverted triangle, which sounds fussy until you see it. The meal opens with a single skewer of breast meat, a quiet way of saying: pay attention to what's actually in front of you.

A kaiseki-style tasting menu built entirely around chicken, which sounds like a constraint until the courses start arriving. This intimate Ebisu spot moves from nori-wrapped breast and minced chicken spring rolls through wonton soup and char-grilled duck, closing with chicken bone broth over rice. The grill work is the standout, the birds scorched over high flame on a wire net rather than skewered. Nothing from the bird goes unaccounted for.

A basement Italian spot in Nishi-Azabu where dramatic lighting falls hard on a stone-and-earth counter and the kitchen keeps going long after places upstairs have called it a night. The à la carte menu shifts with what came in that day, and the spread of appetizers and pasta is built for sharing, though full portions hold their own. The kind of room where a late dinner stops feeling like a compromise.

A menu of over a hundred dishes, and the house policy is that you order exactly what you want, in whatever quantity you please. This izakaya in Nakagyo-ku leans on fish, so tilefish arrives grilled or fried, mackerel as sashimi or rolled, and the sake pairings are taken seriously. Beef dishes hold their own on the side. The sheer range is the point, a crash course in how many directions Japanese cooking can go in one sitting.

Sea bream over rice, a staple of Uwajima, anchors the menu at this quiet Japanese restaurant on the second floor in Kagurazaka. The chef grew up fishing with his grandfather in Ehime Prefecture, trained at a ryotei, then looped through Chinese and French kitchens before coming back to the food he always meant to cook. Ingredients from Ehime still do most of the talking, and the name itself translates roughly as "original intention."

A prix fixe restaurant in Azabujuban devoted entirely to eel, where the chef's time cooking in Paris shows up as eel simmered in wine alongside the classical lacquer-box rice. The kabayaki arrives in a bun, the salt-grilled version gets yuzu-kosho and plum. It is a narrow obsession executed with a lot of range, and the kind of place that makes you realize how much had been left unexplored in a centuries-old tradition.

The name means cranes dancing in clouds, and the chef has built his Japanese dining room around that image and the Osaka principle of wasting nothing. The signature preparation simmers small sea bream whole in rapeseed oil, a nod to the canola fields that once surrounded a nearby temple, until even the bones are edible. It is a quiet, conviction-driven kind of cooking that would rather show you a philosophy than impress you with luxury.

A kappo counter where the chef pairs seasonal fish with fruit in combinations that sound like a dare and eat like they were inevitable. The philosophy is that originality has to be earned through fundamentals, and the cooking shows it. Organic wines are chosen with the same care as the menu, which leans creative without tipping into spectacle. The room is small and personal, the way Osaka kappo tends to be.

The restaurant's name comes from an archaic Japanese word for tomato, a small fact that unlocks the whole project: French technique absorbed and made Japanese, the way the tomato was. On the tenth floor in Kitaaoyama, the kitchen folds dried bonito, miso, and charcoal fire into a French framework, serving soup in lacquerware bowls while traditional painting motifs line the open kitchen. It's a thoughtful, quietly confident dinner out.

A tea-and-sweets counter on the second floor in Kagurazaka where the star of every pairing is the tea, not the other way around. The chef travels to the growers and picks the leaves himself, then builds a menu around regional character, anchored by yokan, a fruit jelly fermented until the sweet-sour balance lands exactly where he wants it. Bring patience and a willingness to drink slowly.

A Chinese restaurant where the wagyu is not a topping but the entire premise: "Wagyu Chugoku-sai" translates roughly to Chinese cuisine built around Japan's prized beef, and the prix fixe menu takes that literally. Char-grilled chateaubriand arrives folded into Peking duck pancakes, which is either a scandal or a revelation depending on your orthodoxy. The chef layers Japanese and Western technique over a Chinese foundation, letting the seasons steer the menu.

Fermented eel, cured in-house with salt and rice bran, tells you something about the chef's patience and point of view. This is a quiet Japanese restaurant where lunch means a single omakase menu and evenings open up to à la carte, pulling between old-fashioned home cooking and something more inventive. The chef trained across ryotei, kappo, and catering, and that breadth shows in a menu where nostalgia and the occasional left-field idea sit comfortably at the same table.

A Japanese restaurant near Murasakino where the à la carte format is a genuine philosophy, not an afterthought. The menu moves freely across seasons and registers, from sashimi dressed with green peppercorns to duck tenderloin cooked with a nod to yakitori tradition, and on to rice dishes in several forms. Portions flex up or down on request, which is a small courtesy that makes the whole meal feel like yours to arrange.

The name blends the Japanese "wa" (harmony) with the French "vie" (life), and the kitchen takes that fusion seriously rather than just decorating French technique with a few local garnishes. This prix fixe restaurant in Ukyo-ku builds its menu around Kyoto-area ingredients, with herb-fermented vegetables lending an earthy depth and wine-and-cream sauces keeping things clearly on the French side of the hyphen.

A second-floor yakitori counter in Motoazabu built around a single obsession: Tamba-Sasayama chicken, raised locally and taken seriously. The chef pairs skewers with wine rather than beer or sake, and it works, particularly seared breast with Guérande salt and liver glazed with balsamic. The name translates loosely as a ray of sunshine on Darkness Hill, which is either poetic or a lot of pressure for a chicken restaurant.

A basement yakitori counter where the chef's fixation on Kyotamba chicken shapes every skewer. Many pieces are wrapped in skin to draw out the fat's flavor, and the kitchen borrows moves from Japanese cuisine, marinating chicken in kombu broth or folding it into meatballs with takikomi-gohan rice. The cleverest trick: skewers laid over vegetables as they grill, the vegetables quietly soaking up everything dripping from above.

A yakitori counter where the chef ages free-range Kagoshima chickens before they ever hit the grill, coaxing out a depth you don't usually expect from a skewer joint. Beyond the standard salt and tare, he brushes each stick with a fragrant oil he makes himself. The menu weaves in soups and fried chicken dishes between rounds, and closes with rice from earthenware pots or a bowl of chicken broth ramen, which is a graceful way to end.

A U-shaped counter wraps around a live charcoal grill at this yakitori counter near Oshiage, where the kitchen staff call out to each other like a well-drilled team. Chunky skewers of named-breed chicken go over high flame, and the chef leans toward salt over sauce, letting the meat do the talking. The room smells exactly like you want it to, and the skewers disappear faster than you planned for.

Calabashes hang from the rafters here, a nod to the founding chef's habit of drinking sake from gourds, and the counter fills the moment the shop curtain goes up outside. This is a meat kappo, meaning an intimate counter meal built around beef offal and cuts, handled with quiet precision. Staff still call tongue "Zunge" and heart "Herz," a house code that traces back to the German physicians who were once its regulars and apparently never left.

The sign out front says "set menu" in Chinese, which tells you exactly what you're in for. Yiwanshui is a small Chinese home-cooking spot in Nishi-ku where the kitchen keeps the oil light and lets familiar ingredients do the talking. The lunch spread arrives as a colorful nine-dish appetizer platter, the kind of meal that feels restorative rather than showy. The sort of place where regulars stop thinking of it as a restaurant.

Oden is Japan's great underestimated comfort food, and Yoshitaka treats it with the precision of kaiseki, serving each piece one at a time in its own distinct dish. The dashi here draws on Osaka's old kombu-merchant heritage, and toppings like dried kombu shavings or ground sesame nudge familiar flavors somewhere new. The meal closes with ramen or peppered rice in the Edo style, which is a satisfying way to end something that never quite announces itself as a special occasion dinner but quietly is.

Yoshoku, the old Western-influenced Japanese comfort food, gets counter-style kappo treatment here, with the chef cooking and chatting in equal measure. Deep-fried horse mackerel, hamburger steak, and sautéed pork are the crowd pleasers, but the sauces carry the fingerprints of a French kitchen. Ingredients travel in from a Shiga butcher, a Shizuoka fishmonger, and a Kyoto farmer, which is a lot of logistics for what is, lovingly, a plate of comfort food.

The menu arrives handwritten in the chef's own brushwork, which sets the tone for an izakaya that takes its craft seriously without losing the easy warmth the format demands. Seasonal sake pairs naturally with dishes built around small surprises, and shochu comes blended and rested before it reaches you. The vessels are made by artisans, the service is run by a couple who clearly communicate, and the name, meaning glaze and moon, says the rest.

A Sichuan-rooted restaurant in Nogizaka where the restrained seasoning is a philosophy, not an oversight: the chef pulls back on the heat so the farm-direct vegetables can actually say something. The name means "ties" or "connections," and that idea runs through everything, from the producers supplying the kitchen to the warm-hearted front-of-house who makes the room feel like someone's home. Seasonal menus keep honest time with the Japanese calendar.

Sashimi arrives with Daitokuji natto instead of soy sauce, which tells you something about the kitchen's appetite for a quiet left turn. Yuyu is a Japanese dinner restaurant named for a phrase about living free of worldly cares, and the format follows through: à la carte only, no rush. Beef tongue comes in a white miso that resembles a stew, and the final course lets you pick your own ending, rice, noodles, curry, or otherwise.

A ryokan perched above the forested gorge of Kakusenkei, with mineral spring baths that have been in use longer than anyone can politely remember. Yamanaka Onsen is classic Japanese inn country, and Hanamurasaki leans into that without going stiff about it: kaiseki meals but also à la carte, sake pairings, and a tea lounge serving cocktails alongside local Kaga bōcha. Every room faces the trees and the gorge below.

Every room has its own Hokusai print, which is not something most airport hotels can say. Portom is a modern-luxe hotel built into New Chitose Airport's international terminal, so yes, the convenience is extreme, but the experience skews more city-center than transit purgatory. A luxury spa, an exhibition of Edo and Meiji arts and crafts, and two restaurants, one Japanese, one a Japanese-French hybrid, round out a stay that has no business being this considered.

Three converted 18th-century kura, the black-and-white wooden storehouses you see lining Kurashiki's old canal district, make up this eight-room ryokan sitting in the middle of a neighborhood that genuinely looks like it hasn't moved on in centuries. Tatami floors, cloud-soft futons, and multi-course kaiseki dinners served in the room or the restaurant keep the experience classically ryokan, while the living museum just outside the door handles the atmosphere.

A Lawrence Weiner mural runs across the facade of this design hotel in Maebashi, which tells you immediately what kind of stay this is. Architect Sou Fujimoto transformed a 1970s concrete block into something closer to a contemporary art museum with rooms, including a Leandro Erlich installation filling the atrium. A newer green tower shaped after the nearby mountains is its own sculpture. The founder of Japanese eyewear brand JINS envisioned it as a living room for the whole city.

A renovated cluster of historic structures arranged like a small village on the edge of Shizuoka, where the city trails off into the mountains. This inn is deeply traditional in feel, with richly detailed interiors, though one room quietly slips in a pair of Arne Jacobsen swan chairs alongside its antiques. Dining runs from a seasonal Japanese restaurant to a full omakase experience. The Michelin Guide has it among its selected hotels.

A short ferry hop from Hiroshima puts you on Etajima, a quiet island in the Seto Inland Sea where this small ryokan-style hotel sits with rooms overlooking the water or forested hills. Handmade washi art by Eriko Horiki lines the interiors, and the mineral hot spring baths do exactly what you came for. The restaurant runs multi-course meals pairing French technique with local seafood. It's the kind of place where the ferry schedule becomes your whole schedule.

A short bridge connects this Hyatt resort to its own private island off Okinawa's west coast, and the architects made sure every room earns that address, with floor-to-ceiling views pulling your eye straight to open water. The infinity pool sits at the ocean's edge, which makes the poolside cocktail lounge feel less like an amenity and more like a very good idea. Restaurants cover Italian, sushi, teppanyaki, and local Okinawan cooking, so you never have to leave the island, which may be the point.

A modern ryokan on the island of Itsukushima, where many rooms look out over the Seto Inland Sea, Mt. Misen, or both. The interiors mix classic 20th-century European and American design pieces with the handiwork of Japanese artisans, a pairing that somehow feels deliberate rather than indecisive. The restaurant applies French techniques to Setouchi produce and local seafood. A short ferry hop from Hiroshima, which makes it very easy to talk yourself into staying.

The local pottery tradition lands on every table at this ten-room luxury inn near Matsuyama, where Tobe ceramics hold a French-Japanese kitchen's output. The architecture reads as almost Alpine beside its lake, and the spa runs European rather than onsen-style. Rooms are modern-minimalist and face the water. Japan's auberge tradition is younger than the ryokan but finding its footing, and this place is a good argument for it.

An infinity pool framed by tall palms and open to the East China Sea at sunrise is the centerpiece of this luxury resort on Okinawa's northern coastal highlands. Rooms are spacious with parquet floors and furnished balconies facing either the ocean or the forest, and round-the-clock butler service means requests don't wait until morning. A spa, teppanyaki bar, library lounge, and a Mediterranean restaurant using local ingredients round out the picture.

The charred crust here pulls like freshly grilled mochi, which tells you something about where this pizza fits in the world. It's a sit-down pizza restaurant in Ebisu run by a chef who came up in traditional Japanese kitchens and decided neither Naples nor Rome quite covered what he was after. The menu runs from familiar classics to pies topped with katsuobushi or soy-marinated tofu, where the comfort is Japanese even when the shape is Italian.

A suite-only resort on Okinawa's quieter western coast, where breakfast and brunch run until 2pm and the infinity pool technically never closes. Every suite comes with a private terrace and an in-room sauna, and the lounges stock snacks and drinks around the clock, so the ambition of leaving for the day is always negotiable. With only 54 rooms, it stays unhurried in a way that larger resorts tend to promise and then quietly fail to deliver.

A fortress-like wall hides this resort from the road, which is exactly the point: inside, gardens, villas, and low-slung structures open toward an unspoiled stretch of west coast beach. The villas blend sharp contemporary design with traditional Okinawan craft, all facing the ocean. What the kitchen does with the overlap between Okinawan and Sicilian cooking is either a stretch or a revelation, and you'll have time to decide between snorkeling, diving, and Ryukyu Karate lessons.

A feudal lord's retreat that became a count's home, then a traditional inn, Ohana sits on a 23,000-square-meter estate designated Japan's only National Place of Scenic Beauty where overnight stays are permitted. Kaiseki dinners unfold in former family quarters above Shoto-en Garden, cypress soaking tubs wait in the guest rooms, and original Tachibana ceramics and textiles survived the renovation. The 100-tatami-mat hall catches morning light in the way old buildings seem to have planned for.

Villas on the Okinawan coast where every unit comes with a private pool and a butler who works the same hours you do. Six sizes, none of them modest, and the upper-tier options add a hot tub to the arrangement. The fine-dining restaurant runs a charcoal-grill menu with a dress code, the poolside grill does not, and a full spa handles the rest. The East China Sea views make the decision to stay another night embarrassingly easy.

Five suites, no restaurant, no spa, and that is entirely the point. This ultra-modern boutique hotel sits on a cliff above the East China Sea, its white rectangular facade designed by Shinichi Ogawa & Associates to get out of the way of the view. Each suite opens through oversized sliding glass doors onto a private terrace with an open-air bath and infinity pool. The interiors are all-white and minimalist, leaving the ocean to do the decorating.

Kouri Island reaches the main island by a single bridge over water so green it looks filtered, and Baton Suite sits right at that edge. It's a small suite-only resort where every room faces the East China Sea, either across the bridge or down into a tropical garden and pool. Deep soaking tubs, daybeds at floor-to-ceiling windows, and some rooms with kitchens. The pace here is essentially legislated by geography.

A 12-room auberge in the Yatsugatake Mountains that looks, improbably, like it was airlifted from Paris and set down facing mountain peaks instead of the Left Bank. Rooms tuck under mansard rooflines with the proportions that a rural setting makes possible, and the in-house restaurant keeps a cellar of 2,000 French bottles. The owner built it as a tribute to French hospitality, and the result is a hotel that has no obvious counterpart anywhere in Japan.

Saijo sits at the foot of Mount Ishizuchi and the groundwater practically bubbles up through the pavement, which explains why a University of Tokyo eco-project chose it for Japan's first zero-energy hotel. The building is all angular rooflines and open-air walkways, rooms kept spare with blonde wood and pale green tile, beds on raised platforms. Shared coworking space, a café, and riverside gardens round things out for a hotel that takes its minimalism as seriously as its environmental brief.

A modern design hotel on the shores of Lake Biwa, L'Hotel du Lac looks almost aggressively contemporary against its postcard countryside setting. Inside, the aesthetic is stripped back without feeling cold, and the rooms have a stillness that no amount of scented candles can manufacture. Villa suites add lofted ceilings and a country-house feel, there's a pool and outdoor baths, and the after-dinner lounge stocks hundreds of varieties of shochu.

A ryokan in one of Japan's quieter hot spring cities, Tendo-so gives every room its own private onsen bath, which removes a certain amount of the morning negotiation around the public pools. The seven detached cottages, called hanare, are modeled on traditional tea-ceremony structures and lean fully into classical Japanese design, while the main house runs a little more contemporary. A kaiseki dinner is served each evening, with grilled eel holding the place of honor.

A three-minute walk from the ferry pier at Uno Port, this sleek hotel sits at the departure point for the Setouchi island-hop, which means guests are either here with a ferry to catch or have decided the spa's indoor and outdoor onsen baths are reason enough to stay. The rooms lean modern and calm, the restaurant choice splits between classic Japanese and modern French, and the Seto Inland Sea is right outside.

The vineyard rows run right up to your door at this winery villa tucked into the northern foothills of Mount Fuji, where the pitch is that you don't just drink the wine, you help make it. Guests can join seasonal vineyard work, tour the terroir by e-bike, or simply sit with a small-lot bottle from grapes grown a few steps away. It's a working agricultural stay as much as a hotel, and the landscape does most of the decorating.

Nine old townhouses on a portside fishing town have been stitched together into a small, intimate hotel, with interiors that lean modern Japanese while the kitchen leans unmistakably French. Celebrity chef Tateru Yoshino, a veteran of Japan's top French tables, applies classical technique to Fukui seafood. The place manages to feel both genuinely local and quietly European, which is a harder trick than it sounds.

A hot tub overlooking forested hillsides sets the tone at this mountain bed and breakfast on the quiet edge of Shizuoka City. The architecture leans modern-rustic in a way that feels earned rather than styled, and the family owners live next door, which explains both the warmth and the food. Breakfast comes with the room; a private dinner can be arranged, and the owners come from a culinary background, so that offer is worth taking seriously.

Mount Fuji fills the balcony view at this design-forward resort hotel at the mountain's base, where the pitch is "luxury self-hospitality": you get a full kitchen, a private sauna in many suites, and the sense that no one is hovering. Bunk rooms handle families, a jacuzzi penthouse handles groups with ambitions, and dogs get their own rooftop run. The café-lounge BASE445 pulls everyone back together with local food and craft drinks when the sauna cycling winds down.

Suites here come with en suite kitchens and, in some cases, private plunge pools, which is the hotel's way of telling you to settle in and ignore your schedule. This wellness resort on Shodoshima sits right on the Seto Inland Sea, with hot springs piped into the spa and an infinity pool at the water's edge. Restaurant edén handles dinner if self-catering feels like too much ambition, leaning on local Setouchi ingredients.

A white-walled hotel on a hill above Mikawa Bay, its green copper roof shaped to read like a castle from the water. The Art Deco lobby chandeliers and original elevator details have been preserved, and a hexagonal 1930s annex plus an older sukiya-shoin wooden structure sit on the grounds as cultural properties. Babe Ruth slept here once, which the hotel remembers in considerable detail. Takeshima Island sits just across the water.