The Best Places to Eat and Drink in Japan

The pizza here crosses Naples with Japan without making a fuss about it, which is harder than it sounds. This is a Neapolitan-style pizzeria inside Azabudai Hills, run by a Neapolitan who has been in Tokyo long enough to know exactly where local ingredients fit into a classic dough. The menu is short and deliberate, the fermentation long, and the wine cellar personal. It holds the top spot on 50 Top Pizza Asia-Pacific and sits at number thirteen on the World list.

A prix fixe restaurant in Nishi-ku where the menu has no fixed dishes because the chef keeps rewriting it, drawing on Italian and French training, pastry work, and a deep attachment to Osaka. The first half of the meal is essentially a love letter to the city; the second half ends with seasonal mixed rice, served in a bowl you hold in your hands. Handmade ceramics carry the food. Genre-less is the point, not the problem.

The chef mills his own buckwheat, some of it grown in his own garden, to coax out an aroma that pre-ground flour can't touch. This quiet soba shop in Jingumae serves coarse-ground seiro with a wild, earthy depth that makes the usual lunch-counter bowl feel like a different food entirely. Evenings shift to a prix fixe format with small courses built around buckwheat in forms well beyond the noodle.

A basement bar in Ginza that plays nothing but Tom Waits, all night, every night. The focus here is absolute: no food, just long drinks made with homemade tonic and ginger ale, beautiful hand-cut ice, and specially sourced lemons. The whisky highball is the signature, and the Japanese whisky selection runs deep. It earned a spot on The 50 Discovery list, and the regulars who fill it treat the place accordingly.

A standing-room cocktail bar tucked inside the Herbis Osaka luxury mall, Bar Hiramatsu pulls between two registers: serious Japanese whisky poured with the reverence you'd expect, and Ginza-style seasonal fruit cocktails that read more like dessert. The bar snacks lean surprisingly meaty, running from salami to haggis, which is not a sentence you expect to type about Osaka. It earned a spot on The 50 Discovery list.

Shelves of gin bottles arranged like a pharmacist's careful inventory set the tone at this sleek cocktail bar in Dojima. The focus is entirely on gin, from local Japanese labels to imported rarities, some aged close to a century. Gimlets and Martinis are the backbone, though versions built around yuzu or cherry blossom keep things from feeling too earnest. A 50 Best Discovery listing tracks the buzz. Sit at the bar; that's the whole point.

Twelve hundred bottles line the shelves here, with around six hundred single malts among them, including some expressions you won't find poured anywhere else in Kyoto. This second-floor whisky bar on Kiyamachi draws the kind of guests who already know what they want before they sit down, yet the service stays easy and unguarded even when the dram costs as much as a hotel night. The kitchen sends out haggis pizza, which tells you something about the place's sense of humor.

Close to 3,000 bottles line the shelves here, stacked like a library where every book is a whisky. This low-key bar in Tenjin tilts heavily toward Scotch, Irish, American, and Japanese expressions, with sake holding its own alongside them. The owner knows the collection cold and will steer you through it without making you feel lost. Snacks come paired to whatever's in the glass, and the kind of evening where you lose track of time is very much the point.

No dry ice, no artisanal foam, no garnish that needs a taxonomy lesson. Bar Oscar is a wood-panelled, sixth-floor cocktail bar in Fukuoka's Daimyo neighbourhood that has been pouring confident classics, daiquiris, whisky sours, a well-proportioned Manhattan, for decades, with smooth jazz and warm staff to match. The city views are a bonus; the conviction that a good drink needs nothing extra is the whole point.

The backbar is rough-hewn wood, built by a former carpenter who then pivoted to becoming a certified tequila expert, which is a career arc worth raising a glass to. Bar Wakabayashi, a short walk from Kamata Station, pours over a hundred bottles of tequila and mezcal alongside a classics-heavy cocktail menu organized by base spirit. It's a proper neighborhood bar that takes agave seriously without making you feel like a student.

Six seats at a minimalist wooden counter is the whole room at Chiune, a Chinese fine dining restaurant inside Tokyo Garden Terrace Kioicho. The chef is the son of a celebrated figure in the city's Chinese dining scene, and the apple has not fallen far, with the menu leaning into premium ingredients and showmanship, including a Shaoxing wine gelato finished tableside. Small by design, quiet by default.

A cocktail bar tucked into a renovated historic home near Kiyomizudera, Furek has built its entire philosophy around water, sourcing a specific supply for the ice and the mixes. It sounds like a gimmick until you taste the difference. The bar holds a spot on The 50 Discovery list, which suggests the drinks world has noticed. Small, considered, and quietly serious about something most bars never think twice about.

Six counter seats inside an Osaka station building, with the bar's name printed so small on the wall you could walk straight past it. Craftroom is a whisky and cocktail bar where the bartender's non-alcoholic menu gets as much attention as the spirits list, and the cocktail menu changes with the seasons. A spot on The 50 Discovery list has not made it any easier to get a stool.

Getting a table here requires knowing the chef, then buying one of her fashion-inspired cakes, which are themselves hard to obtain and not cheap. Once inside, Été is essentially a private dining room, one table per night, where the chef serves intricate French cuisine herself. It holds a spot on The 50 Discovery list, and the whole setup feels less like booking a restaurant and more like being admitted to something.

Fewer than a dozen people can squeeze into this intimate bar tucked down an unremarkable alley between Kiyomizudera and the Gion geisha district. The interiors are charcoal black and calm, hung with framed art including, inexplicably, Winnie the Pooh. Low lighting and a living-room feel put it at a comfortable distance from the bare-wood Scandi aesthetic that colonized every other bar on earth. A Discovery from The 50 list.

Getting a table here requires an introduction, which is either a charming throwback or a gentle hint about the clientele, depending on your outlook. This intimate Ginza steakhouse, set across two floors above the street, is built around Tajima and Kobe beef, including cuts from champion-awarded cattle. The chef's Western-influenced approach runs from seared beef assortments through oxtail soup to precisely grilled sirloin or fillet.

A tiny kaiseki counter in Shinjuku where the set menu reads like a seasonal dispatch from across Japan, spiny lobster to black wagyu, every ingredient traced back to its source. The chef behind it built his reputation in Kobe before relocating to Tokyo, and the room stayed small by design. Getting a seat here requires the kind of advance planning people usually reserve for international travel.

A hushed cocktail bar tucked deep inside a hulking 1970s office complex in Shimbashi, the salaryman district that never really sleeps. Antique furnishings and a near-silent room sit in odd, pleasing contrast to the gritty corridors outside. The bar leans hard on the classics, though regulars tend to steer toward the Pantheon, the house original built on Scotch, Benedictine, and lemon. A 50 Discovery from The 50 list.

A lift ride to the fourth floor of a nondescript building near Sannomiya Station opens into a cocktail bar that treats Hyogo Prefecture the way other bars treat a vintage spirits collection. The drinks run from spirit-led classics to sake cocktails built with architectural care, all pulling from local breweries and regional ingredients. The counter invites a long conversation as much as a long evening.

A cocktail bar perched on top of Ginza Six, seating exactly eight people around a minimal counter while the rest of Tokyo carries on below. The house obsession is tea, and the bartender Shuzo Nagumo has made a name threading gyokuro, hojicha, and oolong through classics you thought you knew. The room is delicate, the glassware is delicate, and somehow the whole thing stays relaxed anyway.

The bar takes its name from Japan's prized Mizunara oak, and the room feels like a small argument in favor of that tree: warm wood throughout, gentle light, and a shelf of Japanese spirits that runs from awamori to single malt. This is a whisky and shochu bar in Kagurazaka, a neighborhood Tokyo calls its Little Paris, which is either charming or a lot depending on your tolerance for nicknames. A 50 Discovery pick.

The Martini here has its own pilgrim trail, which tells you something about the reputation this Ginza cocktail bar carries. Takao Mori, a godfather of Japanese bartending, rarely works the room these days, but his longtime team keeps the recipes and the warmth intact. For a neighborhood defined by its stiffness, the mood runs notably loose. The 50 Discovery listed it, and regulars would tell you that undersells it.

The chef here has been breaking down beef since childhood, son of a butcher and grandson of a cattle dealer, which goes some way to explaining why the Wagyu at this refined Ginza steakhouse hits differently. A long tasting menu works through ten-plus courses built around prime cuts, with aged Kobe beef as the centrepiece. The room is polished and the prices will remind you that you're in Ginza.

Every seat in this Kyoto cocktail bar is reserved, and once you're in, the menu is decided for you: five experimental cocktails, each with a paired snack, under the house philosophy of "liquid cuisine." The format alone tells you what you're signing up for. It's one of two bars from the same bartender, and the more serious of the pair, so arrive with an open mind and no strong opinions about what you're about to drink.

Stone reliefs and art deco fragments salvaged from the 1923 original line the walls of this hotel cocktail bar inside the Imperial Hotel, making it a quiet shrine to Frank Lloyd Wright. The leather and dark wood do the rest of the atmospheric heavy lifting. The cocktail list leans classic, with a few signatures from the bar team. Come here when Tokyo starts feeling like too much century and not enough century.

A cocktail bar in Sapporo's Chuo Ward with a drinks list titled Remedy & Cures and a shelf that includes a 1950s bottle of Italian amaro. The team leans toward the classics and takes drinking history seriously, with absinthe served the traditional way and vintage bottles that give the place the feel of a well-stocked archive. Named a Discovery by The 50, it has quietly become a reason to wander Hokkaido's biggest city after dark.

Four seats, two tables, and a waitlist measured in years: Pellegrino is an Italian dining room in miniature, tucked into Ebisu, where chef Takahashi Hayato cooks the specialities of Parma with the intimacy of a family kitchen in Emilia Romagna. Meals arrive in two halves, guided by what the chef calls "everything supreme," which turns out to be less a motto than a floor plan. A 50 Discovery from the World's 50 Best.

There are no posted hours, no website, and no reservation link because Sugalabo doesn't want strangers walking in. The chef trained under Joël Robuchon for sixteen years, and his Japanese-French counter dining is available strictly by introduction from an existing regular, a custom called ichigensan okotowari. Find a friend who already has a seat, and then you can worry about the food.

Eight seats, a wooden counter, and a chef who decides the menu each morning based on whatever the market gave up. This is a small omakase sushi bar in Ginza, the kind of place where the room disappears and the fish is the whole conversation. Lunch draws a lengthy queue for a compact, modestly priced sushi set that Tokyo talks about; evenings shift into something more elaborate. A Discovery on The 50 list.

A sign no bigger than a bathroom tile marks the wooden door, which makes a 13-seat omakase counter behind it feel like something you earned just by finding the place. The earthy interior is deliberately spare, a single monochrome painting on the wall so that nothing competes with the chefs working over enormous blocks of wood in front of you. Sushi Mitani holds a spot on the World's 50 Best Discovery list.

Pronounced "teh-zeh," this Tokyo backstreet cocktail bar keeps nearly 3,000 books on every available surface, and regulars treat the shelves like a lending library while the bartenders riff on classics or invent something on the spot. Dark wood panelling, retro leather couches, and dim lighting make it feel like a very well-read living room. Curry dishes appear on the menu too, which somehow feels right. Been around since the late nineties, and the neighbourhood clearly never found a reason to leave.

A thick slice of kobe beef chateaubriand, deep-fried and folded into fluffy milk bread with tonkotsu sauce, cut into four neat quarters: that is essentially the whole menu. Wagyumafia is a standing-room katsu sandwich spot in Nakameguro, with a few high stools and no pretense of a broader vision. In a city where culinary traditions are treated like sacred texts, building a restaurant around a single sandwich takes a certain nerve.

Shadowy basement banquettes, sake in hand, and wagyu on the grill: Yoroniku is a yakiniku restaurant in Minami-aoyama that high-profile Tokyoites have made something of a private secret. DJ-turned-chef Vanne Kuwahara runs the room, and set menus work through wagyu in careful sequence, from brined tongue with lemon to rich sirloin you cook yourself at the table. A Discovery on The 50 list.

Eight seats, charcoal fire, and no set menu: what you eat at this intimate Higashiyama restaurant depends on the season, the market that morning, and what you tell the chef you want. The name translates loosely as a retreat where happiness rains down, which is either deeply poetic or exactly what happens when autumn unagi comes off the grill. The 50 Discovery program has taken notice.

A pizzeria-grill sitting inside Nagoya's busiest shopping arcade, Cesari runs on the reputation of Pasquale Makishima, who won the World Pizza Championship and then quietly built what amounts to a small Italian food empire in Japan. The menu spans red and white pies made with imported Italian ingredients, grilled meat, classic Italian dishes, and desserts from the in-house lab upstairs. The wine list is organized to pair with all of it. Ranked in the 50 Top Pizza World list.

The view from the 42nd floor of Midland Square hits before the menu does, and Nagoya spreads out below you like a reward for taking the elevator. This is the Japanese outpost of the storied Florentine fine dining institution, and the kitchen bridges Italy and Japan in ways that feel considered rather than gimmicky. Fresh pasta anchors the menu, the desserts are serious, and the wine list runs deep, with thoughtful options for non-drinkers too.

The dough here is soft and pillowy in a way that signals someone has been paying close attention. L'Insieme is a pizzeria and grill in Kameido that leans warmly into Italian informality, with a menu that runs from classic pies to more offbeat combinations, plus a serious commitment to grilled meat and an Italian-heavy wine list broad enough to match both. It ranked 23rd on 50 Top Pizza Asia-Pacific, if that helps you calibrate the evening.

The name doubles as the address and a staff member's birthday, which sets the tone for a yakitori omakase that feels personal from the first skewer. That first skewer is always chicken heart, chosen for the depth it brings. Nori-wrapped tenderloin, vegetable salads, and fried tofu pace the meal between, and ramen in chicken broth closes things out, served in dragon-pattern bowls that feel deliberately nostalgic.

Ajiro means the conical hat worn by monks in training, and the restaurant takes that lineage seriously, sitting right beside Myoshinji, the great Rinzai Zen temple where its founders learned shojin-ryori. Dishes arrive on vermilion lacquerware arranged with a care that feels devotional rather than decorative. A shojin vegetarian restaurant where the udon is made with soy flour and the fresh soybean curd is quietly the thing to order.

A Japanese restaurant on the third floor in Akasaka, named for the neighborhood's older, more poetic identity as Red Hill. The chef grew up eating vegetables from his parents' garden in Yamagata, and the menu is essentially an ongoing tribute to that, with deep-fried tofu lifting those same seasonal vegetables and kombu repurposed from the soup stock into a soy sauce for sashimi. Thrift and sentiment, working together quietly.

Ostrich raised in Japan, slow-simmered in soy and ginger or finished over charcoal, isn't a detail you expect from a kappo restaurant in Akasaka, but here it anchors the menu alongside reverently made soba. The set format is deliberately short, then you fill in the rest yourself from the à la carte list, which suits the chef's instinct to keep traditional Japanese cooking as a foundation while quietly doing whatever he likes on top of it.

The name is a statement of intent: French cooking as something the chef refuses to fit into a tidy box. Housed in a former neighborhood workshop in Shirokane, this intimate restaurant builds on classical French technique before folding in Japanese and Chinese culinary traditions. The room still carries a handmade, slightly unconventional feel, which suits a chef who spent time in France absorbing Gallic freedom and came home determined to use it.

Every morning the chef walks out to his Kamigamo garden and picks whatever will become dinner, which means the French restaurant he runs in Nakagyo-ku is only as fixed as the season. The counter was built by his father-in-law, a sukiya carpenter, and the mosaic inlay sits alongside Scandinavian chairs in a way that shouldn't work but does. Vegetables get pressed into vivid terrines, or coaxed into mousses and thick soups.

A contemporary restaurant whose name translates as "insight," and whose signature dish, called "bonds," is built entirely from Nara vegetables as a quiet meditation on place and connection. The chef reaches into Japanese hospitality for inspiration too, folding foie gras into monaka wafers the way a ryokan might offer welcome sweets. Tatami-patterned plates complete the thought. Thoughtful without being solemn, and the kind of meal that does tend to linger.

The chef here visits the potters who throw his crockery and the brewers who make his sake, not just the farmers who grow his food. That chain of relationships shapes a Japanese kaiseki-style dinner where knowing the whole story behind a dish is part of the meal. Things close with a rice soup made from the leftover braising broth, which is either deeply principled or just very good cooking, probably both.

A yakitori omakase in Higashiazabu where the meal is structured like a sentence, salt in the first half, sauce in the second, the progression deliberate and unhurried. Seasonal vegetables open the menu, cuts of chicken are sourced from various regional farms, and small courses like chicken-shinjo wanmono fill the gaps between skewers. Takikomi-gohan of vegetables and minced chicken closes things out, which is either humble or quietly confident, depending on your mood.

The name means gratitude, and the chef runs this Japanese restaurant in Nara with that feeling built into every session in the kitchen, giving thanks to the mentor who taught him vegetable sculpture, the wife who runs the room, and the parents who made it possible. That soup stock is the quiet engine of the cooking, layered with umami from a long list of ingredients, and the wagyu and vegetable ankake carries all of it.

A French restaurant on the second floor in Fukushima where the chef came up through carpentry before kitchens, and the cooking carries both trades. He trained in Paris, wears a straw hat on his back like a certain manga pirate, and serves a duck en croûte he named "New Age" that's shaped like a ship's prow. The humor lands because the technique behind it is serious. A quiet room with a personality that sneaks up on you.

The dining room sits on the 33rd floor of Aman Tokyo, which means the city unfurls below you in a way that makes a bowl of vegetables feel almost ceremonial. This is a Japanese-Italian restaurant where the chef draws on Veneto training and close ties to Japanese farmers, so the produce does most of the talking. The menu runs clean and modern, vegetables and fruit pulling more weight than the name-drops usually go to meat. A long way up for a plate of greens, but somehow that's the point.

A kaiseki-style Japanese restaurant in the old Asakusa neighborhood, where the chef trained in Kyoto and brought that restrained seasonal sensibility east. The dashi is kept deliberately light so the main ingredients can speak, and a local sweet rice puff called kaminari-okoshi turns up as batter for fried dishes, a small nod to the street outside. Appetizer platters come served in hollowed yuzu, which is a lot of effort for something most diners will eat in two bites.