The Best Places in Japan

A mixed-use complex in the heart of the city with over a hundred food options under one roof, which sounds like a nightmare until you realize it contains a second location of Sushi Saito. Florilège holds two Michelin stars here, and the rest of the lineup runs from Arabica Kyoto coffee to Sembikiya parfaits to wagyu burgers at Shogun Burger. Arrive hungry and without a fixed plan; the place rewards wandering.

A takoyaki stand in Amerikamura, the Osaka district of vintage shops and record crates, where the teenage regulars clearly know something the Dotonbori tourist trail does not. The elderly couple running it have been at this for decades, turning out octopus balls piled with green onions and a version called takosen, where the whole thing gets sandwiched between two thin shrimp crackers. The batter lands soft inside and crisp out, which sounds obvious but rarely is.

A pull-string activates a heating device tucked into the beef tongue bento, which tells you everything about how seriously Japan takes train food. This ekiben shop inside Tokyo Station stocks around 170 regional bento boxes sourced from across the country, each one a kind of edible postcard from wherever you're not going. Grab one with your green tea before boarding the shinkansen and feel extremely correct about your life choices.

A sake bar up a flight of stairs in Nishiazabu, where the sign reads "strawberry meeting," a translation of ichigo ichie that sounds like a very polite jam session. The list runs past 200 bottles, from sparkling to cloudy doburoku, plus a few made with local breweries that you won't find elsewhere. The egg in black squid ink mayonnaise looks like a river rock until you crack it, which is the whole bit.

An old-school unagi restaurant that claims to have invented the Osaka style of preparing freshwater eel, which skips the steaming step common elsewhere and goes straight from sauce to flame. The result is a crispier, more intensely flavored dish than the Tokyo version. Head-to-tail cutting adds to the richness. Summer is the season locals treat this as a destination, though the place has been drawing them in for longer than anyone can reasonably claim to remember.

Okonomiyaki, the savory pancake whose name translates to "whatever you'd like, grilled," is Osaka's most democratic dish, and this snug alley spot in Dotonbori takes it seriously. The chef layers batter, cabbage, and your chosen mix of beef tendon and konjac, or scallops and cheese, onto an iron griddle until it's light and cooked through, then finishes with sauce and an optional egg. Casual, cheap, and deeply Osaka.

Every evening at this tiny street food stand, chef Toyoji Chikumoto torches tuna cheeks with something closer to a flamethrower than a kitchen tool, cigarette dangling, bare hands in the fish. The result is charred outside, raw and cold within. The rest of the menu leans into the same excess: fatty tuna, sea urchin, salmon roe piled together like a dare. Bring cash, bring patience, and lower your expectations for personal space.

The wood counter is a little wobbly and the chefs are elderly and absolutely not interested in rushing. This old-school udon shop is credited with pioneering Osaka's zaru style, serving chewy, hand-cut noodles cold alongside a dipping sauce. The chefs slice the dough by hand with Japanese knives, which gives the noodles a smoothness a machine can't quite replicate. A bowl here feels like lunch at someone's kitchen, which is more or less the point.

A French technique restaurant in Fukushima where the name does double duty: it's a culinary term and a philosophy, nodding to the chef's tight network of hunters, farmers, and fishmongers supplying Ezo deer, Aomori duck, and Awaji Island seafood. The whitewashed room is calm and unhurried, and the set menu moves from delicate amuse-bouches through earthy, fragrant combinations that feel like they required a lot of phone calls to pull off.

The hassun tray arrives looking more like an ikebana arrangement than a dinner course, small dishes composed with the kind of deliberate beauty that makes you pause before picking up your chopsticks. This is a kappo counter in Nishitemma where the seasonal Japanese menu drifts into Burgundy wine and the occasional thread of cheese or duck. The all-female team runs the room with real warmth, which stands out in Osaka's fine dining scene.

Each diner gets their own personal hot pot at this casual Ginza counter, cooking thin-sliced wagyu or pork through simmering broth and finishing in sesame dressing, ponzu, or a raw egg for sukiyaki. It's a no-fuss, deeply satisfying format, the kind of place where the tableware, handmade in the mingei folk-craft tradition, quietly outclasses the surroundings. The menu is essentially two items, and nobody seems to mind.

Kappo sits somewhere between kaiseki's ceremony and an izakaya's ease, and Shimanouchi Ichiyo leans hard toward the easy end. It's a small, informal spot built around whatever came in from the Seto Inland Sea that morning, so the menu shifts daily. The kitchen has a taste for unexpected pairings, eel with kelp, fried sweetfish with tartar sauce. The sashimi platter ventures into less familiar cuts, rainbow trout and filefish served with its own liver.

A Shinto altar anchors the dining room, and that's not decoration, it's the concept. Shinon Washoku Senryu is an 18-seat kaiseki restaurant built around osagari, the practice of first offering food to the gods before serving it to you. Shoji screens, a hushed atmosphere, and seasonal dishes that lean subtle rather than showy follow from there. The kind of place where you eat slowly and think about things.

Shojin ryori, the centuries-old vegetarian cuisine of Buddhist monasteries, gets a modern Roppongi address at this quiet, thoughtful restaurant. The kitchen works with land and sea vegetables alongside traditional ingredients like fu and yuba, the kind of pantry that rewards curiosity. For the curious who want to go further, there's a cooking school inside. The international crowd in this neighborhood means the chef can lean into the tradition without having to explain it apologetically.

Thirty-seven floors up in the Four Seasons, picture windows frame the Osaka skyline while Yannick Alléno's omakase counter pairs Yasuda Itaru's sushi technique with threads of French haute cuisine. The combination sounds like a concept pitch, but the kitchen commits, moving from bonito-and-kelp consommé through the day's nigiri and, somehow, mushroom ice cream. Dress accordingly, bring your appetite for the unexpected, and do not arrive expecting a traditional sushi bar.

An Edomae sushi counter in a quiet Nishiazabu residential pocket, a short walk from the chaos of Roppongi but a world away from it. The chef greets guests in Japanese, English, Russian, or Italian, which sets the tone: this is a high-end sushiya that skips the cathedral hush. Small seasonal bites come first, then the nigiri procession arrives. The kind of place that proves formality and warmth are not the same thing.

The omurice here was developed specifically for Juzo Itami's film Tampopo, and you can still order that exact version today. Taimeiken is an old-school yoshoku restaurant in Nihonbashi, serving Western-influenced Japanese classics like omurice and katsu to loyal crowds who've been coming for generations. Walk-ins fill the casual ground floor; the second floor takes reservations and dresses things up a little. The third-generation chef now runs the kitchen.

A ten-seat counter in Shimanouchi where a chef who spent a decade at a two-Michelin-starred tempura house now runs his own show. The name means "new moon," which sets the tone: this is a tempura restaurant with ambitions beyond the obvious. A cottonseed-and-sesame oil blend gives the batter its signature crispness, and the vegetable cuts are calibrated to hold moisture. Come for the catch of the day, stay for the fried seasonal produce.

A glass atrium lounge on the 41st floor of the Park Hyatt Tokyo, where afternoon tea arrives in three acts: savory bites first, then pastries built around whatever fruit the season offers, and finally a trolley of madeleines and canelés rolled right to the table. The tea list runs from British classics to hojicha and matcha lattes, and the city spreads out below in every direction while you decide between them.

A whole street of monjayaki shops in the old Tsukishima neighborhood, each one built around an iron griddle sunk into the table and a tiny spatula you'll need coaching on. Tokyo's answer to okonomiyaki is runnier, crispier at the edges, and cooked by you, which is either charming or terrifying depending on your confidence. Staff will talk you through it, and a cold beer while you wait for the crust to form makes the learning curve feel pretty reasonable.

A teahouse on the second floor of Minamisenba where the first decision is which handmade ceramic bowl you'd like your tea served in. The staff are young and unhurried, the aesthetic is minimal, and the menu pairs sencha or matcha with grilled soy-glazed mochi or shaved ice. It's the spirit of the tea ceremony repackaged for a generation that also wants a good photo, and somehow that's not a complaint.

The nikomi offal stew has been simmering in Hatcho miso, sugar, red wine, and bouquet garni for what feels like a century, because it basically has. This old-school Tokyo restaurant in Morishita built its name on that stew, and the kitchen rounds it out with pickles, crudités, anchovy-dressed salads, and seasonal tempura. A short wine list sits alongside the sake and shochu, which is either charming or audacious depending on your mood.

Kiha is a train-themed standing bar where the decor commits harder than most commuters do. Ambient rail sounds play, empty ekiben boxes line the staircase, and upstairs there's a full replica of a train car, with conductor outfits for photos. You pay by the clock rather than the drink, so the snacks stay simple: canned sardines under cheese, karaage, fries. It's The Infatuation's pick for both Tokyo's best bars and izakayas.

Specialty coffee shop perched along the Meguro River, with metro trains sliding past the window often enough that regulars stop noticing them. Behind the bar, the team takes craft seriously enough that baristas reportedly spend two years training before touching the espresso machine. Beautiful ceramics add to the effect. The Instagram crowd has found it, so expect the occasional tripod, but the coffee cuts through the noise.

By day this is a fishcake shop with trays of neatly arranged product and no particular interest in your evening plans. At 7pm it flips into a standing-room oden bar tucked into Harmonica Yokocho, where you eat simmered fishcakes off your feet and drink sake in cheap, small cups. Tell the staff when you're halfway through and they'll top it off with oden broth, which locals insist helps the hangover. Nobody has verified this, but it's warm.