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Tokyo has plenty of hard-to-book restaurants, but a place that’s fully booked out to 2030? Even in Tokyo—actually, even in all of Japan—that’s rare.

In Gotanda, there’s Shokudo Todaka (食堂とだか), the little izakaya that once appeared in Season 6 of Kodoku no Gurume. It’s exactly that kind of impossible-to-book, somehow magical place.

Chef Kohei Todaka is from Kagoshima. He was supposed to inherit the family business, but with his parents’ blessing, he went into the restaurant world that had captured his heart instead.

In 2015, at 31, he opened his first restaurant in a semi-basement in Gotanda, using 3.5 million yen of his savings (less than 200,000 RMB at the time).

The restaurant’s concept is simple and wild at the same time:

“Create combinations no one expected, using everyday ingredients.”

Sea Urchin Soft-Boiled Egg

The meal kicks off with the dish that’s now basically the Tabelog cover star of Shokudo Todaka: sea urchin soft-boiled egg with ikura.

At first glance, it’s nothing but the most everyday Japanese ingredients: egg, salmon roe, uni.

“Eat it all in one bite, okay? If any ikura falls into the dish, you can mix it into the next course.”

It’s honestly hard not to fall for it. Familiar flavors, rearranged into something new.

Slightly bouncy egg white wraps around a thick, sticky, sweet yolk. The salmon roe pops one by one, lighting up the whole bite with briny umami. The sea urchin lies across the top like a soft, salty-sweet blanket—rich but not cloying. Happiness arrives fast, but the layers keep unfolding.

It feels like the chef is telling you very seriously, “Dinner starts now.”

Shirako Rice Bowl

For somewhere that calls itself a “shokudo” (diner/canteen), this shirako rice bowl is anything but casual. Using tiger puffer shirako on rice is basically cheating.

The shirako melts the second it hits your tongue—rich, fine, creamy, with an almost milky salinity. Scallions and shiso stack aroma on top of aroma. Mix in the leftover ikura from the first dish, and the rice soaks up both sea and fat, while somehow staying lightly chewy. Right at the end, there’s a tiny, late-arriving prickle of heat.

Compared to the “one bite and it’s gone” sea urchin egg, this is a bowl you want to eat slowly, spoonful by spoonful. The more you chew, the more satisfying it gets.

Two opening dishes, back-to-back, both instant stunners.

Grilled Leek, Tuna-Bone Broth, Chicken Meatballs

Charred, sweet leeks. A broth made from tuna bones. Chicken meatballs nestled among juicy leek pieces.

Clean, focused, warm, and full of flavor.

For such a tiny izakaya, the tableware is surprisingly thoughtful—there’s a quiet sense of counter-style beauty in the details.

The drink program is just as carefully considered, maybe something baked into Todaka’s Kagoshima roots.

The menu leans heavily on bubbles. Draft beer has a whole lineup of options. Then come highballs, and all kinds of vodka-based mixes with fresh ginger. But the most eye-catching line is definitely the series of “nama-oroshi sour” drinks: house lemon sour, mikan sour, vegetable sour, and even fresh strawberry sour. 🍓

The strawberry version is bright and fresh, with gentle acidity and a clean finish. Pink and cute in the glass, but seriously good—and seriously drinkable.

Straw-Seared Mackerel with Charcoal Salt and Daikon Oroshi Ponzu

The mackerel’s skin is charred pitch-black, like a thin layer of burnished shell. Underneath, the flesh is still half-translucent and blushing.

The smoke is intense and three-dimensional, pulled into line by the charcoal salt. The smokiness and salinity are both held in a neat frame. As you chew, a buttery richness slowly surfaces—this is the season when mackerel carries more fat, and the lightly seared doneness lifts both sweetness of the fat and delicacy of the flesh.

Layer after layer of flavor stacks upward. It’s beautiful.

Offal Hotpot Chawanmushi

I’d read before that the dish that first led Todaka into the kitchen was a bowl of chawanmushi. What I absolutely did not expect was for him to put a motsu-nabe-style chawanmushi on the counter.

“Please eat this like an offal hotpot.”

And yes—it really does taste like one. Softly simmered garlic chives, rich offal carrying the aroma of fat; the flavors are direct and honest. The egg itself is soft and silky, wrapping the intensity of the offal and rounding its edges. Wood ear mushrooms bring a little crunch into the mix, so it’s not all just one smooth texture.

Spoon after spoon, you get this weird, wonderful illusion: it feels like you’ve slipped into some cozy Kyushu izakaya, sharing hot food and drinks with friends. A very grounded, very real sort of happiness.

Spaghetti Bottarga al Peperoncino

Lift it with your chopsticks and—you can actually feel wok hei.

This bottarga “spaghetti” is one of Todaka’s signature East-meets-West creations. On paper it’s bottarga peperoncino, but in the pan it’s pure Chinese-style dryness and heat. He uses glass noodles instead of pasta; they cling to the bottarga’s intense ocean umami and salinity, staying slick but never heavy or tiring. It goes perfectly with drinks—and with rice.

Fragrant. Delicious.
Honestly, those two words are already enough.

Then comes a plate of karaage so good it almost deserves its own show: the crust is light and crisp, the meat bouncy and juicy, the seasoning precise, the skin tender but not greasy. This is the kind of fried chicken that absolutely has to be eaten hot; the coating holds the aroma, the meat stays springy. It’s a classic izakaya dish, but with a distinct “chef’s touch.” Even the little edamame on the side are full of aroma.

Right then, the shop’s speakers start playing the FamilyMart entrance jingle:

6 4 1 4 ｜5 1′ — ｜1′ 5 6 5 ｜1′ 4 —

This is what I’d call a “fried-chicken culture reference”—pure local life. During FamilyMart’s brand refresh, their counter fried chicken was one of the big heroes.

So when that simple, bright, slightly silly melody kicks in at the exact moment you’re eating hot fried chicken, the association is instant: convenience store, after work, late night, fried chicken, good mood.

It’s almost Pavlovian.

Shira-ae with Kumquat

This is “just” shira-ae, the classic tofu dressed salad—but here it’s made with an almost dairy-like smoothness. There’s a faint yogurt note, a dense, silky texture, and then the kumquat comes in with fresh acidity that lifts all the flavors. Soft, but not bland at all.

The pairing is brilliant: Fukunishiki low-alcohol junmai, with a sake meter value of -53. On the palate it’s lightly sweet-tart, with a little umami and gentle bitterness on the finish. Put together with the kumquat shira-ae and it feels like both ends lock perfectly into place.

This is not the type of sake I’d normally order on its own—but with this dish, it’s perfect.

Duck and Celery Hotpot

Next drink: the shop’s signature imo-shōchū gin. It’s the first time I’ve tasted the “sweetness of sweet potato” expressed in such a restrained, transparent way in a gin—nothing sticky or cloying, just a clear, bright vegetal sweetness.

The hotpot that night is duck and celery. The duck is fatty yet slightly chewy, with flavor that deepens as you chew, and the aroma from the skin is very clear. The celery root is the unexpected star—fresh and aromatic, but with a gentle, almost starchy sweetness. The broth ties everything together, like a soft mattress you fall into after all the earlier action.

Lightness and richness run in parallel; both warmth and flavor are handled with real care.

Sweet Natto Cheese Mochi

Maitake & Chicken Rice

Cold Noodles

It’s hard to believe there are still three carb dishes at this point. Just then, “Makenaide” starts playing:

「負けないで ほらそこに ゴールは近づいてる」
Don’t give up, look— the finish line is just ahead.

For the first time, I felt motivated by pure deadpan humor.
Okay then. One more bite.

First up is sweet natto cheese mochi. Toasted rice cake with sweet natto tucked inside—two small bites, fragrant, crisp, soft, and genuinely delicious.

Then a maitake and minced chicken rice. It arrives with a wave of charcoal aroma, and once you mix in the egg yolk on top, everything becomes even smoother and richer. The maitake is fried crisp, the chicken carries obvious smoke and fire.

Finally, cold noodles in beef broth. Based on the chef’s judgment, everyone gets a different portion size—very “those who can eat more get more” energy. The noodles are firm and bouncy, the beef flavor clings in thin layers. It’s both delicious and perfectly refreshing to finish with.

Strawberry Daifuku

Once everyone has cleared their plates, Todaka-san starts calmly wrapping the shop’s famous strawberry daifuku.

“Will you eat this now or take it to go? Do you need extra to bring home?”

We see the fist-sized daifuku and answer,
“Let’s split one here and pack the other with the takeaway.”

Winter really is the best season for strawberries. Juicy, fresh, a little sticky. One bite in and you get the bright, pure flavor of the fruit, followed by the sweetness of the bean paste and the soft, chewy mochi spreading through your mouth. People keep saying this year’s strawberries in Japan aren’t great, but this daifuku at Shokudo Todaka beats what you get at a lot of high-end restaurants.

The bill comes to ¥16,000 per person—including 14 dishes with almost nothing to criticize, plus all the drinks.

The value is honestly ridiculous.

This is a seriously interesting restaurant.

On paper it’s an izakaya, but it keeps the interaction of a counter restaurant and the aesthetic of plated dishes. The seats are close together, lively but not chaotic. The rhythm is relaxed, and you always feel included. Add in the background music and those perfectly timed, slightly evil jokes, and the mood of the whole evening is controlled with precision. Whatever stress you brought in from the day just… loosens.

The cooking is, of course, delicious. But its strength isn’t about rare ingredients or flashy technique. The ingredients and methods are actually very everyday and easy to imagine—what’s special is how every bit of heat, seasoning, and pairing feels exactly right. Things are not only fragrant; some dishes even carry real wok hei.

Todaka takes flavor profiles we all know and pushes them to a new level.
That’s his real power, and his charm.

The drinks are also a highlight. The highballs and sours may technically be pre-batched, but every glass is shockingly good. And whenever a dish really needs sake behind it, someone just casually asks, “Want a glass with this?” Eating and drinking become light and effortless. No heavy decisions, no getting knocked off rhythm by alcohol.

Gotanda really does produce monster shops.

With reservations already full through 2030, whether I’ll ever make it back is up to luck.

Shokudo Todaka（食堂とだか）
東京都品川区西五反田1-9-3 リバーライトビル B1F

Tuesday – Saturday
18:00 – 0:00

Omakase Menu ¥16,000

I walked home slowly, already thinking about when I’d finally finish that strawberry daifuku sitting in my fridge. 🍓

Kudan｜A Two-Star, I actually haven’t done that many “proper” kaiseki meals in Tokyo (Yamazaki doesn’t count), so when a friend came to visit, we picked Kudan as our meetup spot. With two Michelin stars, a Tabelog Bronze and a spot on the Top 100 list, the overall experience ended up exceeding expectations.

🧑‍🍳 The chef spent his early years training overseas, then came back to Tokyo and worked over ten years at a three-star restaurant, with time in sushi houses as well.
🥢 The overall style is calm and understated. The techniques feel textbook-perfect, but the dish choices are surprisingly open-minded. For example, oyster and lotus root are both fried, but in completely different ways that highlight the essence of each ingredient. There’s even a tuna roll worked into the menu, using the “head side” cut of the fish—rich and satisfying without being over the top.

⭐️ A few favorites:

• 🐢 Soft-shell turtle chawanmushi – the dashi was incredibly aromatic and concentrated, with pieces of gelatinous skin and meat woven in. All tender, nothing dry.
• 🐠 Filefish with liver sauce – the liver sauce had fish skin mixed in, making it just right to eat on its own.
• 🦀 Kobako crab and matsuba crab – both done beautifully; the grilled crab legs at the counter were so fragrant they practically cut through the air.
• 🐮 Yamagata fillet shabu-shabu – crisp, clean beef fat aroma, but once cooked together with the vegetables it stayed light and never greasy. Absolutely outstanding.
• 🍚 And the finale: kama-meshi made with pork lard—insanely fragrant and comforting.

💰 The crab-season menu was ¥44,000 per person + 10%. Portions were generous, and the level of satisfaction hit just right. The sake list isn’t huge, but there’s enough to drink and enjoy.

➕ There’s even a staff member at the counter who speaks Chinese, which feels very welcoming.
For a kaiseki that’s relatively easy to book, it’s a great option to keep on the shortlist for those “I don’t know what to eat” days.Tabelog Bronze Kaiseki with Unforgettable Lard Rice

Tokyo has no shortage of excellent sushi. The baseline is high, and once you start grouping shops by style and lineage, you begin to notice shared logic across many of them. So even if you can’t get into one place, you can usually find another that feels “close enough.”

But if we’re talking about something truly special—somewhere you visit once and immediately start craving a return—Sushi Yasumitsu is one of those rare exceptions.

This is a real-deal, extremely difficult reservation in Tokyo. They’ve basically stopped taking new bookings, and even trying to reserve on-site now can mean waiting a year or more.

Their weekday course is usually around ¥20,000–¥30,000, but depending on the season, they also offer limited-time special menus just over ¥40,000—winter matsuba crab, summer shellfish, autumn matsutake. At that price point in Tokyo, it almost feels like charity.

Don’t be fooled by Chef Watanuki-san’s modest, friendly presence—he’s something of a minor celebrity. In recent years, he has appeared as a judge on the well-known Japanese variety show Job Tune (there are even Chinese-subtitled clips floating around online).

Unlike many Tokyo sushi chefs who emphasize hierarchy and lineage—where the shop you trained at becomes a cornerstone of your independent reputation—Watanuki-san originally stepped in simply to inherit the family business and continue his father’s sushi restaurant. But through years of traveling and researching catches across regions, he gradually built a style that’s unmistakably his own.

November is peak crab season. The very first dish was an umami bomb from “Kōkō crab”—crispy crab roe paired with high-acidity vinegared rice. Pure crunch, pure satisfaction.

Two white fish were presented in contrast, with different aging times to sharpen the textural difference. The oyster, meanwhile, won you over instantly with its fullness and presence.

It was a straightforward opening: no excessive decoration, just clean, honest deliciousness—with impeccable control over texture and balance.

The winter buri had just come into season. Instead of serving it as sashimi, it was lightly seared to about three-tenths doneness. You got that gorgeous fat aroma, plus a faint crispness in the bite. The seasoning was restrained but sharply acidic—simple, pure, deeply satisfying.

The ankimo was mashed into a paste with zero graininess, landing somewhere between foie gras and thick cream. Like Sugita, Yasumitsu also proactively paired this with a glass of Aramasa “Hinotori”—a perfect match for the rich, rounded liver.

For an eight-seat counter, they prepared two 1.1kg matsuba crabs from Hamaizumi Fishing Port in Hyogo. Once boiled and brought out, the crab fragrance practically overflowed the counter. Watanuki-san dismantled the crab with stunning efficiency, narrating as he worked:

On a winter menu, the most heavyweight ingredient is of course crab.

“In Fukui it’s called Echizen crab; in Kyoto it’s Taiza crab… and if it lands in Toyama, it’s Kano crab.”

Suddenly, the counter gained an extra layer of performance charm.

Each guest received a quarter of a large crab, served in three ways.

The legs and body were cooked in crab dashi and eaten with no extra seasoning. The legs were tender; the body more firm and dense. As simple as it was, the layered sweetness and umami were incredibly seductive.

The okami carefully picked the remaining meat from the edges and combined it with crab miso into a generous, overflowing crab-meat sushi. It was jelly-like in texture yet packed with umami, richness, and delicate fibers—pure happiness.

Finally came a cup of crab sake, where bold umami and savory depth were softened into a gentle sweetness.

The sakana course ended with a whole grilled shishamo. Its season is extremely short—starting around mid-October and lasting less than a month. It’s a niche indulgence, and getting to eat it is partly luck.

It shares the same grilled + faintly bitter charm as summer ayu, but with slightly more fat. The fish is smaller, the skin thinner, and the experience is more about quick, explosive aroma and a soft, compact richness in the flesh.

Then came a three-hit tuna sequence:

• Akami emphasized softness.
• Chūtoro balanced fat and structure.
• Ōtoro was served with cooler shari, boosting the lingering sweetness and aftertaste of the fat.

Yasumitsu’s sushi progression also breaks convention. Kawahagi and squid had already appeared in the earlier sakana segment, but only as light, elegant punctuation—showing off texture more than anything.

The shrimp sequence moved from cooked to raw. The kuruma ebi looked ordinary at first glance, but surprised with shrimp roe tucked into its soft tenderness. The glass shrimp, aged for a day, arrived in a milky white tone with a faint translucence—super crunchy.

It was surprising to find such satisfying uni even in November. A full row of sea urchin was scooped generously over the rice—an explosion of sweetness and fresh umami.

However, the restaurant’s famous otoro futomaki was a slight disappointment this time. Watanuki-san added sea grapes for a salty crunch, but paired with the stronger-aged tuna they currently use, it didn’t quite deliver the bright, fragrant freshness I was hoping for.

The final tamagoyaki was unexpectedly Basque-cheesecake-like: a caramelized crisp exterior with a cool, molten center. This might be the softest, most harmoniously balanced tamago I’ve had in Tokyo—where texture, sweetness, and freshness all meet in perfect unity.

If I were sitting even closer to the counter, I might have been tempted to steal the whole thing.

Watanuki-san’s expression is distinctive. Every dish—whether sakana, cooked items, or sushi—seems to carry two contrasting textures and two to three layers of flavor. Not too much, not too little—just enough to exceed expectations and leave you quietly thrilled.

The comfort of the hospitality is another powerful point. Unlike the more stern, traditional style of many Japanese sushi counters, Watanuki-san openly thanks his kitchen staff aloud. You often see gestures at the counter, but here I heard clear, spoken gratitude directed to the back of house—an unusually sincere, modern kind of authenticity. And of course, he’s equally polite and attentive to guests at the counter.

A self-effacing chef like this is always moving.

鮨 やすみつ (Sushi Yasumitsu)

東京都新宿区四谷三栄町5-2

Monday – Saturday
17:30 – 20:00 / 20:30 – 23:00

Chef’s Menu ¥31,900++
Seasonal Menu ¥51,900++

When I asked about reservations at the end, the earliest availability was already next September. So all I can do is wish the chef great health—and hope I might get lucky with a cancellation before then.

Because honestly?
If I could, I’d come every month.