Photos by David Labi

The panda-shaped lantern outside is a clue, and the tiny door makes it seem a hobbit’s dwelling. Bend in, remove shoes, and behold the wide counter with a low bench fitting 12 at a push. To your right is a sequestered table for groups, and at the back another two—with one on a raised dais with a commanding aerial vista.

What sets Panda apart from your standard izakaya is the manager Momo, who does most of the cooking on an oven behind the counter. She’s charismatic and engaging—in English, too—and spends the night bantering with her customers. If you are one or two, get a seat at the counter’s near end to watch her in action.

The TV behind the bar is not invasive, and the muted sound gives way to an eclectic playlist ranging from Tom Waits to J-pop. On different occasions I’ve seen Kung-Fu Panda (of course) playing silently on the screen and the Japanese women’s soccer team thumping Brazil to patrons’ and staff’s delight.

The nama grapefruit sour (¥450) is a prime opener, with half of a peeled grapefruit placed in a large glass of shochu and soda for you to mash with a metal cocktail stirrer. The menu is one of those crazy handwritten swirls, which Momo will explain if you don’t read Japanese. It changes regularly, especially the sashimi, but all dishes range from about ¥400-1,000 apiece. Some of the delicious creations have been Korean-style karaage with chili sauce; ramen salad [pictured]; sui gyoza, or boiled dumplings, swimming happily in a bowl of spicy miso soup; cream-cheese tofu and crackers; and the hearty cha-han (Chinese fried rice). Another recent star was the moist, tasty mochi gome niku dango, or steamed meatball with mochi rice.

After your grapefruit sour, swig a bottle of their namesake Panda beer from Thailand (¥700). With all this liquid refreshment you’re bound to visit the little bear’s room, where a soft-lit panda shrine waits for your offerings. Really.

Upon entering, we hand over ¥1,500 to the smiling staff. This will gain us access to a wide menu of drinks priced at cost. It’s not nomihodai, but then, which nomihodai offers up premium single malts and martinis anyway? It’s a busy Thursday and some customers are sent upstairs to the “lounge” area, some to the main floor. Segregated groups of cocktail-sipping ladies and draught beer-slugging guys have their cheap, black jackets thrown over seat backs. It’ll be a salaryman and OL free-for-all if the fire alarm goes off.

We open the large, varied drinks menu, slobbering to see the discounts. We’re not disappointed. So low are the prices, you could work your way through the menu like a book (skipping anything with the words “calorie off” or “cassis”). My partner in crime and I started with a Bass Pale Ale (¥250) and a Guinness (¥300).

Before we’d drained them, we were already flipping to the whiskies. I got a Taketsuru 21-year-old (¥420) and he opted for the Lagavulin 16-year-old (¥300). Other options include Ardbeg (¥210), and some Glens (’Livet and ’Fiddich) for ¥120.

The décor is not much, but what do you expect from a Costco-priced bar? Red paint overwhelmingly adorns the black interior, and the plywood counter seating wouldn’t be out of place at your local tachinomiya. What would be, though, is the cool Frank Sinatra and Edith Piaf crooning out of the speakers. A lively and enthusiastic clientele, younger than the denizens of oyaji-infested the local yakitori joints, only adds to the appeal.

As you loosen your tie and settle in for a third or fourth drink (Dirty vodka martini? Porfidio tequila? Negroni? Each ¥120), it’s time to mull the food options. The speed menu offers prepackaged items liked mixed nuts, potato chips and dried fruits (from ¥90), but others like the Camembert cheese plate (¥300) or salami and olives (¥150) constitute better fare. Other items we devoured were the roast beef plate (with a tasty horseradish sauce—¥300), maguro carpaccio (¥270), and crudités with dip, to feel healthy.

At the end of the night, after meeting the challenge to sample pretty much everything on the drinks menu, we tottered gingerly to the register, where we each doled out another ¥2,500. All told, the evening cost a little under ¥8,000 for the two of us—including entry fee, drinks and food. Don’t be dismayed if you can’t get a seat, Genka Bar fills up fast. It’s hardly surprising.

Courtesy of Wolf

Past a mural of fellow champs’ handprints, we were escorted into a minimalist space decorated with pale beech furniture and flower arrangements. A small army of attentive staff delivered our celery salad (¥500), and fugu skin and mizuna salad (¥800), which paired nicely with nama Kirin Ichiban Shibori (¥700). Both salads were light with citrus zest, and the latter tingled our tongues in anticipation of the fugu feast to come.

The chawanmushi, a warm, savory egg custard with gingko nuts (¥800), had an intriguing bitterness that proved to emanate from the boiled turtle within. The fugu karaage, (¥1,580), was outstanding. The puffer fish is surprisingly bony, making this more like fried chicken, with a finger-lickin’ coating that would have made the Colonel proud.

But the centerpiece was the yakiniku-style fugu. We had the joumi (boneless) set (¥5,400), with slices seasoned in three ways: negi and salt, garlic, and spicy miso. Our server deftly grilled the slices at our table, letting them curl before flipping to briefly sear the other side. The fish on its own had a subtle succulence, and when paired with the right dipping sauce (lemon or shoyu), the flavor burst into life.

The suppon nabe was a different story. Ceremoniously presented in a medieval-style hot pot, there were no shrieks of “Oishi so!” like those of our neighbors. The powerful ginger-and-negi aroma conjured memories of home remedies, and in the dark liquid, lumps of turtle lurked menacingly. The chewy, dry meat called for an imo shochu on the rocks (¥700). More bone and cartilage than meat, we nibbled the suppon in small bites, masticating for an inordinate amount of time—like working on the driest, chewiest stewing beef you’d ever had. Turtle is a delicacy (and its blood—not served at Wolf—is a famous genki drink for men), but this dish left us softshell-shocked. It was a relief when the broth was ladled into bowls with rice, to eat sosui style.

Lest you think it’s all obscure dishes, Wolf also does dried sardines (¥600), tuna cutlets (¥1,100) and broiled chicken (¥1,200). We finished with fresh seasonal fruits (¥500) and a creamy yuzu sorbet (¥400) to freshen our tastebuds. While the suppon might have been traumatic—if unforgettable—the real star was the deep-fried and yakiniku-style grilled fugu, which makes a visit to Wolf worthwhile.

Masaru Yamagawa learned the fine art from a master—his father, who started this modest little restaurant, almost fifty years ago. Over the decades, the father trained disciples who have gone on to set up their own Maru-named tonkatsu shops across Tokyo. Now, though, the son is the master and he serves some of the best cutlets in the city.

All the ingredients at Maru-ichi are carefully sourced. The pearly pink cutlets come from Iwate. The red-orange carrots are grown in Chiba, and the surprisingly sweet cabbages are harvested in the Miura peninsula where these leafy vegetables, especially those picked from late March to late April, are renowned.

It’s still a family operation at Maru-ichi. Masaru’s elderly mother, sporting a nifty white jacket and white kerchief, watches the rice, which is cooked in a large old-fashioned kama over a gas flame—the tastiest way to make rice.

Behind the counter at Masaru’s elbow, his wife readies each plate with a mound of lacy, shredded cabbage, a spring of curly parsley, and bright wedge of lemon.

Maru-ichi is a tiny place with only a seven-seat counter and two tables each seating four. The menu is small too. All orders are set menus, teishoku, with rice, house-made pickles, and tonjiru soup. You can choose either the leaner hire, (filet) or the luscious ros (loin) each at several weights: 170g, 250g, or—for the genuine trencherman—the 300g plate.

On my most recent visit, Masaru confided that he was fascinated by UFOs and Area 51 in Nevada. Maybe that explains the otherworldly flavors of the Maru-ichi teishoku. Compared to other tonkatsu joints, the rice is softer and more delicious; the carrots and cabbage sweeter; the meat more tender and flavorful. The real secret, though, is probably the great care that goes into everything at Maru-ichi. They go to the trouble, for example, of boiling the carrots, burdock, and onions separately to make sure they are evenly tender, before adding them to pork-based miso soup to make tonjiru.

Customers don’t mind the drab exterior of Maru-ichi. They know that the interior is spotlessly clean and all efforts at beauty are focused on the plate. On that recent visit, I ordered the 170-gram tonkatsu teishoku (¥1,300). Next to me, a well-dressed matron with a diamond-encrusted emerald ring as big as a walnut on her left hand ordered the mighty 250-gram teishoku (¥1,700). When she finished, she left without paying. She’s a joren, a regular, and she’ll get her bill at the of the month.

The book opens with basic Japanese ingredients and grilling essentials. Mastering the heat can make the difference between bland and brilliant food, and the principles are spelled out with photos. There are also helpful tips on skewering, which is much harder than you might imagine.

What makes this book is the simplicity of the recipes. There is a handful of master recipes for marinades, dipping sauces, and dressings that can be kept in the fridge for a long time. The yuzu kosho marinade is a unique one that we love both for saba (mackerel) and hotate (scallops). The wafu salad dressing and citrusy ponzu are now staples in our fridge.

Classic recipes will have you curing seafood in miso, salt, or sakekasu (sake lees, or sediment). The himono “half-dry” fish technique is surprisingly easy to master. Grilling himono at home, paired with sake, is so good that your neighborhood izakaya’s business will start to suffer.

Some of our favorite recipes so far are the squid with ginger-soy sauce, crispy chicken wings with seven-spice powder, sansho-rubbed butterflied chicken legs, and asparagus with miso-mayonnaise dipping sauce. Japanese burgers with wasabi-ketchup are a nice change-up on the typical burger, made softer with breadcrumbs and milk.

The chapter “Perfect Side Dishes” includes several vegetable dishes so appealing that we have been cooking them repeatedly. In particular, we like the lip-smacking green cabbage salad with carrot-ginger vinaigrette and the crunchy arugula-jako salad with soy-sauce vinaigrette. Cooking vegetables in foil is a great technique and made better when a ponzu butter is added.

We tested many of the recipes at home on our indoor fish grill without a hitch. Some dishes are also made in a sauté pan or in the oven, so it can be a year-round cookbook.

Ono and Salat had great success with their first book, Japanese Hot Pots: Comforting One-Pot Meals. Their next book, Japan Soul, is “a cookbook and travelogue that will introduce authentic Japanese comfort food and the dining culture of the old-school ‘downtown’ neighborhoods of Tokyo, Osaka, Fukuoka, and other cities” says Salat.

The Japanese Grill: From Classic Yakitori to Steak, Seafood, and Vegetables (Ten Speed Press, 2011, pp.184), ¥2,108 from major bookstores and Amazon.jp.