Tokyo's Drinking Culture | I've always secretly believed that Tokyo's after-dark landscape is a labyrinth of neon-lit alleyways, each leading me to a unique portal into the city's nocturnal culture, where every glass tells a story and every bar holds a secret.

　　At first glance, Tokyo by night is a shimmering visual roar on the surface. However, after spending half a decade in the city, I quickly learned that it's not just the meticulously crafted Junmai Daiginjo sake, the crisp craft beers, or the exceptional Hakushu and Hibiki whiskeys alone that make Tokyo hum at night. It's the subtle art of Omotenashi—the spirit of selfless service and anticipation of guests' needs—that elevates a simple drink to an experience. Yet, a darker side exists beneath the captivating facade. Beyond the allure lies an unspoken, notorious underbelly, filled with Yakuza and red-light districts, which reveals the city's distinct character.

　　Within the modern maze of dazzling neon lights and hushed corners, I found history swirling in every glass raised. From the ancient Shinto rites where sacred sake was used to connect man with the Kami (god), to the modern-day boisterous Nomikai (loosely known as drinking parties) where corporate alliances are forged, alcohol transcends mere beverage status; it's a customary ritual deeply woven into the fabric of Japanese society.

　　This rich history is evident in the diverse tapestry of bars that dot the city, each offering a unique window into the soul of Tokyo's nightlife. Let me take you through the different types of bars, to understand how they punctuate the city's nightlife.

　　Decoding The Types Of Bars In Tokyo

　　Izakaya or Japanese-style pubs

　　Stepping into an izakaya, the crimson lanterns cast a warm glow over the smoke curling from the yakitori grills. A communal symphony of clinking glasses and 'kanpai!' cheers welcomes me. It's a new world.

　　I imagine centuries ago, just a counter, a few vats of rice wine, where Edo patrons stood, sipping the rice wine and maybe a pickled snack to chase the heat. That's where it began—a place to stay and drink, an izakaya in its reduced form. As time passed, these sake stands began to offer more: a bit of grilled fish, some simmered vegetables, anything to keep the customers lingering, talking, drinking. After World War II, when the city was rebuilding, these casual bars became the heart of social life, a place where everyone could afford a drink and a bite.

　　Now, alongside sake, beer, shochu, umeshu, and whiskey, some bigger chains are even serving wine. The menus exploded; those simple sake accompaniments, sakana, now range from bite-sized edamame, gyoza, and fried karaage to yakitori skewers sizzling over charcoal, bowls of steaming nabe, and plates of sashimi that taste like the sea.

　　Handwritten menus hint at daily specials; some izakayas have hidden menus only regulars know about, and larger izakayas have picture menus on the walls for tourists to help them understand the offerings."

　　"Today, nomikai are izakaya territory—a slower, more deliberate affair where after-work drinking parties thrive. Izakayas are communal stages where colleagues bond over shared plates and drinks, where I've learned we always pour for others, never overfilling the glasses, and pay the bill together. It's a ritual blending networking and socialising, deeply ingrained in the culture. 'It's all about the shared experience at an izakaya,' I've come to understand.

　　Tachinomi or Standing Bars

　　At a tachinomi, I've often seen students and young colleagues cram in, grabbing cheap drafts and yakitori before the last train. I picture Edo workers, tired and thirsty, knocking back sake at standing counters. That's tachinomi's soul: quick bites, cheap beer, fast sake in a lively, no-frills space.

　　Born from Edo sake shops, they mirror izakaya's humble beginnings, but embody modern speed. To me, it's the express lane of Japanese drinking culture, a quick pit stop compared to izakaya's leisurely journey. Both serve booze, both buzz, but while izakayas invite you to linger, tachinomi are for electric, fleeting encounters.

　　Yokocho or drinking alleys

　　If you want a truly unique Tokyo night, I always tell people: Yokocho are a must for bar-hopping. The most well-known being Omoide Yokocho and Golden Gai, these neighborhoods come alive late and stay open until the early morning hours.

　　Looking back, the first time I wandered into these alleys, I felt like I'd stepped right onto a post-war movie set, especially during the day. The retro architecture, the way the buildings lean together, and at night, the whimsical itty-bitty streets and themed, tiny bars glowing under dim lights, it's like watching a Hayao Miyazaki movie unfold before my eyes.

　　I've found the sense of community here palpable. You're shoulder-to-shoulder with locals and fellow travellers, everyone sharing stories in spaces barely bigger than a closet.

　　However, I can't ignore the gossip surrounding Golden Gai's past—its history tied to Japanese mafia dealings and black-market days. That historical association somehow adds to its undeniably edgy reputation.

　　Red-light district

　　Kabukicho pulses with a raw energy, a stark contrast to the polished Tokyo I know. I remember a night-out years back when my friend, crime journalist Jake Adelstein, gave me some crucial advice: always double-check the bill before paying at any bar in Kabukicho—something, you'd never do anywhere else in Tokyo. He warned me about bottakuri, the bill scam where inflated hidden charges appear out of thin air.

　　There's an undercurrent of vice here, and a little caution goes a long way. Walking these streets, I can't shake the feeling of its past. Cautionary tales of Yakuza influence, illegal gambling, and the adult entertainment industry are all reminders of a time when this district was a lawless frontier. Today, the Godzilla looms overhead, a surreal guardian of adding to Kabukicho's unsettling, yet strangely drawing appeal.

　　New-Age Liquid Lounges

　　Like me, if you sometimes enjoy a cocktail, it's easy to forget the old-school, towering highball temples. It's not just sake, whiskey and beer anymore. We're talking artisanal cocktail dens, where mixologists are practically alchemists, conjuring up drinks with yuzu and shiso. Then there are the organic wine bars, showcasing Japan's burgeoning vineyards, and sake-tasting rooms that feel like art galleries. High-end hotel bars offer panoramic city views, while hidden speakeasies whisper of a bygone era. It's a thrilling, ever-evolving scene. From the quiet, luxurious elegance of a Ginza counter to the raucous energy of a club in Roppongi, each bar is a stage.

　　Street Drinking

　　I remember many times stumbling upon small groups of people huddled around a vending machine, sharing beers—a regular sight on a Tokyo Friday. It's legal to drink publicly in Tokyo, in parks, on sidewalks, after work.

　　And when I mention the 24-hour open 7/11, you might think convenience store, but think again: Japanese convenience stores are a whole new metaverse, ever-present with the choice of your libation. Street drinking in Tokyo is a unique phenomenon, a reminder that even in this bustling metropolis, there's always room for a spontaneous connection.

　　Downside Of Japanese Drinking Culture

　　When I think about the negative aspects of Japanese drinking culture, the 'salaryman culture' immediately comes to mind. I've witnessed firsthand how nomikai—those after-work drinking sessions—are often seen as mandatory, not optional. While they're considered essential for building workplace relationships and breaking the ice, refusing to participate can be seen as disrespectful, even detrimental to one's career, creating unnecessary mental pressure.

　　Beyond the typical drinking scene, there are other, frankly bizarre, concepts. Take maid cafes, for example, where grown men are served by women dressed as anime characters. It's a strange blend of fantasy and service. Then you have hostess bars, where the art of conversation and flattery is a profession, a world of manufactured intimacy. And if that hasn't raised an eyebrow, there's the concept of 'renting companionship'—paying for someone's company, often to drink with. It's a reflection of modern urban isolation.

　　I found myself wondering about the multifaceted, yet at times contradictory nature of Japanese society. It's a culture that outwardly emphasises drinking etiquettes and communal harmony, yet, beneath the surface, there are undercurrents to the polite society.