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‘Simple and minimal’ is Noboru Arai’s guiding philosophy, grounded in precision. Using few ingredients and minimal seasoning, he pursues a refined, elegant expression of French cuisine. He communicates regularly with chefs of other countries, borrowing from a wide range of culinary cultures in search of originality. While French in spirit, the proprietress greets guests in kimono—an Asakusa touch that reflects the charm of Tokyo’s traditional downtown.

Black, white and orange are the tricolore of ‘Watanabe-ism.’ Black represents faith that cannot be tainted; white, the freedom to become any colour; and orange, the flame manipulated by the chef. On offer here is a fusion of French and Edo food cultures. Sobagaki is emulsified using French techniques; local Japanese elements include kaminari-okoshi, a roasted and flavoured mochi cracker; and monaka, a sweet of azuki bean paste sandwiched between crisp wafers. Watanabe-ism has deep roots in Asakusa-Komagata.

Asakusa is a second hometown for the chef, who has lived here since his apprenticeship. He inherited both spirit and skill, along with tools and serving ware, from his mentor. He reveres the old teachings of the sushi world but does add a few twists of his own. He adds sweet potato shochu to rich soy syrup; to rolled omelette, he adds soy milk. The character for the chef’s surname of ‘Oku’ developed from a combination of the characters for ‘house’, ‘rice’ and ‘palm of hand’; a sign, he contends, that he was destined to run a place where he would fashion rice meals with his hands.

The name ‘Sobakappo’ encapsulates the chef’s career. He draws on his experience in Japanese cuisine to patiently craft stews and salads of cooked vegetables. Combination platters feature an impressive variety of small dishes designed to complement sake, including simmered herring in sweet soy sauce and marinated grilled shrimp. Soba comes in two varieties: seiro soba served on a wickerwork tray or coarse-ground soba. Noodles are made differently according to terroir, accentuating differences in flavour. A soba apprenticeship: laughing, struggling and loving with soba.

‘Tonkatsu is food for the masses’, explains the second-generation chef, as he aims to serve up fare that is familiar and comforting. Copper pots polished till gleaming and plain wooden counters display a craftsman’s spirit. Two pots are used: one containing hot oil and the other cooler oil. Pork loin is shorn of extra fat and thinly battered. Tonkatsu is the star attraction, so no meat is added to the pork miso soup. As the chef works, a photo of his father in chef’s whites watches over him.

An old-school soba shop founded by a Katsushika-born chef. With ‘good food requires good ingredients’ as his credo, he scours Japan end-to-end to find the highest-quality buckwheat, vegetables and seafood. Among his à la carte offerings, he takes pride in temptations such as conger eel, either fried as tempura or simmered. Juwari soba, handmade from raw buckwheat flour, is fine and silky smooth. Everything here, from the crockery to the food to the interior, oozes old-time soba-shop charm. Amidst the old Edo ambience of Ryogoku, a food culture of deep roots and subtle traditions lives on.

A veteran eel shop loved by Asakusa locals since the early years of the 20th century. The restaurant is named after the previous proprietor, Hatsutaro; by happy coincidence, ‘ogawa’ means ‘little river’, the favoured habitat of eels. The current proprietor’s wife runs the restaurant with her family, preparing kabayaki with a sauce recipe handed down from the founder. It is a pleasure to wait, enjoying appetizers with sake, while the chef grills your eel. The many ‘senjafuda’, slips of paper posted on shrine pillars by worshippers, attest to the shop’s many loyal customers.