Part 1- Tokyo – Read the FIrst Leg of the Journey here!

And here is a link to my patented MAP OF OSAKA- bars, pubs, restaurants and misc!

Round 2 of our Japan Tour takes us to the city of Osaka, located farther south on the island of Honshu. Osaka, though smaller than Tokyo, still has about 8 million inhabitants, so it’s fairly massive with far more people than all of Ireland within the city limits. Within Japan, Osaka is known for two things: firstly, whereas Tokyoites are seen as aloof and businesslike, here they’re the comedians of Japan, known for their laid-back, outspoken attitudes, quick wittedness and propensity for hi-jinks. They’re the Kerrymen of Japan, essentially. Secondly, they love their grub, which, considering which country we’re in, is incredibly promising. The city is known for the concept of kuidaore – ‘eating yourself into ruin’ – a tongue-in-cheek reference to its status as Japan’s kitchen. Sounds like my kind of town!

Most of the action in Osaka takes place around the touristy Dotonbori, an area so over the top it even makes downtown Tokyo seem as sober and understated as Leitrim Town on a Tuesday afternoon. Animatronic crabs, knife-wielding octopi, furious-looking rotating chefs’ heads and more adorn the myriad of stalls flogging the local specialties – takoyaki (delightful octopus balls, better than they sound), kushikatsu (breadcrumbed, fried everything on sticks), and okonomiyaki, a cabbage-y pancake made of whatever you like.

Two mascots dominate Osaka, the first being the iconic Glico running-man off the giant neon advert in Dotonbori, (see bottom left), a beloved landmark representing a local food and confectionery company of the same name. Apparently they started out by somehow making caramel out of oysters (Glico being a shortening of glycogen, the multibranched polysaccharide of glucose. Obviously.) Fair play for establishing a viable business using caramel made out of oysters, I say. They also make those delicious Pocky choccy- bikky sticks (you may also know them as Mikado. Not the Jacobs ones though with the jam). I learn that the company spent ages trying to design the perfect snack – with the breakthrough coming when the designers decided not to cover the whole thing in chocolate and leave it off the bottom so you could still hold it. Genius.

The second icon is Billiken, a small mischievous elf-monkey- munchkin-thing, who can be found all over the city, including the permanent party town of Shinsekai, most notably in the iconic Tsutenkaku Tower (‘Tower Reaching Heaven’) (below, centre). This particular cute rascal, self-styled as ‘the god of things as they ought to be’, is not actually even Japanese, but was apparently invented by a Missourian housewife in 1908, but somehow became bizarrely popular in Osaka. Effigies of Billiken, of which there are many, usually have worn-down feet, as punters rub his oversized digits for good luck. But spare a thought for my favourite lesser-known emblem- the Disappointing Stone! Located at the foot of Tsutenkaku Tower, just kind of plonked there unassumingly, the Disappointing Stone is but a stone, and so in that sense ironically doesn’t actually disappoint. It is believed that the stone was destined for use in Osaka Castle, but was damaged in transit and abandoned. I recommend reading the google reviews, the highlights of which I post below :

• ‘Truly a disappointment. 4/5. Would visit again’
• ‘It was disappointing to say the least. 3/5’
• ‘A beautiful stone. Not disappointing. 1/5’

• And finally, translated from the original Japanese: ”Unable to become part of the building materials for the reconstruction of the magnificent Osaka Castle, this regrettable stone can only stand guard behind the 24-hour drugstore, watching people smoke and loiter here. It’s truly pathetic’. 5/5 ‘

On our first night in Osaka, we go for a wander around the perma- Glastonbury-esque wonderland of Dotonbori. By the river, Bella spots an innocuous sign pointing to hidden subterranean delights in a basement – reading ‘Irish Pub Dublin Bay’ !! Unsure of what to expect, and not planning to stay long, we descend the stairs, entering a smoke-filled chamber full of Korean tourists horsing into the fags and Guinness. While I’m ordering at the bar, a friendly regular decides to introduce himself. ‘I’ve the same name as that guy right there,’ he says in an American accent, gesturing toward an image of Irish poet William Butler Yeats on the wall. ‘He’s the owner,’ says William, pointing to the Japanese barman, ‘but I help finance this place!’ he cackles. To accurately describe William, thoughts immediately turn to Dennis Hopper’s unnamed character in Apocalypse Now, if he’d had a few whiskeys to loosen himself up. ‘I’ll drop those pints over to you‘ says the Japanese owner. As they say in these parts: Arrigatooooo Gozaimaaaaasssss.

Over the course of the evening, on several occasions, William hovers over, engages in brief conversation before withdrawing to his seat by the bar until he thinks of something else to say and comes back. This could be considered irritating, but the very fact that he goes away for a few minutes, coupled with his unique drawl means his visits are tolerated. ‘What brings you to Japan, William? ‘ I ask.

‘Listen man, what brings me to Japan, man? You see this baboon we got now, back home in the White House man, that baboon throwing bananas at his own feces, man, you expect me to put up with that, man, an orange baboon, man, how about that?’

The Guinness here is really good, and we stay for a couple, talking to a well-mannered marine from Arizona who has come on leave to visit Osaka and is drinking the largest pint of Hoegaarden I have ever seen. On the way back from the toilet, I am accosted by William, and he, the barman and I do a shot of Tullamore Dew together, on William’s insistance. Behind the bar, for reasons I never discover, is a worn 2006 Dundalk FC jersey. On another wall is a framed letter from the Irish Ambassador to Japan, thanking the owner of Irish Pub Dublin Bay for ”all you have contributed to the Irish scene in Osaka.” ‘Hey, let’s make it interesting and just glass someone’ says William, before adding ‘I’m joking, man, I would neeeverrrrr glass someone, man.’ He then turns to me and, appro of nothing, asks, ‘Are you a fan of venison?”

The next night follows a similar pattern of craic-filled, sound barmen and superb alcoholic beverages. Not at all Irish in any way but definitely worthy of mention, showcasing Osaka’s admirable off-kilter take on life is the Pachimon Bar. This cocktail spot is dedicated to the noble art of bootleg Star Wars merch that the owner began collecting for a bit of craic but in which he is now a prominent expert/world leader in the field. As a person who has turned what should have been an amusing diversion into a lifelong calling, I have an affinity with his quest, and he shows me the book he has written on the noble art of Star Wars knock-offs. It is with great interest I read about how he outlines his manifesto on the selection and categorisation of Pachimon, explaining what can and can’t be considered according to the random yet semi-coherent conditions he himself has set out. I nod in approval. Sensing a kindred spirit, the owner proceeds to demonstrate some of his objets d’art to us, including a Darth Vader toothpick dispenser where the Sith Lord unsheathes each stick in the style of a lightsaber. Alas, the first go is too powerful, and the toothpick flies out across the bar and into the cosmos. ‘The Force was strong with this one’ chuckles the barman. Funny, funny fuckers. The bar is well worth a visit, if not for the excellent service and ambiance, then at least for the toilet, which is probably the best one I’ve had the pleasure of boldly going in,*, resembling as it does the room in the second Death Star where Darth Vader puts his special helmet on, possibly from The Empire Strikes Back? (Fun Fact: Did you know that Darth Vader’s helmet was said to be modelled on samurai designs?) Much of this Star Wars nonsense is lost on Bella, who is sitting next to a full-size Jawa and whose only knowledge of Star Wars comes from an awareness of the vitriol for racist frog-caricature Jar-Jar Binks.

(*that is actually Star Trek, yes )

Wishing to atone for my gluttony/hedonism, having embraced the Osakan philosophy a bit too closely, the time comes to do penance and reflection. North of the city, at the very end of the metro line, we take a pilgrimage to Katsuoji temple, home of good fortune – ‘winner’s luck’ and thousands upon thousands of the distinctive mustachioed daruma dolls. The daruma doll was modelled after the founder of Zen Buddhism, Bodhidharma, a man so zen that apparently all his limbs fell off while he was stood still for about 9 years. Tradition dictates that you first set a goal, colouring in the left eye of the daruma, with his presence serving as a reminder of your commitment. Once the goal is achieved, you colour in the second eye and return him to the temple. Scattered across the temple grounds are thousands and thousands of daruma, large and small, balancing on the tree branches, stuffed into cracks and crevices like a cute infestation. I purchase a doll, with the aim of achieving some big goals vis a vis Irish Pubs in 2027. In time, all things being well, his other eye will be filled, oh yes. And hopefully a return trip to Osaka will be in the offering to return this daruma to the multitudes.

Equally inspiring as any daruma doll is our next stop. As I said, it’s now coming up to 10 years of Irish Pub visiting. I’ve been in the game a long time, a cold, hardened cynic, watching for the most part as our most precious cultural heritage is flogged for a few grubby dollars. And yet, there still exist places that inspire joy in this jaded pub visiting man. And technically, this one is not even an Irish Pub. Somehow, as to how I am not sure, but in the months preceding this trip, I heard tell of this place online, a place unlike any other I had visited or had dreamt of visiting. Nothing could top the anticipation I experienced preparing to visit the one and only Irish Curry House Nakatsu ! Located in northern Osaka, far from the hyper-mechanical neon crabs of downtown, is the workshop of true artisans, fusing together two distinct cultural/ culinary elements to forge something truly special. There’s a history of curry enjoying here in Japan, with the British Navy said to have brought curries via India, and as is their way, Japanese chefs adapted it for local paletes, making it sweeter and also thicker so it wouldn’t spill while at sea. At Irish Curry Nakatsu, they have taken it one step further and achieved zen-like mastery of the curry maker’s art, with the addition of sweet, malty Guinness to the mix.

Inside the restaurant, the scene is as follows; an unfussy and unpretentious corner store – no tables but a bar counter, the minimalist kitchen in full view, consisting of one large pot and a single wok on an exposed flame. A solitary Guinness tap lies at the far end of the bar. Guinness paraphernalia – adverts, logos, and a map of Ireland dot the walls. The menu has a nifty Guinness trivia section, (in Japanese), with a mini-history of this far-away drink that has inspired this labour of love. The chef/waiter/ manager/ owners- possibly a husband-and-wife team, are an affable couple, they don’t have much English, and sadly my Japanese is almost non-existent. However, we speak the mutual language of pints, and the menu is so straighforward there’s little room for error. The pint that comes is magnificent- beautifully poured and with a lasting cream. I go for the Irish pork curry, with a crispy prawn thrown in, cause I’m on holiday and I saw someone order the same online. The chef gets to work, unhurriedly adding oil to the wok and heating a giant vat of the precious Guinness curry mother sauce. A couple of locals come in, including a father and son, placing themselves at the bar.The father, on hearing us speak, encourages the little boy to practice his English with us and ask us a few questions, like where are we from and do we like Japan and other such innocent queries. The scene is heartwarming – familiar, even though we are about 5,943 miles from home, and we feel instantly welcome among the locals. I use my one phrase I have memorised to tell them I am from Dublin, and we give them a load of Guinness beer mats I had in my bag, souvenirs straight from the Guinness Motherland. The curry was fine. No, of course it was not- it was magical, forged from their secret Guinness infused recipe, it had a sensational depth of flavour unlike any other curry I’ve had.

If we go down the cliched route, there is, as with many Japanese concepts, a specific word that fits with all of this we have seen here – Ikigai. Hard to translate, it roughly means ‘reason for living’ or ‘life-purpose’, but not exactly. The idea could be explained as a sweet spot between doing what you love, what you are good at, what the world needs and what can pay the bills. Think more of a calling than investment banking. One can imagine the idea has been bastardised and abased by the online motivational wellness industry and life-coaches alike and without getting too lifestyle guru- y myself, it’s a trait that you can identify in a number of places we’ve visited thusfar in Osaka, where people have pursued an unconventional idea they love and fully committed to the bit, be it bootleg Star Wars merch, caramel made out of oysters or Irish Pub culture. What is more, Japanese food and drink culture also has a tradition of focusing on doing one thing and doing it well, and so to my mind, Irish Curry House Nakatsu is an amalgamation of all of these concepts, manifested in a humble local diner. Without knowing the true motivations, I can only project my romantic ramblings onto this place, and perhaps I don’t want to know the truth for fear that it might be so banal I’d be left feeling as disappointed as some sort of Disappointing Stone. I could just bother them via Google Translate. But I think better of it , and we leave knowing we may never experience anything like the meal & pint in this most local of eateries again. Or will we, as I did buy a cheeky block of their secret curry sauce for private consumption, which I will attempt to replicate back home to honour this heartwarming operation. Then, ideally, I can mass-produce it, and reformulate the product with inferior ingredients, thus maximising returns for the shareholders. Ikigai.

Usually, on most trips you end up having to fill the time a bit, where a museum or gallery provides a handy way to kill a few hours. In Osaka ,though, wandering the streets and markets, sampling the street foods, having a small beer is entertainment enough that we end up not having time to go to Osaka Castle, any Osakan art Gallerys, the Viewpoint at Umeda Sky Building or any of the other touristy diversions. Choosing a place for dinner in Osaka is a thankless task, even more so than Tokyo, where everywhere looks good, options are plentiful and a fear of missing something even better lends a sense of paralysis to decision-making. We aim to visit a top rated iyzakaya, popular with tourists, standing room only – this being Japan, though, it’s cash only, so after securing money from a nearby 7-Eleven, we return to find the restaurant has ceased serving. In any other case, this would be grounds for a grievance, but here, fret not, as you just walk down the street to four or five equally good places. And so, we randomly choose a spot due to the chef’s ostentatious open-flamed cookery we spy through a window, and proceed to have the best meal of all our time in Japan, served by 2 cooks who grill, dice, prep sushi, make drinks, give out bills, and provide multilingual entertainment for the whole restaurant sat in a semi-circle around the central hearth. A neighbouring patron helps us in choosing a sake, and then proceeds to share her dinner with us, offering us bits of her meal she has ordered, a hospitable gesture I have never seen in any of my previous trips ever.

Following this sensational meal, a nightcap was in order, so a trip back to the hotel came via John Ryan’s Polka, our final Irish Pub of the trip, a cosy wee speakeasy not far from the centre of town. Could Osaka do it again with a place of joy, warmth, craic and decent pints? According to the internet, the bar was soon closing, so we crept in the door to see what we could find. Primarily a bar for whiskey and spirits, John Ryan’s thankfully also has a solo Guinness tap, so while I sampled their pints, Bella requested some of their underrated plum wine that we’d become fond of lately. A framed certificate on the wall showed the bar-lads had been over to the actual Guinness Storehouse Dublin on a pint fact-finding mission, where they had displayed sutiable dedication to the craft by pouring a certified ‘Perfect Pint’. On the TV, the scene from Titanic where they’re all jiggin around in third class is playing, where in a nice to touch the soundtrack to the scene is of course John Ryan’s Polka. Meta. Next, after a bit of the Corrs, and on hearing I’m Irish, they pass me the remote to put on something in keeping with the vibe. Such power, and respect, to be given the remote for the bar’s Youtube. I go for The Pogues (Rainy Night in Soho) garnering nods of approval from the bar staff, and with that, they pull out a bottle of Pogues Whiskey in celebration and plonk it in front of me. After a few more pints, I tell the lads that I am on a fact-finding mission of my own, and show the extremely sound owner, barman, and regulars a few pictures of my pub visits, including my trademark classic finger-point -to -the bar’s- name move. The owner decides we all need to recreate the same pose outside, so we all bundle out for an impromptu photoshoot, taken by a punter who’s been roped in to ensure everyone can get in the picture. Before we leave for the night, the owner then gives us a little goody bag, containing some very considerate free mini plum wines for our trip home as well as some John Ryan’s Polka bar mats which now sit in my study. ‘This is a small gift from Osaka’ writes the owner into Google Translate, showing me his phone. We give a bow and thank him for his generosity. He takes the phone back and types hurriedly again: ‘However, I do of course have an ulterior motive- if you could give us five stars on Google, that’d be great (smiley face smiley face shamrock shamrock ). I promise to do so, and the staff tell us that they’ll be back in Dublin soon for some more ‘fact finding’.

And so, a brief two weeks in Japan’s two major cities, whilst incredibly enjoyable, is not enough for a land as enchanting and a people as characterful as this. Very quickly, you become accustomed to the many fine aspects of Japanese life: reasonably priced high-quality meals, cracking public transport and an overall sense of ease. Hopefully, I did not bring shame upon myself while trying to be a respectful tourist, but to be honest, it didn’t seem like anyone gave two hoots. It is noteworthy that on this trip, I probably spent more time in Irish pubs, and pubs/restaurants in general, not only because of the excellent service culture but because people were pure sound and we ended up staying far longer. I hadn’t expected such craic-filled times, admittedly—perhaps due to outmoded or plain inaccurate reports of what Japan was like in terms of tolerance for tourists. If you think about it, a lot of foreigners hold similarly inaccruate and hyper-romanticised views of Ireland—where everyone is welcoming and friendly with a twinkle in their eye, to which there is a certain truth. But theres also a side to the country that is less marketable – watch The Field for an example of the brooding and legendary dark begrudgery/bloody rural murder Irish people are capable of. Or The Playboy of the Western World, whose less-than-flattering depictions of Irish life led to riots in the theatres. Lifestyles also change—meaning depictions of the Irish as hard-drinking, fist-fightin’ slaves to Catholicism are way-off. For the most part.

With Japan, surely we must have a similarly nuanced view. Christopher Harding, lecturer on Asian history and author of some very fine books on the on East Asia calls Japan a ”mirror image of the West’, and that the self-referential search for ‘Japaneseness’ is an examination of that reflection and to a lesser extent a counterpoint of what we, the West, could be. Also,I learn that just because a country has a specific word for something, it doesn’t automatically mean it permeates every aspect of public consciousness. But I was only there for a grand total of two weeks and I did buy souvenir socks in the 7-Eleven, so it would be churlish of me to make grand statements. As for the tropes of Japanese society, it is true that there aren’t a lot of bins so carry your rubbish with you. It is untrue that people don’t eat in public or in the street. You can smoke in some pubs and restaurants, but you can’t smoke outside on most streets, save for little street-smoking enclosures. And there did appear to be a lack of drunken salarymen sleeping in contorted positions after the last train. As for being warm, friendly and welcoming, however, it is noteworthy that this trip probably involved the highest ratio of chats with locals, owners and ill-advised free shots, more so than any country in Europe. Could this just be because I was mostly in excellent Irish pubs? Possibly. I’m sure they must have some pure dud Irish pubs , cash-ins, branded as ‘ authentic UK pubs’ as all countries have. Not that I would have ever gone to them. I am, you see, an excellent tourist.