In Japanese, tachi means to stand and nomi means to drink. When you put them together, you get … a hangover. Oops, I mean a standing bar. These standing bars, or tachinomis, are a ubiquitous part of life in Tokyo. Small, intimate, they provide a window into Japanese drinking culture, where it’s okay to turn up to a bar alone.
Better than okay, it’s encouraged, and you’ll find yourself in the company of those who think the best way to connect in this disconnected life is by standing shoulder to shoulder with strangers. Whether you’re a salaryman on the way home from work or a tourist who got lost en route to dinner, these bars have a gravitational pull on the wayward souls who wander Tokyo at night.
But while Japan can show us the dimly lit path to this enlightened way of drinking, it’s up to us to stumble down it, embracing the notion that we have to stand up before we can fall over. And if you’re going to fall over anywhere in Tokyo, you might as well fall into one of my favourite standing bars.
Tachiataru, Kita-Senju
Whenever I write travel articles, I’m guilty of leaving some of my favourite places off the list. The fewer people who know about it, the more likely I am to get a spot at the bar. However, Tachiataru is immune to the woes of mass tourism as it’s in a neighbourhood where I’ve never seen a single tourist.
Kita-Senju is a great place to go if you want to feel like a local in Tokyo, and Tachiataru is my favourite spot there. Not too big, not too small, it’s the kind of place where no one speaks English, but that doesn’t stop them from trying to communicate with you all the same.
It’s absurdly welcoming, and they have an amazing variety of nihonshu, the real name for the drink we all know as sake. “Sake” simply translates into “alcohol”, and when you inevitably drink a lot of it at Tachiataru, you have to eat the house specialty. It’s a dish of braised chicken skin and one of the only acceptable times to use the word “unctuous” when describing food.
Echigoya Honten, Yanaka
Technically, this isn’t a standing bar. It’s a bottle shop that serves tap beers, nihonshu and highballs on-site. But you can forgive me for including it on the list as most people come here to stand, drink and watch the world pass by.
Located at the base of a 1950s-style shopping street, this place oozes nostalgia. You’ll stand among towers of beer crates, sip from your plastic cup and watch as people march along that kooky street. It doesn’t serve food, but you can BYO anything from the neighbouring shops, most of which will be deep-fried or skewered and pair perfectly with beer.
My recommendation is to visit at sunset. Get off at Nippori Station, catch the fading light as it shines from the top of the stairs, then enjoy a beer among the locals who gather here every afternoon.
Like A Fool Records, Daita
Japanese record/listening bars are all the rage these days. Just ask Merivale or any number of the hospo groups who have tried (and failed) to replicate their magic in Sydney. If you want to experience a true record bar in Tokyo, then Like A Fool Records is a great place to start.
This bar is in Daita, a neighbourhood adjacent to the more popular Shimokitazawa. Cut through the alleys and find yourself A Fool, where I can’t speak to the food but the vibe is sublime. Good drinks, great music, the locals here are cool enough to make you feel like a dork but gracious enough not to remind you about it every time you order a round.
Treat the music like a conversation. Tell them about your taste, they’ll tell you about theirs, and you’ll inadvertently walk away as a fan of Japanese psychedelic rock from the late ’60s. This is the essence of what makes standing bars so great. It’s hard to ignore someone when you’re standing next to them, and you will, inevitably, share something more with strangers than just a drink.
THE DETAILS
Fly
Various airlines fly daily from Australia’s major cities to Tokyo, including Qantas, Jetstar, ANA and Japan Airlines.
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japan.travel
The writer travelled at his own expense.
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Paul Marshall is a Sydney-based travel writer who left his heart on the Banana Pancake Trail. With more than 10 years’ experience in the film, television, and video game industries, he now writes about his former life as a digital nomad and is always plotting his next escape. Whether it’s cycling across Korea or living in a Japanese fishing village, he loves a little-known destination and an offbeat adventure.Connect via email.
