手打ち蕎麦 山城屋 [Teuchisoba Yamashiroya] (Tokyo, Japan)
- Blythe
- Aug 6, 2020
- 3 min read
If you ever listen to someone who has traveled throughout Japan for a prolonged period of time, they may insist that the best food you could possibly eat would be at a home that is also a restaurant. For most Americans, where building codes and general business regulations are enforced by the state and federal government, this may be a curious and strange concept. However, in Japan these establishments, while not generally commonplace, are not unusual to find.
During my second trip studying abroad in Tokyo, I was fortunate enough to stumble across such a place during a morning walk. At the time, I had a general routine of exploring south of where I was staying with my host family. Wanting to switch things up a bit, I traveled north instead, further into a suburban neighborhood. Hours passed, and I wanted to grab some lunch, but I was surrounded by houses with no sign of a conbini (convenience store) or any other immediate food source in sight. After a few more minutes of walking, an upright banner with 手打そば written on it placed in front of one of the houses caught my attention. "Teuchisoba," or "handmade soba," is a buckwheat noodle, traditionally served either hot as a soup or cold with a dipping sauce. Curious, I peered around the corner of the house where another sign pointed toward the door, greeting and inviting visitors inside in Japanese.
I have heard of such eating places from online and others who have also traveled before me, but this was my first time seeing one, and I wasn't sure if I what I was seeing was real. Hesitantly, I approached the house and after standing there awkwardly, debating whether to go through with it, rapped my knuckles on the door.
I must have startled the owner when he opened the door. Walking around the city and seeing foreigners is one thing, but a latina-looking woman moseying around the streets in a residential area was another. He was an older gentleman, and although initially a little confused with my sudden appearance, and I pointed at the sign and asked if he offered soba. I am not proficient by any means, but I was capable of holding simple conversations, and after seeing that I understood at least some level of Japanese, he smiled and welcomed me inside his home.
The room was small, and there were maybe three small tables with two chairs each set up in the dining area. Despite it being a little past noon, there was no one else there. Even up until the point that I left, no one else came in, which I found odd.
His wife appeared and introduced herself as the man went into the kitchen. She seemed thrilled to have me there and asked questions about my life. We talked for a bit as I explained how I was there to study, and she in turn talked about her life. Her husband made the soba dough by hand and cooked it fresh, and they both seemed content with the simple business. After ordering the vegetable tempura with hot soba, she disappeared into the kitchen to relay the order to her husband. She returned with some hot green tea, and after some minor chit chat, she left me alone to relax.
The soba took a fair amount of time to make (it is made fresh after all). When it did arrive, I was ready to dig in. It was beautifully made and presented with each component in its respective dish. The soba was perfectly cooked, and the fried vegetables were a pleasant crunchy accompaniment after a slurp of the hot noodles. After thanking them both, I understood the novelty of eating in someone else's home. You rarely get such intimate experience with restaurant owners, let alone being allowed to dine within their own house. To this day, I still recall fondly of that old couple, and how they had generously provided their service (having judged their initial reactions, I think they didn't expect to serve anyone that day). If I ever return to Tokyo in the future, I would definitely like to stop by again to see what they're up to, as well as grab a bite to eat.
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