Winding between the teenage fashion havens of Harajuku and Shinjuku is the ultra-hip Cat Street, lined with countless second-hand clothing stores and embellished with a single origin coffee shop. Just a stone’s throw to its south lies a nondescript concrete building. Unassuming from the outside, for the past 15 months its second floor hid a sake bar. The interior was a stylish and modern take on Japanese design – a sleek counter in the center, tatami mats and sliding doors splitting the space into three. Here, a young crowd gathered, sampling the latest sake and regional dishes – from Miyagi beef tongue meatballs and Iwate squid sashimi to Akita smoked pickled daikon topped with cream cheese. Given its relatively short residency, one might be forgiven for thinking the bar was a trend or a poorly conceived dream. But Mysh, (pronounced “my shu” meaning “my sake”) didn’t go out of business, nor were any of its members of staff full time. Their lease having expired, the founders decided to take some time out before finding a new home – time to review their goal of creating something more than a dining establishment, of creating a community space. Currently, the bar only exists as a monthly pop-up event, but its founding story and model are indicative of Tokyo’s broader culinary culture - one that is simultaneously steeped in tradition while constantly reinventing itself under the city’s bright neon lights.

Several years ago, when the Michelin Guide decided to swoop into Japan and rate its cuisine, restaurateurs were slightly shell-shocked to learn that Japan came away with almost as many highly regarded establishments as France. (And in fact, Tokyo wound up with two more three-star restaurants than Paris.) Then, in 2013, UNESCO put washoku (Japanese cuisine) on its Intangible Cultural Heritage List, alongside such icons as the Argentine tango, Turkish coffee and falconry.

It’s a common fantasy: Accidentally locked in a bakery, forgotten overnight, we quickly eat everything in sight and fall into a sugary, carb-filled dream of sweet-spun bliss. Sequestered away where nobody will find us until morning, we wake from time to time and continue to eat cakes until we sleep again. Short of that happening in this lifetime, we frequently daydream of walking the aisles of bakeries, latte in hand as we pull pain au chocolat and sticky buns from racks, consuming everything in a hurried rush before we’re asked to leave.