Some parts of the Mitaka Chige Club’s name obviously ring true. It is one of many restaurants and bars clustered around Mitaka station’s North exit. Jiggae (often written “chige” in Japanese katakana), a shockingly red Korean soup with a gochujang base, occupies a substantial portion of the main menu.
The “club” aspect becomes evident with the palpable feeling that this whole experience is carried by a small group. Passionate individuals on both sides of the counter are the lifeblood of the Mitaka Chige Club.
Background chatter from a petit TV set competes with the chef’s (notably ad-supported) personal Spotify playlist. Regulars call orders from their seats without too many pleasantries or graces. Outdoor smoke breaks, enjoyed by everyone in the restaurant, create a comforting perfume of evening air and fresh cigarettes while sliding doors shimmy open and shut. Chef Hiroshi Ishioka has curated this space for his people, reflecting his values on an unpretentious whiteboard of specials.
Long before lunch hour, fishmonger friends who provide the seafood for jiggae soup and raw shrimp kimchi occasionally bring in something exciting, just for kicks: a cut of tuna they’re especially proud of, a round of squid, or octopus. When unique produce comes in, it becomes a limited-edition kimchi.
By focusing on neighborhood clientele, Chef Ishioka has the creative liberty to experiment. He serves food that is humble and original. Like a mother’s home cooking, his personal preferences and habits aren’t hidden behind a pristine countertop or fussy plating. This license for creativity has resulted in a dish unlike any served elsewhere. According to Chef Ishioka, his soba is the first and only of its kind.
Mitaka Chige Club’s cornerstone is its totally unique “jiggae-soba.” It’s created specifically with the element of surprise in mind. The soba is served cold, to be dipped in authentic-tasting Korean jiggae soup, which arrives at the table still bubbling hot.
Mitaka Chige Club’s clever combination takes soba noodles – an element that has represented this area for centuries – and slams it together with contemporary flavors. Balance is key – earthy, cold soba contrasts the molten sting of jiggae. It’s addictive, simultaneously light and filling, and a testament to both trends and tradition.
A history of cultural overlap with Korea has always been subtly present in Japanese dishes like buta-kimchi, stir fried pork and kimchi, but recently, the Korean food trend has exploded. Traditionally, jiggae is a Korean dish served in a searing hot stoneware bowl with a side of rice. At Mitaka Chige Club, it’s paired with chilled buckwheat soba noodles, a local favorite.
Mitaka is perhaps best known for its proximity to Tokyo’s most desirable address, the Kichijoji neighborhood, and the Ghibli art museum. However, Mitaka also butts up against neighboring city Chofu’s Jindaiji area. Jindaiji is Tokyo’s second oldest temple and the neighborhood around it boasts a 400-year-long history of soba noodles dating back to the Edo era.
Jindaiji’s fantastic old architecture includes water mills that were once used to grind the buckwheat used for noodle making. Variations in grinding and wheat-buckwheat ratio differ by purveyor, creating an impressive spectrum of noodles under the same title. Restaurants have their pick of locally produced soba, and plenty even take advantage of the opportunity to make their own.
Mitaka Chige Club is one such restaurant. Just over the logo, the shop proudly displays its commitment to the house-made, fresh soba noodles it prepares one serving at a time. Upon order, a giant mechanism extrudes dull brown, raw soba noodles directly into a pot of boiling water. The extruder’s pristine metal shines the way a crown jewel might stand out among the velvet of a palace, announcing its importance against Mitaka Chige Club’s rustic wooden interior.
The chef swings around its massive arm, and with a whirr, raw soba noodles creep out of the extruder and toward the boiling water below. Their color gives away the high ratio of coarsely ground buckwheat used in these noodles, which will help them hold up against the simmering soup and maintain an al-dente texture.
Chef Ishioka cuts them off at just the right length so that they drop directly into the pot without so much as a splash. It seems like not even a second passes before he ladles them out and into a cooler of ice, chilling the noodles with water from the faucet and giving them a good shake with deft fingertips. It’s all a very hands-on, human process, perfectly in view of diners sitting at the counter.
The noodles are done long before the jiggae starts to bubble, giving them ample time to cool off and firm up. As we wait, the chef turns his back to us and focuses on prepping dinner service, intermittently calling over his shoulder with pieces of Mitaka Chige Club’s story.
“I’m not the owner or anything, but yeah, the jiggae soba was my idea. We just opened…a year and a half ago, about,” he pauses to chop a chicken thigh which will become tonight’s tataki. “You know, people do this all the time with Korean food.” He vaguely gestures around, alluding to the whole “noodles in spicy soup” situation at play, “But, it’s always ramen or something. Chuuka is the same – Chinese food and Japanese food together. I thought, wouldn’t it be interesting to make something like that but with soba?”
“Besides that,” he continued, “spicy food is a trend right now. Since Japanese people like spicy food more and more, I wanted to come up with a new idea for spicy food. I wanted to shock people. We have other things too, like bossam [a Korean dish of steamed pork served with salty sauce, kimchi, and lettuce] and fried chicken and kimchi. We make all the kimchi in-house.” Despite the clear pride Chef Ishioka takes in his craft – everything is made in house.
The clandestine atmosphere created by obscuring greenery, sparse clientele, and Chef Ishioka’s quiet, focused work can make the venue feel difficult to enter. Abandoned bikes, a faintly mildewed awning mural, and a haphazardly hand-written “Open” sign from the outside make the restaurant look at once like a very lived-in place and like one that hasn’t been inhabited for ages. But, while nothing about the spot is immediately inviting, Mitaka Chige Club still has a magnetic draw.
In the evening, the storefront looks like something out of a Ghibli film. The glowing interior, shifting shadows inside, and ivy-covered facade give the sneaking sensation that something magical is happening inside. Indeed, a clattering open of traditional sliding doors releases a wave of laughter and spicy fragrance. The chef is in good spirits, stepping out for a cigarette. A few customers who have clearly been enjoying after-work drinks are engaged in conversation that echoes around the hard wooden interior. Chef Ishioka may not say much, but actions speak louder than words. He likes what he likes, he’s picky about his noodles, and he’s here to cook, serve, and invent for the sake of the Club. All the better when the guests inside are as excited about the food as he is.
Personal touches make the space. Between school trophies, photos, and event posters, it’s clear that the restaurant is a vital organ of the community. Signs for a free market at the end of the month remind us all that this place was built by and for the people in it; that, by eating here, we’re all part of the Club, no member cards needed.
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