If it weren’t for the dozens of brightly lit signs and paper lanterns promising libations of every sort, you might mistake the two narrow alleys alongside the train tracks on the northeast side of Shibuya station for a derelict apartment block. In reality Nonbei Yokocho (AKA Drunkard’s Alley) is one of Tokyo’s few remaining yokocho (side street) bar districts. Like the much larger and better-known Golden Gai in Shinjuku, Nonbei Yokocho is a collection of aging and tightly packed microbars. Each watering hole is scarcely more than a few square meters, and if longtime regulars aren’t taking up the scant floor space, newcomers may try any number of doors before they find an empty seat.

The warren of streets surrounding the current Tsukiji Market – Tokyo’s main wholesale market – are filled with sushi joints, ramen stands, coffee shops and assorted other restaurants tucked between the stalls and knife makers. Walking around during morning hours one could often wonder where the people who work inside the market have their meals. The gentrification of Tsukiji has brought such an influx of tourists that the early market is now closed to outsiders. Visitors are limited to the outer parts of the market and the food stands. Restaurants are jammed. Beginning at 3 a.m. workers drift into the heart of the market and begin to set up for the 5:30 a.m. tuna auction.

How thrilling to know it’s possible to reach far back into Japan’s gastronomic past merely by visiting Azabu Juban’s Sarashina Horii Soba for a bit of “living history” in the form of a pleasantly simple meal. The Sarashina cooking lineage stretches back over 200 years and is always evident in the shimmering, high-quality plates of buckwheat noodles coming from the kitchen. In 1798, Nunoya Tahei, a Mastumoto City textile merchant famous for his soba skills, founded the Sarashina soba lineage when he was encouraged by Hosina, the local feudal lord, to open a shop making a style of soba popular in the Japanese Alps area of Nagano.

One of the great joys of spring in Japan is anticipating the appearance of sansai, or mountain vegetables. When cherry blossoms begin to flutter on warming breezes, hikers take to the hills to forage for the first wild edibles. Supermarkets mount special displays of packaged (and unfortunately often hot-house-raised) young sprouted leaves, shoots and tubers. Restaurants proudly offer up special seasonal dishes, providing an opportunity to bring the freshness of the outdoors to the table, even in the inner city. A bounty of deliciousness awaits those fortunate enough to get out of Tokyo and roam the hills. Fukinoto, taranome and warabi form a trifecta of green vegetables gleaned from mountain walks. Cooks wait all year to prepare dishes of these fragrant yasai veggies.

We consider ourselves fabulously lucky every time we snatch up one of the ten counter stools or the three-seater table inside the triangular shaped and miniscule Savoy Pizza. Up a few steps as the street curves around behind itself, this smallest of small restaurants is easily missed; the space seems carved out of the corner of a building, almost like the bow of a ship. The best way to find it is to look for the clutch of hungry people hanging around outside, waiting for their slice of Neapolitan-style heaven. It is the kind of place that one is told about and then hesitates to tell more people lest the line outside never end.

Dear Culinary Backstreets, I’m on my way to Tokyo in the next few weeks and wanted to enjoy the cherry blossoms at a typical hanami celebration. Where can I find such a celebration, and what kind of food can I expect and where can I find one? We can fully understand why you want to partake of a hanami, or cherry blossom viewing party, as most Japanese people do. The ritual has been around for over a thousand years in Japan. Cherry blossoms – sakura – will bloom in lavish displays of wonderful pink magic all over Japan, starting on the southern island of Kyushu at the end of March and moving north to Hokkaido by the end of May.

We crept down an almost unmarked flight of stairs, then through a dim, winding corridor and finally pulled back a noren curtain to find ourselves in the world’s only Ippudo ramen location that serves soba noodles instead of ramen. As we seated ourselves on stools around the U-shaped counter, the aroma of tonkotsu (pork bone) broth reached our sinuses and informed us that we had arrived in a place like no other. Shigemi Kawahara opened his first Ippudo ramen shop on the southern Japanese island of Kyushu in1985 and over the next 15 years became a revered ramen master by winning numerous ramen championships on TV.

Editor’s note: This is a new installment in an occasional series about where to wet your whistle in true Tokyo style. Every Tokyo neighborhood has its standing bars, usually near the train station. Azabu Juban’s most popular, Juban Stand, is located on a backstreet running parallel to the shoten gai shopping street. It spills out onto the sidewalk, where old kegs offer patrons the chance to drink a few beers while enjoying life on the street. Inside, a standing area snakes down the bar to the back, ending with a jumble of stools and stairs leading to a small balcony with a few wonky tables for those who prefer to sit and linger.

As the towers of Tokyo’s Nihonbashi financial district began to proliferate and grow taller, developers took special care to preserve and in many cases not displace the area’s mainstream department stores, art galleries and varied restaurants, and so traditional establishments were often incorporated into the new buildings. The Mitsui real estate group, which opened the two Coredo Towers in 2014, made sure to include time-honored restaurants in the new setting, including an amazingly good, classic Edo-mae sushi bar lured from an outdated setting, an outpost of a Kyoto home-cooking restaurant and a dazzling array of famous sweets shops. The developers were also clever enough to include a classic izakaya, or pub-style establishment, enticed away from the Tsukiji market. Every evening, office workers pour out of local mega-buildings and pack into Nihonbashi Suminoe to enjoy the collegial atmosphere and flavorful charcoal-cooked fish. Sakaya means a location in which to purchase sake, and “i” means to stay in a place and feel at ease. Thus, i-sakaya becomes “izakaya” when pronounced correctly, and it’s the perfect way to describe Nihonbashi Suminoe.

Editor’s note: As the year comes to a close, we honor some of the people who are keeping up traditions on the Japanese food scene. And we remember the foods we’ve dreamt about eating again and again from each of them. Nodaiwa This 200-year-old restaurant, one of Tokyo’s best sources of wild-caught unagi (freshwater eel), is housed in a building brought from Hida-Takayama in Gifu prefecture, which is famous for gassho-zukuri farmhouse architecture, with its massive dark wooden beams and thatched roofs. The structure was dismantled and then hauled down to Tokyo piece by piece and reassembled in the modern building where Nodaiwa offers a small glimpse of traditional taste and skill, with vintage touches throughout. Fifth-generation chef Kanejiro Kanemoto keeps the tradition alive and deserves his Michelin star. His passion for offering only the best eels available is evident in everything he serves.

National Route 246 is one of Japan’s main byways, stretching for over 76 miles and snaking through the center of Tokyo. The small part of Route 246 that runs between Shibuya and the Meijii Jingu Shrine was recently recreated for one of the best-selling video games of all time, Gran Turismo 3: A-Spec. It also happens to be the location for the food court heaven known as Commune 246.

It’s difficult to imagine a job where a major skill set is eating a vast amount of food and becoming as large as possible. Yet sumo wrestlers, in an effort to bulk up and to be able to throw their weight around in the ring, consume enormous amounts of protein-rich, calorie-heavy meals – primarily in a dish called chanko nabe (a one-dish hotpot) – hoping to do just that. At Chanko Dojo, diners are encouraged to fill up as much as possible as they soak up sumo culture. (For another eatery devoted to wrestling, read our review of this Mexico City spot.)

The West has gone gaga for noodles, Japan’s most cherished comfort food. Hungry diners pack secret soba dens in Los Angeles for bites of hand-cut anything; they line up to plunk themselves down at sparkling counters offering $100 ramen tastings in New York and pick through ramen au beurre in Paris looking for the next new taste. In Tokyo, ramen masters are now competing for cult status within a ramen culture imported from the United States. Soba chefs are newly coveted for their skill in grinding, rolling, cutting and plating and are praised as master craftsmen.

Roppongi’s Café Sakura serves as a restaurant and seating area for a bundle of businesses under the same ownership. There’s the Café with table service, the Wine Shop Sommelier (retail wines straight from the vineyard at considerable discount), L’Atelier du Pain (a Japanese-style bakery and cheese shop) and the French patisserie Coco Ange. Put them together and they enjoyably represent a Japanese take on the Western idea of “happy hour.”

Before Roppongi Hills rose from the warren of rambling streets, aging wooden homes and traditional Japanese ways nestled amongst embassies and Korean barbeque joints, Azabu Juban was a sleepy section of Tokyo, moored more in custom than the flashy markets and designer boutiques to come. The main shoten gai, or shopping street, was a classic example of Japanese daily life. Small mom-and-pop stores catered to neighbors, and after the third or fourth visit anyone could be a regular. The vegetable man would disappear into the back of his stand and produce a perfectly ripe melon before you had to ask; the flower vendor waved at her customers even if they weren’t in the market for flowers; and the shoe repair man admonished everyone for not shining their shoes regularly enough.