Scenery from the Kitchen of a Kiyosumi-Shirakawa Cafe: The Daily Life of a Lunch Spot

Ring-a-ding, then a quick look around, then a squirt, then a smile—all that takes about three seconds. It wasn't until quite late that my tired brain could ruminate on the thought, 'I wonder if this is a scene repeated in every shop.'

Yes, let me explain slowly. First, if you come up the narrow stairs to the second floor from the dark entrance beside the white building facing Kiyosumi Street, you will see a glass door. This is the entrance to GINGER.TOKYO, a cafe in Kiyosumi-Shirakawa. It is a cafe-meal shop that is called a hideaway cafe simply because the entrance is hard to find.

The door in the photo above has three round icons on it, and whenever it opens or closes, the bell always makes a light sound. It is a bell to announce customers, but it also rings sometimes when I am working alone at night. ...It's what you call a poltergeist. Since this is a town where many people died during the Great Kanto Earthquake and the Great Tokyo Air Raid, poltergeists are a daily occurrence around here.

The owner inevitably furrows his brow while cooking, but usually, one of the staff members will cheerfully welcome you with a 'Welcome!' It's not that I wasn't anxious about how many customers would return after 42 days of being closed. No, I was full of anxiety. Until the first group of customers arrived, I pretended to be calm and acted as if I were concentrating on the GoGo Penguin performance projected on the screen. My heart was pounding inside. Even after I started cooking, I feel like I was glancing at the door more than usual.

The sight of regular customers, who usually walk straight to their favorite seats without looking aside, checking out the state of the shop is truly heartwarming. And the next moment, they notice the hand sanitizer gel placed on the round stool in front of them, and with a movement that looks like they are used to it, they give it one push... Everyone is very fast with this one-push action. Moreover, the way they press the pump with the heel of their palm shows they are accustomed to it. There is not a hint of awkwardness. It must be an action they have repeated many times during their self-restraint life.

Then, they perform a quick check to confirm that their own lunch-time routine has returned, sometimes peeking at the window side where book lovers usually gather without even a glance. This action reveals the psychology of trying to find changes in the shop. After that, you can also feel them trying to behave as normally as possible. From here, it splits into two patterns. Customers who are usually aloof will either give a little smile or keep their expression completely unchanged as usual. The other pattern is to come in like a dog whose joy has exploded, waving their hands and making noise, saying things like 'Long time no see,' 'I can finally eat here,' or 'I'm so glad.' The gratitude is the same.

Those who just smile are probably thinking to themselves, 'The same grumpy owner is cooking, and it doesn't seem to have changed much, just with some partitions added... Okay, daily life has returned... Phew.' You can't tell their mouth under the mask, but their eyes are subtly different. These people usually carry their work mode with them until they sit down. Some relax once they sit down, others immediately start checking their smartphones, but there is relief in their eyes. For those who wave, no explanation is needed.

The lunch time of the cafe-meal shop, which has resumed business after 42 days, has started. I think the first day of reopening was a bit different from usual, but it only took a few minutes from the time the first customer entered until the shop was full. As a result, there were three groups who couldn't get in. I am truly sorry.

Inside the kitchen, one old man was bewildered, unable to move as he wanted despite the work being routine, while being soaked in sweat from the stuffiness of the mask and the intense heat. Likewise, one young person was running around saying 'Huh? Huh?' as things were different from usual. I didn't have the luxury of tearing up with gratitude that the regulars had returned, and I was complaining, 'Why are we concentrating this much?'

As soon as I sent off the last customer and staff member Y, and turned off some of the lights, I collapsed. The thirst, the pain in my legs and lower back, the anxiety about the future hinted at by the lower sales compared to before, and the relief of having safely finished the first day of reopening all rushed in at once, and I let out a Tom Waits-like groan along with a Kenken-like laugh.

Well, well, the daily life of a super busy lunch spot has returned.