A 30-something woman goes to a bar alone for the first time in Jimbocho

Embarrassing as it is to admit, I am a woman who can hold her liquor reasonably well.

At 33, if there is one thing I have learned in this life, it is that "nothing good comes from claiming you can hold your liquor."

Born into a family of heavy drinkers, my mother, who gave me beer at my high school graduation celebration when I was 19, strictly warned me, "Even when you enter society, it's better not to say you can hold your liquor."

No, you're absolutely right, Mom.

I'm not "good with alcohol." I'm just "a person who doesn't get drunk even after drinking a little." After all, I can't stay calm after drinking 10 highballs. When I was 20, I drank with an older woman who was a heavy drinker, and I carved this into my heart: "You shouldn't say you're good with alcohol unless you're someone who can drink a whole barrel."

Since then, I have maintained a moderate relationship with alcohol.

But, but! There is one thing I really want to challenge myself to do.

Going to a bar!

Even at 33, I have never been to a bar. First of all, I don't know the types of cocktails. I haven't lived a life where I drink such fancy things. At most, I've only ever had cocktails that my younger brother somehow learned to make from the internet. Next, I have social anxiety. Talking one-on-one is out of the question. Just imagine going to a place with few seats. Can't you see me getting sick from tension and fear right in front of you?

The nagging old lady in my head says... Above all, isn't it embarrassing for a woman to enter an unfamiliar bar alone! It might be fine if you were a sophisticated lady. But you, look at yourself straight on. The sloppiness of clothes that don't care about fashion. A face that is exhausted and usually has no makeup (or rather, I don't seriously wear makeup). A person like that going alone to a world called a bar, which reigns as a temple of fashion? That's not sane! (Why is this old lady's speech so outdated?)

However, the child in my heart throws a tantrum... No, I don't want that! I want to go to a stylish bar just once! Actually, I have a past where a senior colleague bragged about a bar to me. "It's my hideout, so I'll never tell you where it is."

...W-what a narrow-minded senior. Don't you have the generosity to take your junior along at times like that?

No, but this senior is someone I often drink with, and he's a good-natured person who will treat me whenever he gets the chance.

If this senior says that much, there must really be a wonderful bar that serves as a relaxing hideout...

When I think about that, the fact that there is a place to relax other than home is a very wonderful thing, and I became deeply envious of the senior who has one. Since then, I learned from videos introducing stylish cocktails. My younger brother, who is a pioneer of such places (even though he's younger than me), also said that it's fine to be casual when going to a bar...

Above all.

There is a bar in Jimbocho, my favorite place!

The war in my heart lasted for about a night. But the next day, I was standing firmly in front of Jimbocho station.

It was evening. I ate spicy curry at Kyoeido, my favorite Sumatra curry place in Jimbocho, and my stomach was fully prepared. (Important note: Never drink alcohol on an empty stomach. You will get drunk.)

Off to 'Western Liquor Street'! The road was getting darker. Although it wasn't quite winter yet, in the air that made me pull my coat tight due to the chill, a soft orange light leaked from the window of the shop.

Just standing in front of the shop makes my heart rate go up.

“Am I really allowed to go into this place...? Isn't this out of my league?”

My legs were shaking just a little bit.
Still, I opened the door.

The interior, which had likely just opened for the day, was small, and rows of liquor bottles were lined up behind the counter.
With that lovely scene as a backdrop, a female bartender and an older master further back smiled at me gently.

“Welcome.”

You can think of me as a weak-willed person if you want.
Having come this far, my heart was finally trembling completely. There was no turning back now. I had to sit in one of those counter chairs.

At this moment, I probably had a look on my face where you couldn't tell if I was smiling or scowling.

“Please leave your coat over there.”

There was a small coat rack next to the shop door, and I hung my duffle coat on it.
I sat in a chair. I rarely sit at counter seats, so I stumbled a bit.

There was, of course, nothing on the counter. Not until I ordered.
There wasn't even a menu. That was to be expected.
However, there was a sign in front of the shop that said “Today's Recommendation,” and it listed drinks appropriate for the season.

I pulled out some mysterious knowledge I had seen in a video...

“A Sidecar, please.”

Why a Sidecar? It was all the video's fault. It was because it said things like, “If you order this, people will think, ‘Oh, this person knows their stuff.’”

The woman smiled.

“Understood.”

I don't remember much about this moment, as I was apparently really nervous. I just remember the drink being shaken very quickly, a stylish coaster being placed down, and a Sidecar filled with beautiful foam being poured into a tall cocktail glass.

A Sidecar is generally a short cocktail with a refreshing taste made with a brandy base, white curaçao, and lemon juice.
It is basically considered an after-dinner drink—and it has a high alcohol content.

The moment I took a sip, the refreshing lemon and the sweet brandy spread out as if they were singing to each other.

Ah, it's delicious.

The drinks my younger brother makes at home are also delicious. But, as expected, a professional's drink has a different lightness and mellowness that lingers in the mouth.
If I was going to do this, I wanted to drink something I had tried at home once.

I don't know how to spend my time, and I don't know how to hold a conversation.

For a while, I drank in silence. I hoped this one glass would loosen the tension in my heart.

But slowly, before I knew it, I found myself talking to the two people across the counter.

After all, this is Jimbocho. An old-fashioned town where used books gather and knowledge gathers.

Talk about the sports shops that exist precisely because it's a student district.
Talk about how the Chinese food has been delicious lately.
Talk about the Hilltop Hotel.
Talk about the things we want to see remain in the future.

The conversation grew lively, bouncing back and forth like a small, fluffy ball.
The gentle intoxication brought on by the alcohol, the master who was good at conversation, and the bartender who smiled while making the extra cocktail I ordered during our chat.

A quiet shop. The only music was our conversation.

I ordered some dried fruit to eat, and as I nodded along to the stories of the master who knew Jimbocho well, I was already tilting my third glass.

At one point, someone other than me entered the shop, and the bartender went to take their order.

That person was also a woman.

When she sat down on a stool, she took a paperback book out of her bag.
It would be rude to stare too much. I was incredibly curious, but I tried not to look at the book's cover.

Book lovers are troublesome creatures; if someone is reading a book on a train or somewhere, I can't help but wonder about the title.

Oh, wow, so that's what you're reading. You have such good taste.

But this isn't a train. And I repeat, I am socially awkward. You might not believe it given how lively the conversation had been, but I am socially awkward.

That person ordered a drink.

Her eyes were already on her paperback, and unlike me, she didn't talk to the staff and was sucked into the world of her book.

Finally, I had one glass of whiskey (I forgot the brand, but I think it was an Irish whiskey. That's because I had been reading a book by Haruki Murakami at home).

The master told me detailed stories about that bottle too.
But by the fourth glass, my consciousness was pleasantly tipsy, so I don't remember that story anymore.

I actually wanted to try drinking things like vodka infused with pepper or yuzu straight, but I've reached my limit.
Before things get disastrous, I'll pay the bill while I'm at this peak of feeling pleasantly tipsy.

...The price? Please don't ask. It's the cost of an education.

I leave the bar. The chilly autumn air has been taken over by the dark night and has completely turned into winter air.
But the sense of fulfillment I gained from talking to the staff, and the buzz I got from all those delicious drinks, couldn't be wiped away by such a slight chill.

Ah! I'm so happy!

I was so nervous at first, but I'm so easily swayed that my happiness gauge is now at its max.

It's true that the conversation was a bit awkward at the start, but my specialty is getting a little carried away after a few drinks.

The person I was talking to is a professional at being personable. They were kind to a customer like me, and it made me feel wonderful.

Pleasant conversation and exceptionally delicious drinks.

Above all, the night in Jimbocho is deep and has a lot to offer, even if you sink into it.

If I could experience this, then the nervousness was worth it.

At first, I thought it was embarrassing for a woman to go to a bar alone.

But now, it's different.

For me, a bar has become a place to slowly step into the extraordinary.
It's a place that exists just to savor "happiness," regardless of age, gender, or whether you can hold your liquor or not.

On top of that, exploring Jimbocho while smelling the scent of old books, searching for my own hideaway at the time of day when everyone else is heading home, will surely be an adventure I'll never be able to give up, no matter how old I get.