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Potato Salad: The Dish Every Izakaya Makes Differently

A generous serving of izakaya potato salad in a small bowl — creamy, slightly chunky, with visible cucumber and ham. A simple bowl on a worn counter. No garnish. Just the thing itself.

Potato salad — potesara — is on every izakaya menu. It’s not an interesting dish. It’s boiled potato, mayonnaise, cucumber, sometimes ham, sometimes egg, sometimes a few other things depending on who’s making it. It costs almost nothing and it keeps. It’s the first thing people order when they sit down and the beer hasn’t arrived yet.

And yet no two are the same.

ポテトサラダは——ポテサラは——どの居酒屋のメニューにもある。面白い料理ではない。茹でたじゃがいも、マヨネーズ、きゅうり、ときにハム、ときに卵、作る人によってほかにも何か入れる。原価はほとんどかからず、保つ。座って、まだビールが来ていないときに最初に頼むものだ。

それでも、どこも同じではない。


The variables accumulate. How much the potato is mashed versus left chunky — a kitchen that leaves some texture is making a different statement than one that mashes it smooth. The ratio of mayonnaise: too much and it becomes a delivery system for mayonnaise; too little and it’s dry and ungenerous. Whether it’s served cold from the refrigerator or at room temperature, which changes everything about how the flavors sit.

A kitchen that has made potesara for twenty years has opinions.

変数が積み重なる。じゃがいもをどれだけ潰すか、どれだけ塊を残すか——食感を残すキッチンは、滑らかに潰すキッチンとは違うことを言っている。マヨネーズの比率——多すぎるとマヨネーズを運ぶ手段になる、少なすぎると乾いて貧相になる。冷蔵庫から冷えたまま出すか、室温で出すか——これが風味のまとまり方を全部変える。

20年ポテサラを作ってきたキッチンには意見がある。


izakaya potato salad — chunky with visible potato pieces and a darker mix. The difference is obvious. Both are correct, in their own way.

The version at the Yotsuya place has a noticeable amount of karashi — Japanese mustard — mixed in. Not enough to make it sharp, just enough to give it a back note that you notice after the first bite. I didn’t notice it for six months. When I finally did, I understood that I’d been eating a considered thing without paying attention.

四谷の店のポテサラには、からし——和からし——がかなり混ざっている。辛くなるほどではなく、一口目の後で気づく後味を与えるくらい。半年気づかなかった。ようやく気づいたとき、ずっと考えられたものを注意を払わずに食べていたとわかった。


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About Izakayaism

My name is Morio Sakaba. I’m a food machinery salesman, currently on my fifth year of a solo work assignment in Tokyo. Before this, Fukuoka. Before that, Nagoya. Twelve years of eating alone in backstreet izakayas across Japan.

I started writing because I kept noticing things that guidebooks don’t explain — why the cloth oshibori matters, why nobody orders what they actually want, why a four-seat counter in a city of fourteen million can feel like the quietest place in the world. These aren’t tourist tips. They’re observations about how Japanese people actually use these places, and what that says about the culture.

Izakayaism is my attempt to write it down before I forget — and to share it with people who are curious about Japan beyond the surface.

酒場盛夫。食品機械の営業。東京単身赴任5年目。名古屋・福岡・東京と12年、路地裏の居酒屋のカウンターで一人飯を続けてきた。ガイドブックには載らないことを、観察してきた。Izakayaism はそれを書き留めるための場所だ。

Morio Sakaba(酒場盛夫)