Baisu sour is shochu mixed with a red shiso and plum vinegar concentrate. It’s not sweet. It’s not sour in the way lemon sour is. It’s something else — tart, herbal, faintly medicinal. If you’ve had it, you know.

Kinmiya Shochu has no strong flavor of its own. That’s not a flaw. It’s the point. It goes with everything. It costs less than premium spirits. It’s been at the same kind of counter for sixty years.

Lemon sour is everywhere now. Every izakaya has it, every convenience store sells it in a can. That’s not a problem. It just means you have to pay attention to who makes it well.

Akaboshi is Sapporo Lager in the bottle — the one with the red star. You don’t find it everywhere. Where you find it, it means something.

In Japan, standing is not a compromise. Standing is the format. The experience is designed around it — and it changes everything from the exit to the hierarchy.

Nobody orders izakaya macaroni salad expecting it to be memorable. I order it at every new place I visit. One bite tells you whether the kitchen made it or opened a bag.

Chanja is fermented cod entrails. Most izakayas don’t have it. When I see it on the menu, something in me relaxes. A place that carries chanja has made a decision.

Hoppy has been around since 1948. It never became fashionable. It never went away. I order it first at new places — not because I want it, but because the response tells me things.

Outside Japan, warm sake has a reputation. People say it hides flaws. They’re wrong — and a little bit right. The question is what you want the sake to do.

His glass was empty. He reached for the bottle and poured himself. The table went slightly quiet. He’d been transferred from overseas. Three months in Tokyo. Still learning.