Rintaro

Rintaro is an izakaya built with real intention, not a theme. The courtyard is plant-filled and genuinely calm, the dining room sits under arched wooden beams, and the whole room argues against the idea that Japanese small plates have to come with noise and sake bombs. This is a place for sitting still and eating well.

The food backs up the setting. Gyoza arrive with skirts crisped into lace, the soft tofu dissolves before you can really chew it, and the hand-rolled udon and tonkatsu both hit a level of execution that's hard to find outside Japan itself. Nothing on the shareable-plates format feels like filler — each dish is doing specific, considered work, and the details carry through the whole meal.

Recognition has followed the execution rather than the other way around: a Michelin Bib Gourmand and a spot on national best-of lists confirm what's obvious at the table. There's real noise around Rintaro now, and a few visits get swallowed by it, but the kitchen's fundamentals don't waver. This is an izakaya worth sitting with.