Across from Shibuya station on a tiny stretch of land, it’s down what roughly translates as Drunkard’s Alley, or Tippler Street for the middle class. Stepping into this street is like stepping into the first page of a magical world.
Fifty closed doors and curtains across steamed up windows where you might equally glance a man with a knife, or a wife. Hanging red lanterns, scrappy overhead cables and random trash. The odd rat. A security guy for the bit of carpark nearby asleep on the job, loosely holding onto his telephone book sized manga.
Behind one of the doors lies Enoki and its warm, gracious, terrifying owner.
You can’t really step inside, rather you slide the door and immediately sit on one of the 6 chairs that crowds the tiny counter, behind which is Mama-san.
To your left you might have a university professor, the right a bank manager. A stool away is an artist and a familiar, jovial salaryman. Whoever is there it’s a sure thing that everyone will be chinking glasses and have a story to tell. Mama-san presides over all and, if you don’t annoy her, will entertain and regale with countless anecdotes.
The bar has been there years with Mama-san as the boss. I first went there around 2000, but no matter when I return there always seems to be a familiar face from earlier years.
I got to wondering just why this place is so appealing and its patrons return year after year, day after day. After all it’s a bit expensive (sometimes, prices are random based on Mama-san’s mood), not particularly clean or stylish inside (bit like a broom cupboard), food and drink selection is limited and you may even have to leave if someone else is waiting.
Personal(ity)
I think that’s the answer. We’re fed up with uber-polished delivery, or lacklustre couldn’t-care-less performance and crave some kind of genuine interaction with a brand.
In one of my own businesses I’ve always been curious as to why we get the best, friendliest response to emails saying that we just screwed up (I remember the day we cut a tax break and dropped our prices by nearly 20% – no-one said a word!)
When those emails are written in a friendly, genuinely personal way – they’re being the electronic equivalent (in as much as they could come even slightly close) of Mama-san.
In Enoki, everyone is spoken to and with. No waiter shows you to your table – your space is made. There are no menus – the Boss tells you what you could have, and then makes you what you will have.
In a way it’s a completely stripped down experience, bare and basic but totally immersive. You are not a party to a transaction in Enoki, you are deep inside it, part of it.
On the flip side, almost everything we buy these days we’re simply facilitators – we provide the money and something happens – the books arrive, a food item off a mass printed jolly menu appears plonked down by an efficious server, the supplier starts doing their thing…
It’s no fun.
So please – next time you’re in Tokyo, head down to Shibuya crossing and follow the rails into the weird world of Enoki, and if you’re let in then take notes and apply!
Thank you to these flickr’rs for their images in this post: 
