The Coffee Shops of Tokyo
I love coffee and, not to gloat or anything, I like to think that I have a pretty good handle on it. I ran a third wave coffeeshop for years, I learned the barista craft through Counter Culture Coffee’s partner training program, and I’ve been to many, many cuppings put on by some incredible roasters in the US. Its been a few years since I steamed a pitcher of milk, but I’m pretty sure I can still pour a pretty mean rosetta latte art.
I am overwhelmed by Tokyo’s coffee scene. I am spoiled for choices in Tokyo.
Good coffee is everywhere here. Don’t get me wrong—there’s plenty of bad coffee too. Almost as omnipresent as the konbini are the mass chain cafes: Tully’s, Caffe Veloce, and of course The ‘Bucks has a strong presence here (particularly in areas frequented by foreign travelers). And, hey, if you’re into that sort of thing, that’s all good. Taste is subjective, and I’m not trying to yuck your yum. But as far as me, and my professional opinion, that’s not where it’s at.
Where it’s at, for me, is in the small, local shops, and Tokyo has those in absolute spades. In almost every neighborhood you can find an unassuming hole in the wall, minimally but smartly designed and decorated, run by someone passionately roasting their own beans and diligently brewing each cup by hand, to order. The minimalism of the interior design causes the hallmarks of a real passion for coffee to stand out all the more clearly—the iconic tower of the Mahlkonig EK-43 is a common sight here, and the La Marzocco Linea (that perennial workhorse of espresso machines) is standard fare although the Slayer isn’t exactly rare here either. And then of course there’s the endless parade of Hario et al.—the pour over here is the default, not the exception. The combined sense is that the tools of the trade are the central design elements in these shops. The message is clear: this is a place for coffee first, and everything else comes after.
To me, it’s hardly surprising at all that the third wave of coffee is the one that seems to have gripped Japan. Coffee is a global beverage, has been for centuries, but it never quite took over in Japan the same way it has in other places. But there are a lot of things about third wave coffee that are synthetic with Japanese aesthetics and ethics. For one, third wave coffee is all about the recognition that coffee is an agricultural product, and as such there is inherent variability from farm to farm and harvest to harvest. Much like wine grapes, there are good years and bad years, nuances of terroir and technique that lead to the unique particularities of this bean, this year, from this farm, by this farmer. Whereas some coffee chains (ahem) value “consistency” in their product, claiming to serve the same thing year-round all across the globe, third wave embraces variance as, well, kinda the whole point. It’s a commodity ethic that reminds me of the Japanese notion ichi go ichi e—the idea that this moment in time is unique and unrepeatable, and therefore worth of savoring all the more deeply. This bean, this cup, is also unique and, therefore, worthy of your full attention and appreciation.
There’s also the intentionality required to really bring out the most from the best beans in the world—and just to be clear, Tokyo has some of the literal best beans in the world. We’re talking Cup of Excellence winners and even beans that have been featured in the World Barista Competitions. But the best beans only get you halfway there—you need a barista with the expertise to make them really sing in their cup. Over my time in Japan I’ve seen countless baristas give their full attention and intention to their craft, and watching them work reminds me of the opening scene of Yasujiro Ozu’s Late Spring. Gathered in a tatami room, dressed in kimono, a group of women practice sadou. The Tea Ceremony, as Westerners call it, is a practice of intentional appreciation, and as Ozu captures it requires a deep concentration on the smallest of details involved in the tea making process: exactly how the snacks are arranged on the napkins, the small click of the wooden ladle as it is placed back on its rest, and the precise sweeps of the bamboo whisk as it froths the thick, green matcha. The finest details matter, indeed they are the whole point. Blink and you’ve missed it.
Sadou is, nowadays, something of an anachronism. My understanding is that many young Japanese no longer care much for its formalism and, maybe, its pretentious bearing. As a foreigner it’s still quite easy to take part in a tea ceremony, but doing so always feels somewhat alienating (at least to me). I’ve done several in my life, but the ones that I’ve paid for have always felt a bit disappointing—the economics of the practice require large groups that, to me, inherently proscribe the kind of intentional, slow, quiet appreciation for the craft. There’s also, of course, the lingering guilt of cultural appropriation—that my kneeling into a tearoom through the low, sliding door is a bit of yellow-face carnival minstrelsy. The only time I didn’t have these lingering senses of guilt was the first ceremony I ever attended. My high school Japanese teacher, a woman born shortly after the end of World War II, had a tradition of inviting her graduating seniors to her home in groups of 3 or 4. Having practiced sadou her whole life, she lead us personally through the ceremony, instructing us on the proper way to turn the mug three times in order to appreciate its decorative exterior, and then to turn it back again so that the design faces back out away from you in order for the other guests to be able to appreciate the design as well. It was an act of pure hospitality and good will, and it was an experience that I suspect I will never have again. Ichi go ichi e
I find a deep congruency between sadou and third wave coffee, and so it makes sense to me that, as sadou has fallen out of style, third wave coffee has risen up to replace it in terms of commodity aesthetics and ethics.
Below you’ll find listed some of my favorite coffeeshops in Tokyo. Like I said above, you are really spoiled for choices here. I’m not going to blow smoke up your ass and try to claim that these are “the best coffeeshops in Tokyo” or any nonsense like that. But these are the ones that, of the dozens and dozens of coffeeshops that I’ve been to here, have really stood out to me in terms of quality of coffee and overall experience in the shop itself. In general, my bar for inclusion on this list was “better than Blue Bottle Coffee.” So take that for what you will.
Glitch
When I talk about The Best Beans in the World, I’m talking about Glitch Coffee. A small shop (all of these are small shops) with maybe 15 seats, Glitch specializes in cultivating a collection of award winners. For examples, the last time I went I ordered a tasting flight of three coffees: the first was a Honey processed Geisha from Ethiopia, the second was the Cup of Excellence No. 1 Indonesian from 2023, and the third was an XO Natural processed coffee from Colombia that was featured at the World Barista Competition.
This place is the real deal—coffee is serious business here. But that’s not to say the shop is stuffy or high on its own farts. You walk in the front door (probably after waiting in line for a bit outside—and you will probably have to wait so be ready for that) and you’re likely to hear The Yardbirds or some other tasteful selection from British 1960s blues rock on the speakers. The music is pumped into the small space from a record player setup next to the counter seats by the window. The staff are friendly and very obviously passionate about the coffee they serve. If you order the sample flight, regardless of how busy they are the barista will give you a full rundown (in English, if needed) of what you’re about to experience.
When you go, be prepared to spend some money. They absolutely do have some daily driver type coffees available as well as a full espresso bar, so if you happen to be in the neighborhood and just want to check it out, you can do so without shilling out a ton. However—if you’re making the trip to Glitch from elsewhere in the city, it is absolutely worth it to plan to really get the full experience of the place and so budget accordingly. The sample flight I described above was about $70, and it was honestly more coffee than I should have realistically had to drink on my own. I walked out of the shop absolutely bouncing off the pavement, and I think I would have preferred to have shared the flight with one other person.
Cafe Rostro
Tucked into a small neighborhood located between Yoyogi Park and Shibuya Crossing, Cafe Rostro is kinda two coffeeshops in one. The first one is the walk-up and carry-out outside shop—this is where you can get your standard espresso and tea lattes. The second shop, however, is the one that, for me, makes Cafe Rostro really worth the visit. The interior is a very small space in midcentury modern aesthetic with very limited bar seating. Upon taking your seat, the interview begins. What kind of coffee do you like? Do you like it more sweet? Or sour? What kind of flavors? What kind of acidity? After taking notes of your responses, the barista will set to work.
It’s a process I’ve never seen anywhere else before. Cafe Rostro roasts their own beans, of course, and each cup is custom blended based on the answers you gave. The barista will begin grinding different coffees together with a hand mill, taking a pause every once in a while to smell the blend as it changes, and continue making further adjustments until they are happy with the result. The blend is then brewed via pour over. Before serving, the barista takes one final pause—to look at you. To think to themselves “who am I serving this coffee for? Who is this cup going out to?” The barista then takes some time to consider their array of unique ceramic cups and saucers—which of these matches the coffee and the person?
To the extent that coffee is a science, Glitch is a laboratory. To the extent that coffee is an art form (and of course to the extent that art and science are different things), Cafe Rostro is a studio and stage.
Nozy
Another Shibuya joint, this one closer to Omotesando Hills. The surrounding area is filled with hip places to shop and eat—it’s something of an urban yuppie playground that simultaneously caters to the tourists who escape the swarms walking idly past the Louis Vuitton, Tiffany, and other luxury brand stores that line the main drags of Harajuku.
Nozy itself is a roaster that features Cup of Excellence winners, and its slightly larger physical footprint means the wait is never all too long, and you’ll probably even be able to find a seat without too much problem. They have two espresso machines working simultaneously and an entirely separate bar dedicated to pour overs of their excellent single origin coffees. Both the cinnamon roll and the cardamom roll were delicious—almost every coffeeshop serves some kind of baked good here, but these rolls were particularly well done.
KOFFEE Mameru
The final Shibuya shop on this list, and this one is right in the middle of Omotesando Hills. It’s actually somewhat hidden—you might walk right by it if you’re not paying attention. The exterior looks just like any of the other unassuming residences that line the streets of this upper class neighborhood (or what I assume is an upper class neighborhood based on the amount of Mercedes and BMWs that are parked around here). But if you do manage to find the entrance you’ll enter into a darkly lit, small single room. It’s a space that instantly reminds me of Tanizaki Junichiro’s “In Praise of Shadows”—the interplay of darkness and light is integral to the design of the space.
At the end of the room is a bar behind which stands a couple-few baristas who will walk you through their selection. As they explained it to me, Mameru’s specialty is as a collector—their mission is to cultivate a beautiful selection of interesting, highly variable coffees. Each customer is treated like an old friend coming over with whom the host is excited to share their latest discovery. The baristas take their time to learn about what kind of coffee you like, and which of their currently available beans might fit that description or, more excitingly, push you a little bit outside of your normal realm of coffee experience.
Because of the personal service approach, you should expect to wait a bit for coffee here. But it’s a great experience, from the beautiful interior design to the intelligent and passionate service to the delicious coffee you walk away with.
A final note: KOFFEE Mameru does have a second location, near Kiba Park and the Museum of Contemporary Art. If you want to go to that location, I recommend making a reservation in advance—if they are full, they will turn you away. No to-go coffees here (although you can buy whole beans from the front counter).
Covert
Covert Coffee is in the heart of Shinjuku, about a five minute walk away from the South Exit. They have clearly taken inspiration from Glitch, and while some people might find the resemblance to be something like plagiarism, I’m someone who loves a good cover. Good art is oftentimes about stealing from good source material, and Covert is doing a great job on execution. Their coffees might not hit the same peaks that Glitch’s do, but the baristas here are just as talented and passionate about their work. I would easily take a cup at Covert over the Blue Bottle and Verve located on just the other side of National Route 20.
Covert is, however, in the basement of a multi-tenant shopping center. Its ambience isn’t the best, but because of its subterranean location it’s actually pretty quiet and the music selection is midcentury jazz played on vinyl records. Again—you can’t argue with the good idea executed well.
coffee swamp
I’m loathe to put coffee swamp on this list, and purely for selfish reasons: there are only 5 seats inside of this place, and a bench outside that fits 3. It is my favorite place to drink coffee in Shinjuku, so putting it out there any more than it already is comes at real risk of losing my seat.
But that being said, coffee swamp is, to me, just a perfect ideal of a coffeeshop—or at least it’s my ideal of a coffee shop. It’s one guy brewing coffee in a tiny room while listening to an outstanding record collection that takes up half of one of the walls. The coffees are great—last time I went I had a natural processed coffee from Rwanda—and they’re brewed with skill. Tucked into a mostly residential alley, the owner/barista asks that his clientele please talk quietly so as not to disturb the neighbors. It’s a peaceful little spot that I’ve spent more than a few hours enjoying already. I have two favorite memories of Shinjuku, and one of them is:
sitting on the bench outside of coffee swamp, reading a book (Gravity’s Rainbow, Thomas Pynchon), and enjoying the jazz and smells of coffee seeping out from the shop it’s 74 degrees, overcast a slight breeze moves through the alley as residents and deliveries and salarymen walk and bike by the coffee is like tea light bodied amber brown bitter like flowers and sweet like a blueberry
The other memory is from another time, for another time.
