Long Road to Osaka
I couldn’t find the place!
The hidden gem I was seeking proved to be just that- hidden. When I travel, I try to find at least one or two unique experiences that you might not find on a standard tourism website, blog, or YouTube channel. Sometimes, the effort rewards me with a positive and exciting experience; sometimes, the results are less satisfying. In any event, it’s always worth the effort, and I was on the hunt for this kind of experience during my trip to Japan. I had known for years that Osaka was a world-renowned street food destination, and I was so happy to have finally arrived.
Me in front of the famous Glico man sign in Osaka
It was late in the evening in Osaka, and I had just spent hours exploring the legendary Dotombori district. Dotombori is lively, full of energy, and has a plethora of fun options and exciting experiences. I made a new friend who recommended I try a cocktail bar that was a 15-minute walk away from the district. He texted me a link to the bar's Google listing and wished me luck finding it. At the time, it seemed odd because if the space had been listed online, Google Maps would have made it a straightforward experience. I didn't feel like I needed luck to find the spot. Little did I know, this place wasn’t easy to find…
When I arrived at the destination, the Map application notified me that I had arrived. I looked around, but no signs drew me to the bar. After doing several 360-degree turns, I couldn't find anything that looked remotely like a cocktail bar or lounge. Perhaps I had been pranked, or the listing on Google was incorrect. Then, I took a closer look at the street address on the listing and went building by building to see if I could find a match. Ultimately, I found the building, and I noted a printed page from a computer printer taped to a wall with an arrow pointing towards a tiny beat-up-looking elevator door that one could access from the exterior of the building. I would have missed it if I had not been looking closely because the door wasn't well-lit. I pushed the button on the side of the door to summon the lift, and when it opened, I hopped inside. It's a good thing that I'm not claustrophobic because if I were, this small space would be a cause for anxiety.
When I reached the 5th floor, I found myself in a small, poorly lit vestibule with walls covered in graffiti, posters, and stickers. I had the option to walk left to find a very small bathroom or go right to go through a very small door opening. The opening was so small that I would have to bend down slightly to go through the entrance. It was only about 4 feet high. "No turning back now, Majeau," I thought to myself as I ducked and went through the door. I found out later that the design of this door was inspired by the size of entrances to traditional Japanese tea houses that required warriors and anyone of status to drop their swords and armor. This was a practical way of compelling all who entered to come in and enjoy the hospitality without status and as an equal. "Enter through the small gate..." was the Bible verse that went through my head as I moved forward. Enter with vulnerability if you’re seeking treasure.
On the other side, I found a dimly lit speakeasy with one long bar table with stools around the front. The room was full, and most of the bar stools were taken, and other patrons were lined up behind each stool, waiting their turn. It was also very obvious to me that I was the older person in the room. All of the patrons and the four young guys working that night were in their twenties. That didn't bother me in the least because it brings me great joy to see young people succeed in business. In five seconds, I could tell these young guys were knocking it out of the park. I was impressed and taken by the fun and welcoming energy in the room. The atmosphere was not loud or ostentatious, but the space had an almost palpable sense of momentum. I have never been fond of loud bars, so I knew I had come to the right place because I appreciate spaces where you can enjoy quality drinks and conversations.
Now, one of the advantages of traveling solo is that it can be easier to find a space for one, whereas most travel with a partner or a group. I was greeted by a host who directed me to one remaining seat-I had lucked out. As I sat down, he said, "Just so you know, we really don't have menus here," qualifying the experience for me in case I had expectations of a more traditional experience.
"That's ok," I replied, "I'd be happy for you guys to make me whatever drink you are most proud of." There was a brief moment when I thought that maybe my presence wasn't welcome as I was clearly not the target demographic. That apprehension quickly vanished when my host took my order and ensured I was comfortable at the table.
I'm not exactly sure how long it took for my drink to arrive, but it when it did, the bartender who mixed the drink came around to personally deliver it. He was really young, and if I were to guess his age, he would have been around 20 years old. He very serious and stoic and I could tell that he had worked very hard to show the professionalism and pride that went into his work. He was so serious and almost...militant that it made me smile. A Gen Z Samurai mixologist.
In broken English, but with firmness and resolve, he said, "Sir...I have prepared for you this night, an Old Fashioned." The young man went on to describe what he used to mix the drink. He explained his rationale for making adjustments to the classic recipe and the different spices he incorporated. My young friend continued to tell me where he traveled to find these ingredients and even the magic incantations he used to conjure up the cocktail. Ok, I'm exaggerating about the magic spells, but only that part. Again, with militant stoicism, he continued, "Please, sir, I wish you much enjoyment in this drink that I have made for you." He concluded with a quick but curt bow- did a swift turn, and then marched back to his station at the bar to continue doing his duty. "Was I supposed to salute him?" I thought to myself. Even though I had only met this kid, I loved everything about him, and I knew he would have a bright future in the hospitality industry. Not to mention, the brother mixed a mean Old Fashioned!
As I mentioned earlier, I love seeing young people succeed. I'm happy to cheer them on. You won't hear me criticize them or dismiss their enthusiasm, passion, or creativity.
Having said that, watching these kids succeed left me with a slight sense of regret and envy. I witnessed the success of a group of young people that I didn't feel I experienced myself when I was in my 20s. These guys were entrepreneurial and had the drive to figure out exactly how to generate their own success. A success they were able to maintain on their own terms without even having to put up a decent sign outside. Customers were traveling through dimly lit roads and back alleys, walking through tight hallways, and ducking under tiny doors to enjoy a drink in their tiny bar.
I have experienced success, but I've always had to take the long, unscenic route to get there. It looked to me like these kids had found the shortcut that I had looked for, but I had never found it. While sipping my Old Fashioned, I wondered to myself, "Did I waste my twenties?"
I let myself think about that question for a while. I did my best to honestly evaluate my life’s journey. I was on vacation; I had the time to do it.
After some time, I had some more redemptive thoughts about my life and career. If you’re my age or older and you’ve had some angst about how you spent the earlier years of your career, I hope this helps. Here are some of the thoughts I was able to wrestle out while watching the night unfold in this hidden gem in Osaka.
The short answer is no, My twenties were not a waste.
At some point everyone is going to ask if they could have done something different in their twenties. That's not new; I'm not special in that regard. Most of us take the long route to the things we value the most. Yes, some people find the shortcut to success while they're young, but those cases are rare, and often, that success is short-lived. I could have made the same choices this team made; I'm just as intelligent and dedicated as them, but I made different choices. I did the best I could with what I had available to me at the time; that's all anyone can ask. A flawless life and career aren’t a part of the human experience. It’s difficult to relate to someone who got it all right, and if given the choice, I’d choose to be relatable.
Cheering on young people and being willing to help promote their success is both honorable and worthwhile. Being the old guy in the room gives me an opportunity to help support and build the dreams of others, and I like that. At this stage in my life, I have no desire to be slinging drinks for others at 2 AM, and I'm happy to have my energies spent on other work. If asked, I'm also more than happy to help coach those who are pursuing a hospitality-related dream. If I’m cheering on someone else’s dream, I think that puts me in a good head space. It’s important to note here that this bar has been around for over ten years, which means that this team was in elementary school when it first opened. This means that someone older started the bar and paved a trail for these guys to walk and enjoy. This business's first year or two was probably hard, and I was not here to witness that challenge. The team that was serving that night was enjoying success that someone else helped them achieve. That doesn’t take away from their success at all, but it adds some needed perspective. I still have a lot of career ahead of me and can be intentional about helping pave a trail for the success of others.
If I could start all over again, I wouldn't. I wouldn't because I recognize that the path that led me to people I love and care about is the path that I took. That includes my family, friends, and coworkers. Other choices would have led me to different places, and I would have missed out on what I love most about my life.
After the last sip, I thought to myself, “Hmm, that kid must have added an ounce of perspective to that cocktail.” I then ordered a Whiskey Sour. The unsmiling, stoic drink Samurai returned with a very strong Whiskey Sour. The only insight from the second cocktail was that I should take a taxi home. Because I’m old.
Friend, thanks for reading, I hope you can take some time this week to evaluate the hidden gems of your own life and career.
-Jordan