Snack

In Japan, there are all sorts of different entertainment places where you can have a drink. In America, we have bars, but that’s basically it. Under the category of “bar,” you might say there are lounges, sports bars, or pubs which are slightly different, but in a sense, pretty much the same. I’ve found that in Japan, there are many different types of places to drink at, and they are all quite distinct. Sometimes it’s hard to keep track of what is what, though, so I thought I’d educate you.

 For example, there are izakaya which are basically just like loud, smoky restaurants where people gather to eat and enjoy all-you-can-drink menus. There are dance clubs/lounges which are the same as in the U.S. There are “regular” bars which include two types: 1) a small shop with a counter (maybe a few tables), decent selection of alcohol, and a skilled bartender (usually male) who will chat with you and make nice cocktails. Some bars offer full meals or light snacks. OR 2) a bigger, louder, more lively bar with a counter, tables, and several bartenders (male and female) who can make you all your basic cocktails. Food can usually be ordered here as well. There are places called tachinomiya which mean “stand and drink shop,” which is exactly that. Usually filled with salary men on their way home from work, you stand at a counter while drinking your standard, cheap drinks like highballs, chu-hi, beer, or plum wine. Small food dishes can be ordered, too, like fried octopus, soy beans, sashimi, and so on. Karaoke booths are also another place you can go to drink, but the focus is more on actually doing karaoke.

Then we get into some of the more adult-themed places that have subtle differences. This is where I start to get confused. I may be off a bit on some of these things, but I’ve had my boyfriend, Shinya, try to explain the differences to me several times, and this is what I’ve gathered. “Snacks” are a place where there is a middle-aged female bartender, karaoke available, and a very limited selection of drinks. Food is not available, only snacks like candy and chips that are placed in a bowl in front of you as part of the entrance charge. Supposedly the highlight of a “snack” is being able to engage in interesting conversation with the female bartender who has had many life experiences since she is middle-aged. “Girls bars” are similar, but a young girl (or girls) who are willing to engage you in conversation are behind the bar. From what I gather, Kyabakura from the English phrase “cabaret club” are basically (if not exactly) the same thing as Japanese hostess bars. This is where men go and pay a lot of money to have beautiful girls sit next to them, drink with them, flirt with them, and entertain them with conversation and karaoke. These are not sex or strip clubs. There is no dancing or nudity (although, it’s rumored that some hostesses will privately arrange to meet with the customer at a later time). Host clubs are the same thing but for women and are usually cheaper. I may be missing other types of Japanese drinking establishments, but this gives you some insight on Japanese night life and drinking culture. I think it would be interesting to go to a host club just once to see the culture and what it’s all about, but I’ll save that for a different post in the future if I ever go.

What I am going to explain to you in more detail now are “snacks” aka my living hell. I briefly explained above that it’s a place with karaoke and a middle-aged female bartender who serves you a very limited selection of alcohol and some cheap snacks while engaging you in conversation. On a random weeknight, my boyfriend suggested we go to one since I had never experienced it. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I just assumed it’d be a bar with a small selection of drinks and an older female bartender. I didn’t know about the karaoke. I’m trying so hard to think of a way to adequately describe it to you… there just are no words. I felt like I entered a different dimension, like a bad dream or a circus or carnival fun house. Just imaging the feeling of like a mosquito biting the back of your neck but not being able to swipe it away…constant irritation. That’s the only way I could describe how it felt. Perhaps if I had gone at a time where there were less people, it would’ve been slightly more tolerable, but when I went, the entire place was full.

Let me paint you a picture. You walk up to a dimly lit door, the streets are quite, and you read the sign in front of you that says, “Karaoke, Charge ¥1,000.” Little do you know that when you step inside that door and leave the peacefulness of the streets, you will not feel ok again until you are back outside. Being a foreigner probably makes it 100x worse, but once you show your face inside, heads turn, and you realize that you are the only person in the room under 60 years old. I felt like I was in a senior citizens’ home but with booze and obnoxious music. Scratch that, it was more like a nuthouse where everyone just so happened to be a senior citizen.

The second I walked in, the ooos and ahhs started, and the personal questions about my life start rolling in from strangers who don’t care or understand that they are being rude or in your business. The questions aren’t too bad, but forget trying to sit in peace. “Are you Japanese? Beautiful! Beautiful! *touches your arm or hand* Where are you from? Oh! Chicago!! Chicago! Al Capone. You said, ‘arigatou!’ You are so good at Japanese. Why are you in Japan?! How long have you lived here?! 3 years?! I think I saw you riding a bike! Is that guy next to you your husband? Are you married? Why aren’t you married?! Hurry up and make babies! Where is your house? Where do you work? OH!! A teacher?!?! Teach me! I speak English. This is a pen! HAHAHA! Do you know Japanese karaoke? Sing!” Now repeat that one-sided conversation with six other people.

Once you get a chance to breathe, you can order a drink: beer, chu-hi, or ­sho-chu. Chu-hi­ was the only thing I could drink. The shelves behind the bar are littered with sho-chu bottles with chicken-scratch of people’s names on them. This is because the regulars buy a bottle and are served from their bottle when they are there. I’m sure each snack looks different on the inside, but the one I happened to be at was decorated with weird porcelain rabbits, frilly doilies, and knick-knacks. A complete mess. I forgot to mention that it was very bright inside.

The one thing you cannot escape is the music. Oh dear Jesus the music… Just think of the music your great grandparents used to listen to and then put it in Japanese. It was so loud I couldn’t hear Shinya sitting next to me. There were maracas, tambourines and clapping. I think I unintentionally laughed out loud at the 90 year-old-looking man with no teeth shaking the maraca extremely out of beat to the song playing. I’m sorry. I have nothing against old people at all. It’s just that the whole scene was hilarious. There was even a stage where you could stand and sing/dance which people took full advantage of…I’ll leave imagining how talented they were to you. People were passing the mic back and forth singing as loudly (and poorly, I might add) as they could to these songs that neither me nor my boyfriend had ever heard. Apparently Shinya likes snacks, though, because he enjoys the conversation with the bartender and other customers. However, the place was so full that there was no chance to speak with the bartender even once. I watched her running back and forth doing her job, filling our little bowls with snacks (the only part of the place I enjoyed) and clapping to the beat at the correct moments. To me it was all just a silly act. The woman herself had a down-to-earth air and was genuinely pretty (according to Shinya, snack bartenders are hit or miss). I wondered why and how she got into this business. Did she genuinely like her job or had she become so used to showing the customers a certain face that it just became second nature? Either way, the customers seemed to believe her enthusiasm even if I didn’t. Working at a snack, for me, would be the equivalent of slowly scooping out my brain with a small spoon.

The highlights of the night were when 1) an excited old man singing and swaying his hands spilled his beer all over me and 2) when the background video of the song on the TV was of an erotic naked woman showing close-ups of her nipples and pubic hair. Boy did I love sitting there watching boyfriend stare at that. I made sure to let him know that it was a part of Japanese culture that I thought was wrong and upset me (stay tuned for my future post, “Three Things I Don’t Like About Japan”).

When I stepped out of the nuthouse, I felt a relief, but also scarred for life at the same time. Shinya understood that it was the opposite of what I liked and apologized for taking me there. He felt bad for making me uncomfortable. I assured him it was ok because it was something different to experience. He took me to my favorite dimly-lit, quiet bar after in order to “correct the mood” as he put it.

Now I’m not saying all snacks are like this because I’ve only been to one. I really do think it would have been a little better if there were less people, and I could have actually spoken with the bartender once, but Shinya told me that that was basically the gist of what a snack is like. If you are my friend and know me, please never invite me to one. I have no intention of ever stepping inside one again…at least not until I am as old and whacky as the other customers and just don’t give a damn.