The Vietnamese have the quán nhậu, the French have the bistro, and the Italians have the trattoria. In England, night’s-out usually begin at the pub: a few pints, some home cooked fare, and conversation with good friends. In Greece you’ve got the taverna, where wine flows as the sun sets on the Aegean sea, closing another day in one of the world's most ancient civilisations. The Spaniards know how to do it right. They nibble on small plates at tapas bars, a glass of red or white always in hand. While all these eateries have their own special flavour and I love every one for their uniqueness and natural charm, as someone who grew up in Japan, nothing can ever beat the izakaya. That’s why I’ve got to tell you about Kaku.
Before getting into Kaku, what’s an “izakaya” in the first place? The way I like to explain it is this: an izakaya is Japan’s version of a pub. It’s the kind of establishment you go to for the purpose of having food, drinks, and good conversation. These are spots for social gatherings, where salarymen loosen their neckties after another gruelling day at work, where university students assemble to kick off their night before heading out. Through my years living in Tokyo, I’ve been to many izakaya and I like to think at this point I’ve got some idea of what separates the mediocre ones from the best. Here’s my criteria.
For starters, an izakaya needs to serve good food and drinks. Without this, an izakaya can never succeed. While you get a range of izakaya fare, the most classic dishes are the ones that are simple while serving as the ideal accompaniment for drinking. Think edamame (boiled soybeans with salt), karaage (Japanese fried chicken), and yakitori (grilled meats on a stick). Of course, a lot of izakayas go above and beyond these dishes, but I’d consider it sacrilege for an izakaya not to include one or two of these on their menu. With the food comes the drinks. Similar to how an Irishman might curse you out if you serve them a Guinness that isn’t perfectly poured, the Japanese take their beer, or, nama (draft beer), seriously. Glasses must be chilled. The beer to foam ration must be eighty-twenty. If these two criteria are met, you must—as is depicted on all Japanese beer commercials past and present—let out an elated aaaah after your first sip. Drinks, however, should not be regulated to beer. There’s my personal favourite, lemon sour, which is made up of shōchū, lemon juice, and soda. Other staples include a high ball and sake. With good food and drinks, an izakaya is unstoppable. It becomes a home away from home. A playground, a place to unwind, let loose, and satisfy all your glutinous cravings as you drink and eat until you can’t anymore.
Besides that, a great izakaya needs to have an atmosphere. Of course, atmosphere can mean many things. It’s an elusive term meaning different things to different people. This is why at the end of the day, the atmosphere of an izakaya must simply satisfy whatever you’re looking for. Growing up I always preferred the rowdy, smoke-filled izakaya. The ones where the clink of beer mugs are heard every minute and ash spills from trays onto tables stuffed with plates and glasses. In my eyes, these remain the best kind of izakaya. However, as I’ve grown older I’ve also developed an appreciation for the quieter, more considered izakayas. The ones that might be a little more expensive but justify their cost with an unmistakably quality experience. No matter which you prefer, so long as the atmosphere of an izakaya gives you what you need, then all is well. Now onto Kaku.
What makes it one of my favourites? First, the food and drinks. Kaku has taken what’s great about Spain’s tapas style of dining and infused it with Japanese flavours. With tapas, you’re getting an assortment of small bites that allow you to sample the full range of what a single restaurant has to offer. This allows you to try as many things as you like and you also never leave grossly-full because you’ve only been having small bites over long stretched meals. Kaku follows this ethos and in doing so, gives you the opportunity to sample as many of their dishes as you like. Even better is the fact that the menu is separated into easy-to-understand sections. You start with obanzai (a Kyoto style of cooking focused on seasonal ingredients prepared simply). From there you move onto groups of plates going from 50k to 60k to 80k VND. Besides that, Kaku also offers sashimi (sliced seafood without rice) and perhaps most surprisingly, oden (Japan’s winter staple one-pot stew of ingredients simmered in a light, soy based broth). Needless to say, the food is delicious. Some favourites include their mentaiko pasta (spicy cod roe pasta), gyūtan (beef tongue), and their gyū harami oroshi ponzu (beef skirt steak with grated radish and citrus soy sauce). If you’re seated downstairs you can watch while the staff prepare your meal and if you’re seated upstairs you can wait with giddy anticipation for them to bring your order up. Truly, since I started going to Kaku, nothing has ever disappointed.
With the food, of course, must come the drinks. On this point, Kaku continues to excel. The nama are always done right: the glass is chilled, the beer to foam ratio is exact, and you can’t help but let out the obligatory aaaah after your first sip. Naturally, the lemon sours also hit the spot—even better is the fact that Kaku serves different variations. On top of the standard version they’ve got a ginger lemon sour, a yuzu sour (Japanese citrus fruit), and an umeboshi sour (salt pickled plums). If that weren’t enough, you’ve got more than your share of highballs, sake, and another izakaya staple, umeshu (Japanese plum liqueur), which tends to be enjoyed on the rocks or mixed with soda. More than any of this, however, is the fact that Kaku also serves mega-sized drinks. While relatively common in the chain izakayas of Japan, it wasn’t until I visited Kaku last year that I found a place serving these sizes in Saigon. As the name suggests, mega-sized drinks are huge, almost a litre worth of whatever you order and though some might call that overkill, I call it correct. Order one—maybe two—and you’re rolling. It’s Japanese efficiency at its finest.
So Kaku ticks the boxes when it comes to food and drinks. All that’s left is the atmosphere. From the first time I visited last year with Aidan and Garrett, I loved the mood of the place. We were seated upstairs on that occasion, a tiny, neon-lit space that was playing The Strokes on the speakers. As someone who’s adored the band since high school, that was enough to make me love Kaku. It was only until my second visit that I really understood what else made the izakaya so great. Despite the size of the building, it makes the most out of its space to create an environment that reminds me of those loud, bustling izakaya I often frequented back in Tokyo. Given that Kaku is also at the entrance to Japan Town, there’s an unmistakable energy about the place, an excitement and joy while you watch tourists and locals entering and emerging from the maze of Japan Town’s alleys. Besides that, if you can’t find a seat at Kaku, you’ve always got the option of standing by the entrance where the window ledge serves as a makeshift table. There’s something inexplicably fun about nibbling on a few plates, sipping on a mega-sized lemon sour, and talking with friends while so much motion and noise swirls around. It’s this heat, this spirit, this dynamism that keeps me coming back to Kaku.
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