Memories of Tsurunoya

It has already been three and a half years since Tsurunoya, the popular kappo restaurant located in the basement of the Mita-dori Kikai Kogu Kaikan, closed its doors. It was supposed to reopen soon, but the sudden passing of the owner, Chi-san (the late Mr. Takashi Watanabe), made the grand reopening a dream. However, it still exists in our hearts today.

In light of this, the Keio History Museum is holding an exhibition titled "When Tsurunoya Was in Mita" from September 20 to October 7 (a 360-degree tour of the exhibition room is scheduled to be released soon). I would like to take this opportunity to share some memories of Tsurunoya.

Mr. Hamada, you worked part-time in the kitchen at Tsurunoya when you were one of the Keio students, didn't you?

When I moved up to my third year in the Department of Political Science in the Faculty of Law and started commuting to Mita, I used to go to Tsurunoya often to drink. Then the Mama (the late Ms. Shizuko Watanabe) scouted me, asking, "Hamada-kun, do you want to work part-time?"

I was in the Keio University Cheerleading Team (Leader Department), so I reached out to my peers and juniors. We formed shifts of two or three people a day and worked part-time in the kitchen three or four times a week.

It started with washing dishes. There was a very unique classmate named Komotori-kun who absolutely hated simple tasks like dishwashing. So he started making things himself.

There was a scary chef named Mr. Kimura, and seeing that, he said, "Well, you guys do it too," and we started making various dishes. We learned everything from grilled items to yakitori and fried chicken, bit by bit. The instruction was strict, in the Showa style.

Was there a tradition of successive generations of the Keio University Cheerleading Team working part-time in the kitchen?

No, it started from our generation. The older generations went to the shop often, but they didn't work there.

There were students in the kitchen during my student days as well, so those must have been students from the Keio University Cheerleading Team.

Mr. Kitai, how did you end up going there?

I think I was in my third or fourth year of undergraduate studies. The first time was when I was taken there by Vice-President Juro Iwaya, who was in the same year as me at the time.

Since he was Keio through and through, he probably had a lot of information. We happened to be in the same class, and since we had a little time, we would go there before class started, have a quick drink, and then go to class.

That's unthinkable nowadays (laughs).

Well, I was over 20 at the time (laughs). As a student with no money, Tsurunoya was cheap and I was grateful for it. I would go there occasionally with friends, and after my seminar finished, I'd go with my seminar classmates.

That was how it was during my undergraduate years, but once I became a graduate student, I went to Tsurunoya almost exclusively. The world was in the bubble economy, but graduate students had no money and lived a humble existence, so Tsurunoya was the only place to go. The Papa (Mr. Noriyoshi Watanabe, "Jiiji") and Mama were very kind to me.

In 1993, when I started teaching at the university and had my own seminar, I started taking my seminar students there every single week.

Speaking of Tsurunoya, I think of Professor Koichiro Kurasawa's seminar. Have you heard anything about how the Kurasawa seminar first encountered Tsurunoya?

This is a story I heard from the seniors of the seminar. A long, long time ago, there was another shop they used to go to besides Tsurunoya, but as the number of seminar students increased, it became too cramped, and they shifted their focus entirely to Tsurunoya. That seems to have been around the beginning of the 1975-1984 decade.

From then on, it seems the pattern was: seminar ends, go to Tsurunoya; or go to the seminar before going to Tsurunoya (laughs).

Therefore, in the Kurasawa seminar, people clearly spent more time at Tsurunoya than in the classroom. People involved might get angry with me, but I think there's a bit of ambiguity as to whether our alma mater is Tsurunoya, the Mita Campus, or both.

Mr. Takada, you yourself went to Tsurunoya from the very first day you entered graduate school at Mita.

I graduated from the Faculty of Law at Waseda University in 1988 and entered the master's program at Waseda. I had so much fun that I took my time for four years (laughs). When I entered the master's program, my mentor, Professor Koichiro Kurasawa, was coming from Mita to Waseda to teach as a part-time lecturer. He took great care of me, and when I felt I couldn't stay at Waseda any longer, I thought that if I followed this professor, I could engage in even more interesting scholarship.

So one day I asked him, "May I go to Mita?" and I went to the seminar at Mita. When it finished, the seminar members at the time asked me, "Mr. Takada, would you like to go to a place called Tsurunoya?" and that was the first time I went. So, actually, I made my Tsurunoya debut before I even entered graduate school at Mita (laughs).

Even though Tokyo Tower was right in front of me, once I crossed Sakurada-dori, I saw a shop with lanterns hanging. When I went down to the basement, it was a shocking 1965-1974 era atmosphere. It's a wonderful memory.

It really is another world once you go underground. Looking from the kitchen where I worked, there was an inverted L-shaped tatami seating area stretching out, and on the far right, there was a place called the "ko-agari" (raised seating area) that could only seat about eight people. Then there were tables. It felt like it could hold about 120 people in total.

There was a jukebox, wasn't there? That had been broken for more than 10 years before the shop closed.

No, that actually played again. I think it was repaired at some point.

Is that so?

It was broken for a long time, but in my memory, it was working for just the last few years before closing. It had a really muffled Showa-era sound.

I was in the kitchen from around 1978 to 1981. At that time, songs like Saki Kubota's "Ihoujin" or Mirei Kitahara's "Ishikari Banka" were playing.

In the Tsurunoya building, above the Kikai Kogu Kaikan, there was a president of a trade journal who seemed to run it alone, and he came every day. He would always drink alone, put money in the jukebox, and sing along to his favorite songs (laughs).

And the walls were covered with Sanshokuki pennants. So, as a stage set, it was the best (laughs). If anything, it's a shop that doesn't look very Keio-like. Even so, Keio students, Keio University alumni, and professors gathered there and had a great time. Looking back now, I think that stage set was amazing.

The stage really stands out, doesn't it?

A shop with that many pennants displayed... at Waseda, you might find that in a coffee shop that serves as a clubroom for the Athletic Association or a circle, but probably not in a shop that anyone can easily enter.

There are various ones from different seminars, circles, or groups of volunteers, so it's a bit unusual. A sort of miscellaneous collection like that is displayed all over the walls.

And since many office workers from Tamachi also come, there's a sense that Keio students, Keio University alumni, professors, and office workers are all somehow fused together.

Even the office workers—those who graduated from Keio and used to come in the past—bring people who didn't graduate from Keio.

Those people become fans too. It really has a broad appeal.

One day, Chi-san said to me, "Kita-chan, let me introduce you to someone from Shiga Prefecture." I don't often meet people from Shiga in Tokyo, so I was surprised to find we went to the same high school (Torahime High School). That was Mr. Matsuyama, a Keio economics graduate.

Mr. Matsuyama was a very proactive person, and we became close from then on. On November 3, 2018, he suggested planning a 50th-anniversary celebration for Tsurunoya.

I was suddenly told by a senior to do it, so I made various preparations and reached out to people. I was also helped by people related to Mr. Matsuyama's company.

I think it was in 2017. I went to drink at Tsurunoya with my senior rugby teammates, whom I still play with, and Keiko-san (Ms. Keiko Kato, Mama's younger sister) or Chi-san introduced me to Mr. Kitai and Mr. Matsuyama, and they dragged me into it too.

That was truly a matter of fate. I had heard that people from the Keio University Cheerleading Team were deeply involved, but I had no direct contact with them, and that was the first time I met one.

Then, when I heard Mr. Hamada's story about how he used to cook in the kitchen, I thought, "That's amazing," that there's someone with such a deep relationship with Tsurunoya.

For this upcoming exhibition, you did a demonstration to recreate Tsurunoya's famous dishes, didn't you?

Yes. In July, we rented a free kitchen space in Azabu-juban and did it.

First, we decided what to make. We chose yosenabe (hot pot) and pork kogane-age, and we bought and brought in the ingredients. We actually cooked the pork kogane-age. For the yosenabe, the ingredients sink when heated, so we only did the arrangement. We handed those two dishes to a person who makes food samples in the Kappabashi tool district. Based on those, they are making samples for the exhibition.

I see. Did you eat the kogane-age you made?

Yes. It was delicious. Since I worked part-time half a century ago, I wasn't confident in making it myself, so I said, "Let's do it like this," and had Ms. Kozu, an alumna of the Keio University Cheerleading Team two years my junior, do the cooking.

So it's reproducible.

The recipe remained in my head.

Speaking of deep involvement, Mr. Takada also has a deep connection with Tsurunoya, having held his wedding after-party there.

That's amazing.

No, I think many people have had their celebrations there. I've attended other people's parties there too, so I'm just one example.

In '95, I also had my own seminar, and in June of that year, I got married. After having a reception for relatives, we continued at Tsurunoya. Of course, Professor Kitai came as well. In the first place, I met my wife at that ko-agari (laughs).

That's incredible.

I was introduced to her as a relative of a student whom Mr. Kitai also looks after, and that happened at the ko-agari.

A deep fate (laughs).

I wonder if there's anyone else who had an after-party there.

I know of two others.

My after-party was intended to be like the usual Tsurunoya drinking sessions, so it was just like any other day.

Wedding after-parties are happy occasions, but I once messed up at an after-party. I used to take my seminar students there almost every week, but one time, the students selfishly said they wanted to drink at a different shop for a change. So, that week, we went to another shop.

Then we were kicked out after about two hours, and since they said they couldn't go home like this, we went to Tsurunoya and asked, "It's for an after-party, is it okay?" The late Mama got very angry, saying, "What are you coming here for at this hour?" and I was banned from entering for about three months.

You were banned?

I got banned, and during that time, I had no place to go, which was very difficult (laughs).

I went there occasionally after graduating, but not as frequently as Mr. Matsuyama. Mr. Matsuyama is really something else.

It's close by. Mr. Matsuyama was at NEC. Quite a few people from NEC come there.

The largest group of office workers was probably from NEC, wasn't it? One reason so many different people came was that the staff there really didn't flatter the customers. And if you crossed them, the founder, the Mama, Keiko-san, and Chi-san would all get angry, whether you were a Keio student or a professor. I think that's really amazing. We really need shops like that.

That's true. You didn't have to put on a formal face; they treated you normally, just as you were in your everyday clothes. I think it's quite rare to find a place like that.

I'm a junior, so I don't have as many stories as my seniors, but when I first started going there, I'd often drop by alone and talk with the Mama about various things, including family matters.

One time, I complained about something trivial regarding my own family. When I did, she slapped me and got genuinely angry. That really hit home. It was like that with the late Mama and her sister too—they treated you like family rather than a customer. It happened quite naturally.

And it was cheap. Anyway, an alumni or I would just buy a bottle of shochu, then eat whatever, and students could get by on 1,000 or 2,000 yen per person. Plus, it stayed open late so there was no need to go anywhere else; it was truly a godsend.

The first time I visited the shop, I had a surprised look on my face, and the professor happily said, "Here, when graduates treat their juniors, they just leave a bottle behind. There's no charge for water or ice."

I heard that juniors always came here because they could drink the bottled liquor cheaply, and I realized a whole system was already in place. There was also a kind consideration for the hungry students living in the seminar dorms—if they were going to eat, they should all eat together, and do so while drinking with as little financial burden as possible.

To be honest, now that Tsurunoya is gone, I have nowhere to take my seminar students, and it's a real problem.

Also, what I can't forget is that senior professors would often drop by unexpectedly. One time, only the corner seat of the left table near the entrance was open, so I sat there. Then, a late, great professor from the Faculty of Law wandered in and asked, "Is it okay if I sit here?"

You can't exactly say no, can you? He sat down heavily, and while I was making myself small, he asked, "Takada-kun, have I been successful as a scholar?"

Even if he asks you that... (laughs).

It was a difficult position to be in. But even for such a great professor, he found himself opening up in that space. I don't think he would ever say something like that even in his own living room. It was an amazing space.

Another famous professor from the Department of Political Science would also come in the same way and say, "Hey, is this spot open?" After a while, he'd say, "Hey, Takada, have you ever been to Shinbashi? I'll take you somewhere good. Call a car." I caught a taxi outside, and he said, "Alright, let's go," and took me to Shinbashi.

The place we arrived at was some kind of traditional geisha-style establishment I'd never seen before. He said, "You've never been to a place like this, have you?" and after drinking for about 30 minutes, he said, "Well, I'm heading home now, so you take care of the bill." It's a true story that sounds like a lie.

That's scary.

He probably came to Tsurunoya looking for someone (laughs). He found just the right person.

I often saw that professor from the Department of Political Science. But he was scary, so I didn't get too close.

And then there was Professor Kazuo Miura from the Faculty of Letters, who was a fixture there. He always sat at the very end of the table. After Professor Miura retired, Professor Masayoshi Tarui took that spot. Today the conversation centers on the Faculty of Law, but there are also the traditions of the Faculty of Letters and, of course, the Faculty of Economics.

I often saw Professor Kazuhito Ikeo there too.

But the ones who went every week with their seminar students were probably only the Kurasawa Seminar, the Takada Seminar, and my seminar. There might not have been many seminars that went every single week.

The Keio University Cheerleading Team didn't go that frequently, but when we had a baseball game at Jingu on a Saturday and won, the third-year students would take us juniors there. That was my first time. The seniors would treat us and let us drink as much beer as we wanted, but the snacks were just the bare minimum, like peanuts. Then, we'd head back to Jingu early the next morning.

There were other Athletic Association teams and clubs that came often too. It seems the Automobile Club and the Kabuki Research Society were frequent visitors.

The Faculty of Law has long set Thursday as the day for seminars. So it was easy for everyone to gather on Thursdays. Professor Kurasawa, of course, had his fixed seat, and my seminar group would be off in a corner.

Even if they didn't bring their seminar students, other professors from the Faculty of Law would drop by. We often joked that we could hold a faculty meeting at Tsurunoya on Thursdays (laughs).

Professor Kurasawa didn't talk about unrefined things, but for example, if a student who loved studying got a bit tipsy and challenged him in a debate, he would happily teach them all sorts of things. If they got too persistent, he'd say, "Stop it, you're making the sake taste bad" (laughs). So, it really was a nighttime seminar.

The Kurasawa Seminar would arrive around 6:00, and Professor Kurasawa would head home by about 9:00, wouldn't he?

I heard that in the old days, everyone used to move on to Golden Gai together.

There's also the famous saying, "No scholarship without Tsurunoya." I believe you wrote that in the dedication of your book, Takada-san.

I'm always saying things like that when I'm drunk. But to be honest, I have many pleasant experiences of being taught scholarship at Tsurunoya. In a classroom, it's hard to ask, "What's the real story?" In-depth discussions would exclusively happen at Tsurunoya.

My mentor never went over time in the classroom. That part would end, but then we'd go for a drink. Then, it turned out that the best snack to go with sake was a legal discussion.

When we were attending as graduate students, we talked quite a bit about our studies, and even after becoming faculty and going with seminar students, it wasn't just idle gossip; we'd talk a bit about our studies too.

It's true that it wasn't just a place to drink and play, but also a place and time that served as an extension of the insufficient time in the classroom.

I suppose that space was a place where that was possible.

You often hear people say that working adults shouldn't talk about work while drinking, but for students, including graduate students, and for us researchers, the thing we love most is essentially research and studying.

I feel that if we didn't make that a fun time, it would actually be more painful. In that sense, I really feel that Tsurunoya existed as an extension of the Mita Campus. Of course, we talked a lot of nonsense too.

What kind of things did the Keio University Cheerleading Team talk about?

When you're with seniors, you're kind of teased by them. Generally, the people who join the Keio University Cheerleading Team or the Athletic Association are the type who accept that, so I think it was fun being teased in a good way and being told to "Drink, drink."

When I went with just my classmates, we'd start with silly talk and occasionally debate what the Keio University Cheerleading Team should be like.

But the way you drink is completely different when it's just your peers, when juniors are there, or when seniors are there. You come to understand those things, so I thought that was also a form of real-life learning.

In the old days, it was always beer, and after that, we'd drink shochu like Juhyo or sake. It's diversified now. You never know what people will drink. In the last 5 or 10 years before Tsurunoya closed, plum wine was popular, and female students especially drank it often.

I feel like when I was an active member, it was nothing but beer. I don't think we drank that much shochu yet.

My mentor's seminar drank nothing but "Juhyo."

Juhyo was created around 1982 or 1983, I think.

We were told not to drink beer because it was expensive.

That's right. We'd start with a beer toast, but we'd switch to shochu immediately.

And it was the "Ko-type" shochu. My late mentor was from the burnt-out ruins and black market generation, so he loved this kind of thing and said it was best because it had no flavor. The closer it was to pure alcohol, the better.

Weren't the Kurasawa Seminar and the Takada Seminar the only ones drinking Juhyo?

In the end, yes. The members of my mentor's seminar became successful and would say, "Here, for the juniors," and leave a whole case of Juhyo. When that happened, the stock would pile up in front of the restroom. No matter how much we drank, it never ran out—it was a happy problem (laughs).

My seminar also drank shochu. We started with Iichiko and then various others. We were drinking Akakirishima and such, but I got tired of shochu halfway through and started drinking sake.

In the case of the Keio University Cheerleading Team, there were some problematic ways of drinking. It varied slightly by generation, but there was something called the Sanshokuki drink, where you'd alternate between beer, shochu, and sake. The worst was when they'd blend them together and make you drink it. It gave me a terrible hangover (laughs). It's a distant memory of the Showa era, unthinkable now.

When I was working there, the Gramps would always go somewhere around 7:30.

Ah, pachinko.

Yes, and he'd usually come back in about an hour, but if it got busy and he didn't return, everyone would start grumbling. The Mama would get angry and say, "Papa is playing pachinko again."

However, that Gramps couldn't drink a drop of alcohol. I wonder if the Mama drank. I don't really have the impression that she did.

I've never heard of her drinking.

Chi-san doesn't drink either. So it might be a family that doesn't drink much. That's probably why they could look at drunks with a calm eye.

That's true. People who drink probably couldn't run a shop like that.

We'd end up drinking with the customers, wouldn't we, Professor?

I'm sure we would.

Originally, the Gramps was a manager at a grand cabaret called Copacabana or something, and he worked hard without drinking and opened Tsurunoya. I think he had money, though. He used to commute in a pretty nice foreign car.

Really?

The family used to live over by Senzoku-ike. If there were peers from the Keio University Cheerleading Team living in that direction, he'd give them a ride home in his car.

I played shogi with the Gramps just once.

There was shogi there, wasn't there.

Next to the raised tatami area.

That's right. By the shelves. For some reason, we ended up playing shogi and kept going until about 2:00 a.m. We decided to play while having a drink (though of course I was the only one drinking alcohol), and I think we played for about four hours. By then, the trains had stopped running. Chi-san probably lived in the exact opposite direction, but he drove me all the way to Itabashi.

I feel terribly sorry toward Mama. I was in Germany for two years starting in 2001, and Mama passed away during that time. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to attend her funeral. It has been a great regret of mine that I couldn't do more for someone who had been so kind to me.

When I got married, the idea didn't even occur to me, so I didn't invite her to the wedding reception. But then, Mama went out of her way to bring a gift to the reception venue's reception desk. Seeing her there made me realize how poorly I had handled things. I've been so neglectful of my social obligations; I truly owe everything to Tsurunoya.

With all that in mind, we held a 50th-anniversary celebration in November 2018, but a year later, it turned out the shop had to be vacated. Mr. Kenichi Fujimoto, a lawyer whom Mr. Takada knows well, fought hard against the eviction, but since the building itself had to be demolished, it was decided to close in December 2019. The new location had already been decided at that time.

Was that location already set?

Yes. We were closing for the time being but planned to reopen on June 10, so we decided to hold a gratitude party. On December 28, 2019, Mr. Matsuyama once again told me, "Kitai, you handle it," so I organized it. Mr. Hamada came that time too, and the Wagner Society came to perform. Professor Shuhei Shiozawa from the Faculty of Economics, who was the director of the Wagner Society, even brought his flute and played for us.

It was thanks to everyone's cooperation that we were able to hold it. In my memory, the next day, the 29th, was a Sunday, and the 30th was probably the very last day. Alumni from the Kurasawa Seminar were also there.

In the end, toward the very last days, it was the same members every night (laughs).

It was truly lively until the end. Since we naturally assumed it would reopen, we thought it was just a temporary period of patience. The interior work for the new shop was all finished, and we had moved all the pennants and other decorations over there.

We were in a situation where all that was left was to open the shop, but unfortunately, Chi-san passed away. That is how Mr. Tokura came to take over those pennants and display them in this exhibition.

I wonder if we can somehow use the power of those involved to create a shop with a similar concept in the neighborhood. If one could say, "Without Tsurunoya, there is no scholarship," then right now, it would mean there is no scholarship (laughs). That would be a serious matter.

Perhaps we could get broad but modest financial support through crowdfunding. While everyone's memories are still fresh.

I hope this exhibition serves as a catalyst.

That's true. As you mentioned earlier, what you learn in the classroom is different from what you learn outside of it. Even Yukichi Fukuzawa studied hard, but he also drank quite a bit of sake at Ogata Koan's Tekijuku.

Everyone says that as an excuse to drink (laughs).

For the students, there was a long period during COVID where they couldn't drink even if they wanted to, and there were few points of contact for connecting with people. So, I think there are many students seeking that kind of thing now. If we don't fill that gap and this void becomes the new normal, people will never gather again.

To be a place you can go every week, it has to be quite cheap, and it's very helpful when seniors leave a bottle for you. Then, alumni come by thinking, "It's after the seminar, so they must be drinking today." The fact that it was a shop where it was easy to build those connections with alumni was very significant.

It's a routine in a good sense. An extension of the campus.

To use a bit of strange logic, you can't drink and debate in a classroom, nor can you have no-holds-barred discussions or open up about the struggles of youth there. That leads to the conclusion that such a place is necessary. If we call that place "Tsurunoya," it's something similar to what's in our hearts, and we must create a place that can be passed on to the next generation.

Keio University includes both current students and alumni. I believe there should be a place for Keio University that exists beyond just the campus.

I read this in a newspaper column or something, but the rakugo master Danshi Tatekawa said that alcohol doesn't make people useless; rather, alcohol makes people realize that they are useless beings.

I thought, "Ah, I see. That's true for me too. It might be true for others as well." Thinking about Tsurunoya brought that to mind.

Now that it's gone, I realize its significance. It's not just a matter of being troubled because there's no shop to take students to; it was truly one of the great charms of Mita.

There isn't anywhere else like it.

Thank you very much for the various stories today.