in a tokyo neighbourhood's last sushi restaurant, a sense of loss - whiteboard

TOKYO (Reuters)-
"I want a draft," said fudge at the sushi counter.
He took out a pack of cigarettes from the worn-out pocket of his sweater.
In the corner of the restaurant, a small TV plays the weather forecast for noon.
He never drinks at noon.
"I just got back from the hospital," he said, knocking on the filter of cigarettes at the bar.
"My sister is dead.
The Cook put down his knife.
Another customer walks along the top of his sports page.
Pause and the chef returns to his plate.
"You take good care of her," he said, putting a bundle of Haran leaves on a black counter with a gap.
He lined up the leaves with a dozen copies of nigiri sushi and handed Fujinuma a beer.
At the Eiraku sushi bar, this conversation begins. They start mid-
No sentences for hellos or howare-
You and turn to private ideas, not much fanfare, and from time to time there is news of ordinary tragedies.
The chef and Fujinuma talked about his sister's last time a few years ago, and he stopped by after a night in the public bathroom across the street.
She ate the usual sushi and beer, then walked home with a cane, passed through an abandoned karaoke bar, and after an empty tempura restaurant, she turned over two other bars.
Eiraku is the last surviving sushi bar in a cluttered community of steep cobblestone Hills and cherry trees that can't be seen on most tourist maps in Tokyo.
Between the rare world of $300 (£237)
The brutal efficiency of the Omakase dinner and chain-
Mom, fish restaurantand-
Popular shops like this are rapidly disappearing.
The 76-year-old Fujinuma stuffed the sushi into his mouth, thinking loudly about what other arrangements his sister had.
A hospital consent form he just signed was passed through the bar.
"I'm the only one now," he said . " Half his mouth --
Rice with vinegar and fresh fish.
He nodded to the men and women behind the counter.
"You are lucky. you have each other.
Chef fukusuna and his wife missus laughed without saying a word.
In the 35 years since they opened the shop, the couple saw many of their friends moving out for work or family, only coming back decades later, usually without a job or family, and their absence goes without saying.
Not here is part of life, the road is too narrow for the rest of Medaka shopping street and the car has to drive to the sidewalk to get another car through.
When the first store on the street is closed, no one can say.
People narrowed their eyes and said it could be an e-shop a decade ago or a rival fishmonger across the street.
Next to it, they said, it could be a butcher's shop and then a Chinese restaurant.
In the past ten years, three families
Sushi shops in the area are closed.
In the open space left behind, fluorescent 7-
People in their 11 s moved in, with microwave lunch and $5 a plate of sushi, and men in tired suits smoking outside alone.
Once the sky turns pink and the sun goes down, the streets turn into shadows except for the faint light from the halogen lamp column.
A block in Twilight.
More like street corner cafes and shops scattered across the city, away from the neon district of the famous shopping district.
Number of independent families-
A trade association said that in the past decade, the sushi bar owned by Tokyo has been reduced by half, reaching 750, by fast-
Food joints and younger generations who do not want to inherit them.
"People would rather spend 100 yen on a plate of sushi in a very cheap place, he would rather spend tens of thousands of yen to a famous sushi restaurant in Ginza that they have heard of and the chef casually changed the TV channel on TV.
"But places like us, right in the middle of the store, we can't seem to survive.
"A game show started to play and the room was quickly filled with laughter.
Compete with cheaper companies
For the past 10 years, the price of lunch and dinner in Eiraku has remained the same.
Their sushi lunch package starts at $8, while the price for dinner and drinks is usually around $50 per couple.
In an effort to reduce spending, fukuussa drives his Honda motorcycle to the new Toyosu wholesale market every morning to bargain for a small amount of fish.
He only buys what he can sell for a day, but he is proud to pick the best seafood for himself.
His biggest son is a manager in a family of three.
The story sushi chain has hundreds of tables on the other side of the city and never goes to the market in person to order his supplies in bulk.
"If you order by fax, online or phone, they will charge you 30%," Masatoshi said . ".
Despite their best efforts, office workers and factory workers who once passed by during the day were long gone, and their offices and workshops were outsourced to the Far East --
Foreign countries or surrounding areas.
A former client of the couple, an executive at a medical equipment company, still sends a junior employee to town every year to deliver a new company calendar.
It stands on the limited wall space of the restaurant, like a bittersweet reminder hanging from aerial photos of the old Tsukiji fish market on the other side of the room.
The bar can accommodate only 10 people at a time.
Most customers prefer to sit on four stools at the counter, point directly to the fish on display and watch the chef prepare their dishes.
Older customers find it difficult to sit at two low tables on the tatami mat in front of the restaurant.
When the couple's children return home during the holidays, their grandchildren take off their shoes and play on the mat.
Shop closed in the middleOF-THE-
5 in the evening. m.
Shortly after opening the restaurant's signature to prepare dinner, Mitsue walked over to the whiteboard and removed sardines from the daily menu. Too expensive.
The couple said it could be global warming, or just a week or a year off, which is a bad gain.
The fishmongers give them different answers every time.
For whatever reason, they can't fish tonight.
Behind the counter, Mitsue and Masatoshi work in comfortable silence, often with their backs on each other. The 63-year-
Despite the white hair of the old chef, he still has the appearance of a confused boy, while the 61-year-old Mitsue has an unlined face, sometimes with a worried look.
When Misu was still in high school, they knew each other. Like many long-
Together, the two couples account for each other's sentences, and missus often repeats the orders given to her husband and urges him to complete a series of thoughts.
"The only reason we can continue to do business. . . " he starts.
"Wait, what do I have to say?
"He turned to his wife, who was only a few feet away from him in their small kitchen.
She stirred a pot of soup on both of them.
Gas stove.
"We can continue to do business because our children have grown up because we own the place ourselves and our income is just enough for the two of us to live," she said . ".
They can't say when to retire, but they all insist that their eldest son should not take over the industry.
"I want him to go his own way and do good things for his family," the cook said . ".
At the same time they ensure that not leave more than a few days.
Even if they took their children and grandchildren to Guam two years ago, they only walked for four days.
"I don't want them to think we're out of business," Mitsue said . ".
The store is closed in a quiet, middle-of-the-night affairs.
Only when neighbors see an ominous piece of paper sticking to the bolt door will they find out.
Usually the notes written by grass are a thank-you letter to customers for 10, 20 or 30 years.
Soon, the vines will wind around the empty door, and those who are still here will hardly remember it.
As night fell, the neighbors trembled in the street in heavy coats.
A young couple walked into the restaurant and sat down at the counter.
They took off their jacket and ordered a plate of sushi.
"It's like being with mom and dad," the woman said when she had a beer with her husband.
"This is so gratifying.
"Soon the bar was empty again.
After more than an hour, the phone rang.
There are sushi takeaways for two nearby.
The chef began to work, packed the painted container with nigiri, and then grabbed his red helmet.
When they had more business a few years ago, fukusuna would have asked his twin brothers to deliver the goods at night.
Only the best customers can tell the same brother and sister.
His Twins eventually opened their own restaurant, but failed, and he returned to the neighborhood these days.
Now it is very rare for the chef to handle the delivery alone. The wood-
Frame citizen clock strike 8, ryu wild dragon walk to the bar.
He poured a cup of Chivas from the bottle behind the counter.
The 63-year-old Sakano ate here on and off for decades.
He traveled around Tokyo and worked as a crane operator at large construction sites, but he never found such a place.
"Their son said the sushi his father made was the best," he said as he ate shellfish. "I've known Ma-
He said: "Kun has been eating for 50 years. he knows that I am a picky eater . " He is referring to his campus nickname chef.
"It's hard because a lot of people here live on pensions and they can't afford to eat.
"It will be us soon," the chef said with a smile . ".
These people start to discuss the meager pensions they need to maintain every month and wonder loudly how long they can continue to work.
Every morning, Sakano had to fasten his seat belt and climb to the top of his high crane, saying his body couldn't keep up with work.
"Have you ever heard of the restaurant on the main road?
"Sakano said suddenly.
"You know, the bank took over the business to pay for the loan.
Mitsue looked at it.
"I want to know what they're going to put there," she said . ".
"I think it might be a place for gyoza, some chain restaurants," Sakano replied . ".
"Or maybe another climax --rise.
"After a while, Mitsue remembers to share the news of the death of another of their customers.
"He took good care of her," repeated sabano.
"It's not easy over the years.
Another silence.
"Today is my daughter's birthday," he said . "Mitsue nods.
Everyone knows he hasn't seen her for years.
The subjects were hung to the left and they looked back at the TV. (
Report by Mali Saito;
Edited by Cary Howard)