In a kitchen, 86 means it’s gone. Cut from the menu, out of the room, done.
This account is the opposite. A running list of what’s worth catching before the world 86’s it. The meal, the bar, the neighborhood, the tradition that’s quietly disappearing while everyone photographs the famous one next door.
Food and drink mostly, but you can’t separate those from the place they come from or the people keeping them alive.
A lot of Japan, because that’s where half of you are and where some of the best of this still hides in plain sight.
No sponsored plates. No tourist menus. I go, I eat, I drink, I tell you what held up.
Pull up a stool.