Spiral

Though its major cities bear an increasing number of espresso-championing Third Wave outlets, Japan is still very much a country of filter coffee. One cafe in Shimokitazawa, a short trot from where my brother and I were staying, obscured itself beneath defiant 'filter only' signs, even instructing latte-seekers to hightail it to Starbucks. If you are someone who can only conceptualise good coffee as something a top-knotted barista extracts from an eye-wateringly expensive machine, Japan's coffee culture will seem to have flowered relatively late. If, like me, you prefer your drop to have been circularly poured through a filter from a skinny-necked kettle, then Japan's mastery of coffee can be traced back a century or more. During my time here I have had some of the best coffee I can recall. Sometimes the default option, always black, is drearily flushed from a machine and priced accordingly, but it is not at all difficult to find decent-to-excellent pour-over if you bother to look.

My most memorable experience was at a small place in Kyoto that used a traditional filter method known as 'Nel Drip'. Once I had selected the beans - by scent, no less - the proprietor began the careful 5-7 minute process of heating, pouring and waiting. A Nel Drip filter is essentially a cotton flannel (hence the 'nel') and requires twice the amount of coffee as an average filter cup. The water is added slowly and at a lower temperature, resulting in a dense, layered flavour that can be savoured even as it cools. Before I was served, the proprietor sampled the results of his labour from a wine-tasting glass to make sure it was satisfactory. It was the most care I have ever seen anyone take in preparing coffee.

If you prefer espressos and hate friendly customer service (you should probably leave Japan if the latter is true), head down to Bear Pond Espresso and try a mythical smear of 'Angel Stains', a steal at only 690 yen. Get there early, as the maestro can serve as few as 20 on a given day before refusing to make any more, and no one but him is allowed to touch the espresso machine. His wife, who looks like a frumpy Sean Lennon, will greet you with all the warmth of an ice cube and make sure you take no pictures. The muddy taste of semi-diluted raw cocoa goes perfectly with the frigid tension.