Last Drop of Kyoto

Japan in one story

On my last evening in Kyoto, I walked by a restaurant that looked like a two-story home. It had an open sign and menu out front. I opened my Google Translate app to make sure there were vegetarian options. Check! Then I opened Google Maps to check the reviews. None. Hmm… it was a risk going in, but I was starving and the other restaurants I wanted to go to were closed. I decided to give it a shot.

As soon as I enter, I see the only other person inside is a man behind the counter. No people watching, good thing I brought my book.

I think, through gestures to the menu, that the man behind the counter is saying they only have a fixed menu. Maybe he is trying to tell me they are closed though? I nod, and wait for clarity to come. He steps out from behind the bar and leads me up the stairs. I follow him, heart racing. 

Once upstairs, he takes his shoes off. Am I supposed to take mine off too? Sit first? Untie them? Where do they go now? God this is so awkward.

With my shoes off, I follow the man into a stunning room full of teapots and teacups. I feel like I’m in a private art gallery. Is it rude to take a picture?

He kneels on one side of the low table, so I kneel on the other side. It’s a good thing I do yoga.

He hands me a menu that looks different from the one out front. I pull out my phone again. It’s all tea. Oh shit, I thought I was going to eat. I check the time, 6pm. I hope this tea doesn’t have a lot of caffeine…

He is still kneeling on the other side. Is he just going to keep sitting there? I have no idea what I’m supposed to do next so I type “what do you recommend” into my phone, he points to a middle option, and I nod. “Arigato gozaimasu!”

“Arigato gozaimasu,” he replies, bowing.

While he’s off preparing the tea, I take the opportunity to snap a photo. I’ve now been kneeling for fifteen minutes and my legs are going numb, knees throbbing. Then I realize the floor is sunken and I could have just sat as I normally would sit on a stool. 

He returns with two tea cups, a tea tin, and a teapot on a carved wooden tray. I notice his hands are really shaky. Oh good, he’s as nervous as I am. But I hate this. I wish I just turned around and left when I saw the place was empty. 

He kneels across from me again, and begins to prepare the tea. His hands are shaking violently. He is spilling water everywhere trying to pour it from the kettle into the small teapot. It’s so painfully awkward, I can’t even pretend I don’t see, it’s just the two of us in absolute silence. I think it would be rude to look at my phone?

He is so sweet, I want to make him feel more at ease. While the tea is stewing, I try to make small talk. 

“Me Canada,” I say pointing at my chest. “You, Kyoto?”

“Ahh! Hai! Canada! Kyoto! Hai!”

After the tea is done stewing, he pours it from the kettle into a small ceramic teacup. He then takes tweezers to pick up that teacup and pour the tea into an even smaller and more ornate teacup. Why on earth would someone with such shaky hands take a job that requires him to use tweezers to move cups around under the intense supervision of customers. 

Finally he pushes the teacup my way. 

“Arigato gozaimasu!”

“Arigato gozaimasu,” he replies, bowing.

What am I supposed to do? Sip slowly or drink it all at once? Slurp it loudly or quietly? Use both hands or one? Ugh, why can’t there be someone else here for me to watch and copy. I hate this.

I try to pull off something in the middle. A little bit of speed, a little bit of slurp.

“Oishiii!” I say, bowing

“Ah!!” He holds his hands to his heart, thrilled. 

“I’m very happy. Very happy. Arigato gozaimasu,” he says, returning the bow, still kneeling.

He pours me a second small cup of tea, then heads to the kitchen, leaving me to finish the second half of the teapot. Ok, good, I’ll just savour these last few cups of tea on my own then I can go home and relax. 

But oh no, he’s returning! With a tray of sweets! Lord have mercy.

He kneels in front of me again to pour another pot. I check my watch. 6:30pm. Way too late for me to be having caffeine, let alone a second pot. 

While we wait again for the tea to stew, I try my hand at more small talk. 

You visit Canada? (Not yet, but he has a niece studying there)

 Name? (Otani)

Where tea from? (The highlands of Taiwan)

Sweets, oishii! (Arigato gozaimasu!)

He pours more tea. And more again, and again. I am on the third pot of tea now when he tells me, through gestures, that there are five pots (POTS!) to make. I say goodbye to my good night’s sleep. 

Then an elegantly dressed woman pokes her head into the room and bows at us. 

“Owner,” Otani tells me, through his translation app, then he rises from his knees to go have a word with her.

He returns with another tray of sweets and tin of tea.

“Owner gift.”

“Sugoiiiiii!” I say. I’m glad I have at least learned this very versatile word: amazing.

“Ah!” He blushes, and bows. “Thank you very much.”

Compliments go a long way. Is this normal though? 10 pots of tea in one sitting?! Will it ever end?! 

As Otani prepares my 4th pot of tea, I realize I’ve totally exhausted my use of Japanese, and am totally exhausted of the delicious-thank you-thank you-thank you cycle of small talk. 

I pull out my phone so I can take this awkward conversation to a new level.

I type “This tea reminds me of my mom.” and hand him the phone.

“Ah!” He says, holding his hands over his heart.

I tear up as I type more into my phone then hand it back to him.

“She died ten years ago. Every time I drink tea, I think of her.”

He lowers his eyes and his head and we let that feeling sink in and the silence hang over us. The pressure to small talk is gone.

As the 7th pot of tea brews, he brings over a carved wooden chest and opens it to reveal a cache of dainty miniature teacups, like the ones I’ve been drinking from.

“Owner gift.” he says again, waving at the tea cups.

“Oh wow, arigato gozaimasu!” I want to signal that I really care, so I take my time to choose one that speaks to me, but I don’t want to take TOO long, lest he think I’m being too picky.

After choosing one that has two blue birds painted on it, I translate “My husband loves small cups!” I should have known better. Now he is insisting I choose another one for him, and another one for my baby.

Would it be rude to turn such an offer down? Or rude to accept? Again, I try to strike a gentle balance, and gracefully as I can, I pick two more teacups, this time with pretty pink and blue flowers.

“Arigato gozaimasu!”

“Arigato gozaimasu!”

On the 8th pot of tea, the owner’s daughter and granddaughter pop their heads in to wave to me. 

On the 9th pot of tea, the owner returns to hand me a persimmon. 

On my tenth and final pot of tea, I tell him it’s my last day in Kyoto, in Japan actually, and that this is the best possible way to end my trip.

He holds his hands to his heart. “I’m so happy. Thank you very much. Very special.”

“Thank you very much,” I say, returning his bow. “Very special, very nice. Sugoi!!”

I take my last sip of tea, and put my shoes on, with a lump in my throat now that this delightful, painfully awkward, but utterly charming experience has come to an end. 

I make my way downstairs for multiple rounds of thank yous and bows and goodbyes, and finally I am outside again. 

When I reach my bike, I turn around and see Otani, the owner, her daughter, and the granddaughter are all standing side by side, waving wildly at me under the Last Drop sign at the front of the house.

My stomach is still empty, but my heart is so full.