Koumori Yakitori in Nagato
Nagato, a city located on the northwestern-most tip of Yamaguchi Prefecture, is literally known as “Yakitori Town.” While they are famous for other foods, there are more yakitori restaurants in this area per ten thousand people than in any other part of Japan, and Koumori’s been slingin’ the best of the best for more than 60 years.
Oh. And Koumori is female operated. Which is also more common in Nagato than in any other city in Japan. Girl power. I’m here for it.
We stumble upon Koumori after a day trip to Omi Island where we viewed the beautiful rocky coastline. The water there is so stupidly beautiful and blue I wish I could bottle it and wear it around my neck in a cool spherical thing like Orion had on his collar in Men in Black. God, that was specific, but for context, I just watched that movie for the seventeen millionth time recently. Anyway, that’s a story for another time, the coast, not the movie.
When we arrive at Koumori, it strikes me just how old and unassuming it is, its curtains (noren) and paper lantern blowing and bopping aimlessly in the wind. Excellent real estate, too, perched right on the corner of a main drag immediately across the street from Nagatoshi Station.
“How do you say, ‘Three people’ again?” I ask Blake and our friend Rachel. I already felt the butterflies creeping up into my stomach. I somehow mess up my greeting or counting or any form of communication on a daily basis so I should be used to it and and yet I still get nervous.
I peek my head through Koumori’s wind tattered noren, immediately forget how and what to say so I manage a “Konnichiwa,” a series of nods and three fingers next to my stupid face. The owner beams and motions for us to come in. And while we’ve only been refused service a handful of times in Japan, it feels like winning the lottery every time you can just waltz right into a place.
Girl power at its finest! Tending to the charcoal blazen meat sticks.
I make my way to the end of the bar next to the bathroom and shove myself onto a barstool. The cushions are squashed, foam protruding out of some, from countless ass cheeks, some rowdy, some seeking escape, some celebrating. Gosh, there have probably thousands of ass cheeks squashing these seats over the years — ah, the things I think about — but I’m willing to bet only a tiny percentage of them were American, which makes it all the more appealing. The counters were at one point red but the eons of daily wiping, serving, elbow digging, and booze spillage had bleached them pink. My knees are in constant, nearly uncomfortable contact with the bar. The grill has scorch marks down the front of it from years of molten meat juice and tare spurting over the sides, like something out of post-Vesuvius Pompeii. In any other situation these things would make patrons want to run for the hills, but here it feels fine. Yakitori joints are just different that way. I should say, authentic dining in Japan is just different that way.
We load up on tea since we have to make the two hour trek back home and ask the owner what he recommends. As I eye the place down, I see some regulars toward the other end of the bar curiously looking our way, and a team of ladies rocking the kitchen, one manning the grill. See what I did there? Insert confident sniff here.
We kick off with everything. We try chicken heart, chicken skin, chicken and onion, pork, chicken wing, chicken meatball, you name it we went for it. The chicken and onion were incredibly juicy, and unlike elsewhere in Japan where it is normally served up as negima which is chicken and green onion, in Nagato, it’s chicken and white onion. Then we learn about this green paste condiment called yuzu koshō, a citrus pepper sauce. It’s spicy and salty and inspect the jar, eyeing the label as if we can now somehow magically read Japanese and then shamelessly ask for more
I like Nagato.
All that glitters is…Pork fat.
But let’s talk about the pork. The pork the pork the PORK! The fat glistens on the stick and it’s a front tooth chew situation that doesn’t challenge your jaw to an epic duel. The saltiness of the meat is balanced perfectly with the sweet in-between-slices of onion. Go there and tell them you want buta (pork, pronounced boo-tah) and thank me later. Or don’t. I’m not sensitive. (I am). Whatever.
By the time the pork comes around, we’re hopped up on ocha and we’re talking, everyone, even the drunk people at the bar about Gully, about where we’re from, what we do. We’re laughing our asses off. And I don’t really know what we’re laughing at per se, but I’m happy. Can we do more of this you know, everywhere? When we go to leave and the entire place comes out to see Gully who’s been earnestly working on a peanut butter stuffed Kong in the back of our SUV. He jumps out and does circles around them, ears back, eyes wide. They erupt with joy and we all take lots, and lots of photos.
Fast forward a few months, eh, almost a year? 2020 was a black hole in terms of time, wasn’t it? I mean who’s really counting. We load up, this time with Rachel’s husband Ryan, and we head for Nagato. We bounce around the coast, Gully finds a dead boar on the beach, all is merry.
After a few hours, we bust up in Koumori and someone else holds holds four fingers next to their stupid face this time, and the whole gang freaks out. They remember us. And suddenly we feel like rock stars. Rock stars with a four person audience, but rock stars nevertheless.
We repeat. I go all in. The boys start drinking with the male host, who seems to be just that. The host. Honestly I have no idea what he actually does other than get drinks and stand there beaming and occasionally get in the way of the other staff members. But it’s cool. I like his vibe.
He pours another beer. He makes more concoctions for the guys. Then he pours a beer and adds tomato juice to it, I’ve never seen this before. He hands it to the woman at the grill, she slugs it. Then he hands the ancient lady a beer who’s bumping into everyone as she hoists giant bucketfuls of charcoal to and fro. She politely sips hers. Everyone’s pounding drinks and I did not come prepared.
Then the guy busts out his phone and shows us a video of him performing karaoke — very well, I might add —on television! He laughs. We laugh. I wolf down another pork stick like it’s the last thing left to eat on Earth.
And then it happens. Between gulps of beer, he says, “Please call me Tamachan. I am so happy you came.” It occurs to me in this moment that we are now on nickname basis and as far as I’m concerned, this means best friends forever. YAKITORI BEST FRIENDS FOREVER! My heart explodes and I’m trying to figure out a way that he’ll let us stay with him so I can drink some beer too.
More folks pour in as the sun begins to set and one old fella stares me down like he wants to eat me for dinner, but not to worry, our new bestie Tamachan starts translating for us and we ping-pong between laughing and waiting for translations and laughing some more. We find out the couple next to us is newly married and planning to honeymoon in Dubai. One guy’s a coach and I tell them I played soccer. Everyone seems way more impressed than they should be about this. We share more pictures of Gully. Then we find out that the main woman running the grill, whose sweeping Esmeralda hair and perfect skin and infectious laugh is none other than Tamachan’s wife. He beams again.
It comes time for us to leave and, in true Koumori form, everyone floods outside to see Gully who, again is drunk on peanut butter and ready to bust through a crowd of new and old friends. We take lots of pictures. The street corner glows with the ancient light of Koumori’s sign and weathered paper lantern. Boozy laughter fills the air.
It’s the best kind of déjà vu.
If you’re headed to our through Nagato, be sure to stop by Koumori. They open early so you can even stuff your face for lunch! It’s the ultimate thing to do after exploring Omi Island.
Tips to know before you go:
Bring cash!
There is no English menu but Tamachan is a fantastic host and speaks some English. If you need assistance ordering yakitori, peep our helpful yakitori highlight bubble on Instagram.
Parking is minimal but located immediately across the street. If you’re taking the train, be sure to get off at Nagatoshi Station, walk a hundred feed or so and BAM! You’re at Koumori!
Recommendations:
Order the pork (buta — “boo-tah”), chicken meatball (tsukune — “soo-koo-ney”), and the chicken skin (kawa — “kah-wah”).
Play with your food. You’ll have lots of condiments at your disposal. Use them! That’s the Nagato way!
If you’d like the chef to surprise you, ask the staff what they recommend. Here’s what you’ll say, “Nani ga ososume desu ka?” (“Nah-nee gah oh-so-soo-may desska?”
