The simple diner sandwich is often believed to have originated in 1940s Los Angeles. Photo / Unsplash
Wanaka Yamasaki explains why foodies should venture beyond traditional Japanese cuisine in Japan.
How good can a patty melt in Japan be? So good that I think about it when I close my eyes at night.
When you think of Japanese food, the last thing that probably comes to mind is a patty melt. The greasy American sandwich, packed with cheese and beef patties, doesn’t really scream “Japanese cuisine” like a piece of tuna nigiri does. Yet, I’m Japanese and when I return to Japan, the thing I always crave isn’t some delicate kaiseki meal, it’s everything but. Not because I’m in a constant state of craving carbs, but because there’s something inherently “Japanese” about perfecting a dish, even when it comes to heavy duty diner food.
The proliferation of Western cuisine in Japan isn’t some recent social media-fuelled trend, but a phenomenon often dated to the late 1800s during the Meiji Restoration, the modernisation of Japan. As Japan opened its borders, after a roughly 200-year period of isolation, Western ingredients and ways of cooking became integrated into the repertoire of local restaurants. They lay the groundwork for what would be referred to as “yōshoku”, Western-Japanese fusion cuisine.
Today, yōshoku dishes have become staples. From chicken katsu to Naporitan (Japanese spaghetti), Japanese chefs have perfected a cuisine once foreign and transformed these dishes into what many consider “Japanese classics”.
With Japan’s long history of perfecting Western cuisine in mind, it’s no surprise that a restaurant specialising in sandwiches became a highlight on my most recent trip to the Motherland.
Push past the salary men and women streaming out of Tokyo’s Suehirochō Station, and you’ll find Crane’s Burger & Milkshake. Nestled in the quiet corners of the Chiyoda City district, this restaurant is an unlikely hero in Tokyo’s food scene.
Quirky and stylish, metal letters spell out “burger” on the archway of Crane’s coral pink door. At first, it looks like countless other restaurants that prioritise looking Instagram-worthy over serving great food. But upon entering, it was clear Crane’s is different.
Sitting down, we were handed a menu stacked with classics. Burgers, fries, and the main character of this story: the patty melt.
This humble diner sandwich – often believed to have originated in 1940s Los Angeles - is an example of sandwich supremacy being achieved, not through the number of complex processes and ingredients, but rather, the simplicity of a fair few, done perfectly. In other words, a very Japanese sensibility.
The patty melt arrived at our table, and our eyes lit up. Between two buttery pieces of toasted rye bread lay shreds of grilled onions laced through crisped beef patties. When cooked harshly, black pepper can often bring out an unpleasant bitterness. But Crane’s patties were freckled with just the right amount of black pepper to enhance the beef’s savoury flavour. Indulgent as it may seem, the patty melt jumped to another level when dipped in their house-made light and creamy cheese sauce.
Unbeknownst to us, the chef was nervously watching us eat. We turned to him and held both of our thumbs up. He coyly smiled.
On our final day in Tokyo, we stumbled upon another gem called Crane House Sandwich Shop in Tokyo’s Kojima. We thought it was a coincidence that they and Crane’s Burgers shared the same name. Then we saw the coy chef in the window once again.
Crane House Sandwich Shop and Crane’s Burger & Milkshake are under the same ownership. I was told by the waitstaff at Crane House that both shops follow one formula: using what ingredients they already have to provide for different eaters.
The sandwich shop offers avocado sandwiches, BLTs and my personal recommendation, the falafel and hummus sandwich. A layer of smooth hummus spread over toasted rye bread. Beneath it, layers of neatly assembled tomato slices and butterhead lettuce. The falafels were fluffy and herbaceous with that distinct crisp outer shell. All served with thick-cut cut ready salted chips. It was modest in its presentation yet packed with robust, refreshing flavours.
If there’s anything that’ll sum up the experience of Crane’s, it’s this. While we were eating at Crane’s Sandwich Shop, the chef quietly thanked us for coming to eat his food again.
“What are some of your favourite sandwich shops back home?” he asked us.
I asked whether it was because he wanted to visit New Zealand. He said no. He said it was for research. He wanted to learn what other chefs around the world were making so he could make his food even better.
Crafting untraditional dishes and using intrinsically Japanese ways of cooking to make them is the backbone of Crane’s. For the chef to ask how he could be better when he was already good captured the essence of how Japanese chefs, in the finest of restaurants and humblest of spots, are striving for excellence.
The writer travelled at their own expense.