Shinji Matou at Your Service

Late-Night Diner.

As the name suggests, it's a diner that only opens late at night, operating hours are exclusively in the evening.

It sounds like an ordinary night stall, but in Japan, this is a unique cultural phenomenon that belongs exclusively to this overseas island nation.

Unlike regular night-time restaurants and bars, the menu at such diners is extremely simple, just a piece of paper with a few items listed in order:

XX Set Meal — XX Yen.

XX Noodles — XX Yen.

XX Alcohol — XX Yen.

The items are generally limited to single digits, usually five to six items. Additionally, you can order dishes not listed on the menu, as long as the ingredients are available and the owner knows how to make them.

Don't expect to find any delicacies here. These diners are small, ranging from a dozen square meters to thirty or fifty square meters at most. The ingredients are common, easy to store, and not prone to spoilage; some even use whatever is cheapest.

You might wonder if such diners have customers or whether they can keep running.

In other countries, unless there are no other dining options nearby, such diners would struggle to survive. But in Japan, these diners are quite popular, and the longer they stay open, the busier they become.

This has a lot to do with Japanese society and culture. The social norm in Japan is not to go home after work but to find a place to drink and eat with clients or a few colleagues, only returning home around eight or nine o'clock. If you don't do this, you'll seem useless, and your colleagues will ostracize you, your boss will look down on you, your family will resent you, and your company might even fire you.

This custom started in the last century during Japan's economic boom when evening socializing became mainstream. In many companies, expense receipts for socializing could even be tax-deductible. This custom has been passed down as part of the culture.

On the other hand, Japan is a fast-paced country with a lot of pressure. After a day of work and life, people accumulate various pressures and grievances that need a place to be vented. The lower one is on the social ladder, the greater the pressure, so these cheap diners that provide a place to vent are very popular. Perhaps what customers are consuming is no longer food but a sense of home.

Located in Iwate Prefecture, Hokkaido, Grievance Pavilion is one such ordinary late-night diner.

Grievance Pavilion didn't originally have this name; it was something more ordinary. The owner was an elderly man in his sixties, but recently a young man took over, seemingly not a local, with a bit of a Kansai accent. It's said he's a relative of the old owner, having drifted aimlessly for years without success, and took over when the old owner became too frail. He renamed the diner to its current name.

Initially, regulars were worried that the familiar place would become unfamiliar. But soon they found that although the name changed, the decor remained the same, familiar faces were still around, and the young man cooked and worked just like the previous owner, speaking and acting with a seasoned maturity uncommon among young people today.

Running a diner isn't easy. Apart from dealing with official matters, there are also yakuza. Every year, there are reports of conflicts between business owners and yakuza, often resulting in bloodshed, mostly involving young people. But this young man is different; no matter the situation, he remains amicable, resolving issues with a few words. Even the usually arrogant yakuza members become polite when they visit, sometimes sitting down to eat just like the other customers.

The same recipes, the same taste, and more importantly, the familiar feeling never disappeared. The small ripple of a name and owner change faded over time. Soon, regulars found the new name very fitting, as everyone came here to vent their grievances.

The young new owner also brought many surprises. Unlike the previous owner, who only cooked local dishes, the new owner could cook a wide variety, including dishes from Kanto, Kansai, Hokkaido, Okinawa, and even some foreign cuisines.

Curious customers asked the owner, "You're so talented, why not go somewhere better?"

The young man just smiled and replied, "I just picked up a bit here and there while drifting aimlessly. It's not as impressive as you say, and I don't have a chef's certificate. Besides, if I leave, who will cook for you?"

Then came the regulars' various jokes and memories, slightly livening up the atmosphere at Grievance Pavilion.

But these were rare moments. Most of the time, the atmosphere at Grievance Pavilion was so calm it was almost dull.

Customers would walk in, quietly order a drink—sake for the older ones, beer for the younger ones—and order dishes they'd requested many times before. Then, they'd drink and eat while quietly venting their grievances. Only when someone had something to celebrate or the young owner, bored, created a new dish would there be a different atmosphere.

Regulars called these moments surprises. The last surprise was eight or nine days ago when the owner somehow acquired a few small bottles of a drink called Soju. It looked like sake but tasted much stronger, with an alcohol content of 52%, three to four times that of regular sake. It's impressive he managed to get such a thing, proving his wild connections were not just talk.

Of course, there were regrets too. After all, he was young and not very skilled at some dishes known only to older folks. Whenever this happened, the owner would sincerely apologize and humbly ask for advice. If the customer didn't know, he would take the time to visit local elders. Soon, a new item would appear on the unwritten part of the menu.

This earnest attitude made the diner's reputation grow in the neighborhood, attracting more business. Some regulars even thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to marry their eligible daughters to the owner and began subtly probing this idea.

But they quickly dismissed such thoughts because this seemingly ordinary young man had an unbelievably beautiful girlfriend.

Every time it approached midnight and most customers had left, a girl who liked to wear white would walk into the diner, shouting energetically in a way that clashed with the diner's atmosphere:

"Hey, I'm hungry, Shin—uh, Haruki."

Or—

"I'm so bored, play with me, Haruki."

Whenever this happened, the young owner would respond with a karate chop, a menu, or tossing a tomato or apple.

"Stop messing around, how many times have I told you not to disturb others, Kazusa. Wait a while if you're hungry; I'll cook for you. If you're bored, come help me wash dishes."

And so, the diner gained another vibrant figure.