You could call Ohmatsuya rustic -- but only in the most Ginza sense of the word. It sits just one floor above the brand-name bustle of the street, inside a modern multistory building little different from any others occupying that premium patch of real estate. Step inside, however, and you could have arrived in some venerable hostelry hidden deep in the mountains on the nether side of Tohoku.

A rough-hewn beam runs above your head. The hard amalgam floor has small dark pebbles set into it. A profusion of wild flowers spill from a ceramic ewer beside an antique lattice of finely split bamboo. A sugidama hangs from the low ceiling, its brown cedar needles protected by a miniature wooden roof. These visual clues tell you all you need to know: Ohmatsuya may purvey the homespun rural look, but they do it with impeccable, up-town style.

The waitresses who greet you with precisely calibrated politeness wear silk kimono, but tucked into indigo work pants in no-nonsense country mode. They lead you into a cozy dining room with walls of pounded mud. The doors and ceilings are all dark wood and illuminated by the dim glow of washi-clad lamps. There are half a dozen chunky wooden tables with low stools. Each table has its own irori grill, which is fed with glowing charcoals carried from the kitchen.