Masaru Tanaka's yatai has been open for business at the same roadside spot in central Tokyo almost every evening for the past 40 years or more.

Though it's dimly lit and cramped, and a scent resembling old socks wafts in from his vat of steaming oden, Tanaka's outdoor eatery in Gotanda is a firm favorite with many locals. Of course they come to eat and have a few drinks, but perhaps more for the lively banter.

"This is the best oden you'll find in Tokyo," declares 31-year-old Mitsuru Hatakeyama, a realtor who's one of Tanaka's daily customers.

"I never touch the stuff," retorts Manabu Ito, a regular of some 20 years. "You never know what you'll find in there," he says with a mock scowl before knocking back a glass of beer.

Such blunt but friendly exchanges are typical of the traditional yatai experience, in which simple food and humor are served up in the simplest of surroundings.

These two-wheeled wooden carts, with iron cooking plates heated by live coals below, have for centuries been part of the city landscape in Japan. As shelter from the elements, they offer only a small roof (ya) over the cart (tai) and tarpaulin awnings for the patrons, but their red lanterns are welcome beacons in the night.

Tanaka greets me with a time-honored "irasshai" as I step into his sidewalk domain. At once he begins rinsing a bowl in a bucket of water, and then ladles in lashings of tofu, radish and something that looks like a soggy brown-paper bag. Driven to drink by this spectacle, I waste no time ordering a beer. My pleas for him to just pass the bottle fall on deaf ears. Instead, my host considerately plunges a glass into the bucket and passes it over.

"To your health," Tanaka roars, raising his glass in greeting, oblivious to the irony.

As Spartan as his place may be, however, the atmosphere is friendly and, after several drinks, even homey. If it weren't for the canvas walls and the no-parking line below, it could almost be a cubby-hole pub in Shinjuku.

But, among other things, that no-parking line is enough to prompt occasional visits by police. Local ward officials also drop by, less to carouse than in response to complaints from other shopowners.

"Storeowners, police, the authorities . . . they hassle me from time to time," says Tanaka, who often keeps his yatai open until 6 a.m. "There's never a dull moment," he shrugs, before cursing what's known as progress. "Everything's so sterile and uniform these days," he grunts. "It's all fast-food chains and convenience stores, and there's little sense of community anymore."

That Tanaka is still able to stand by his yatai and make such complaints after so long is surely a testament to his tenacity, as well as his good fortune. In the Gotanda area of Shinagawa Ward alone, until a few years ago there were around 40 traditional yatai, Tanaka said. Today there are about 10.

All over Tokyo the story is much the same. Metropolitan government statistics show that the number of licenses issued for such yatai plunged from a postwar peak of almost 4,000 in 1968 to around 820 in 2000. In Fukuoka, too, which is often dubbed Japan's yatai Mecca, there's been a similar decline.

This may hardly be surprising in light of the hygiene concerns -- but to Tanaka, a more basic reason is simply that fewer people now are prepared to push the heavy stalls around in search of a spot to set up shop.

In Tokyo, though, there's certainly no two ways about it.

Favored roadside venues

As Hisako Yamanaka from the city government's Health and Welfare Division put it: "The sanitary conditions are not satisfactory. Many serve oily foods, such as yakitori and ramen, and utensils are usually just rinsed in cold water.

"Furthermore, waste generated at the stalls is badly managed, and their favored roadside venues mean food is contaminated by exhaust fumes."

As a result, Tokyo is keen to phase out the old-fashioned carts, and is reluctant to issue permits. Instead, the government is encouraging motorized versions which it believes are better suited to the times. Yatai could conceivably upgrade their facilities to meet health regulations, notes Yamanaka. However, increased water capacity, for example, would make the carts heavier and less portable, thus defeating their purpose. Given the numerous hurdles, she says the traditional yatai could well be wiped out "within a decade."

It's all a far cry from the mid-Edo Period, when the first yatai emerged in respose to a new urban lifestyle with a penchant for outdoor activities, such as cherry-blossom viewing. Owners soon began to fit their stalls with wheels in order to access well-known, and thus more profitable, gathering spots.

Much later, after World War II, yatai came to play a crucial part in serving a rather different market: survivors and those repatriated from military duty overseas. Even until a few decades ago, many yatai owners still wheeled their carts around urban neighborhoods every day, adding their distinctive cries to those of others selling tofu, chestnuts or sweet potatoes.

Then, perhaps predictably, during the economic highs of the late 1970s and '80s yatai numbers began to wane. As a sanitized convenience-store society gained ground and restaurants with an international flavor became the order of the day, down-to-earth yatai appeared increasingly out of place -- even unnecessary reminders of harder times.

Many yatai owners say that the current economic downturn has produced another obstacle: Shopowners, disgruntled at having to pay rent while yatai simply park on public property, now often demand police action. Or put another way, "They use hygiene and illegal parking as a way of disguising their petty greed," said one Tokyo yatai owner.

Consequently, in some areas police now refuse to renew or issue permits to trade on public thoroughfares and sidewalks. A police official in Shibuya, one of Tokyo's most popular yatai centers, said that none of the traditional yatai there are operating within the law.

"We don't issue permits to any of them," the official said. "They are a hazard and . . . can be the cause of accidents."

But as one form of street business appears doomed, another is quietly booming: Van-based yatai have flourished since the early 1990s, thanks largely to the government's new stance. In Tokyo, official data shows the scale of the trend, with 825 permits issued in 1999, up from 308 in '93.

In addition, while traditional yatai are limited by law to serve only one item from a very restricted menu -- which includes oden, ramen, fried noodles and yakitori -- their motorized offspring are free to dish up just about anything.

Occasional hassles

Consequently, a walk around Tokyo's popular hangouts of Shibuya and Daikanyama now offers tastes of Greece (souvlaki), Mexico (tacos), California (wraps), Thailand (curry), Turkey (kebabs) and France (crepes), among others -- all sold from cramped little vans.

Though the vans, which are often equipped with sinks and refrigerators, may be more hygienic, they are also the target of complaints. Some operate without a license, and many others park illegally on major thoroughfares, causing traffic jams and occasionally accidents, police officials say.

Storeowners too can get aggressive when the vans park outside, according to Chris Takahashi, who sells wraps, a kind of burrito from California.

"They come out and say they don't want my customers blocking the entrance to their stores," said Takahashi, who started his business 18 months ago and operates mostly around Daikanyama.

He was also among several yatai owners who cited another problem besetting the trade, namely occasional hassles from tekiya -- racketeers with links to organized crime. So far Takahashi has kept them at bay, but others have not been so fortunate. Two yatai owners in Shibuya, for instance, said they make monthly "gratitude" payments of between 30,000 yen and 40,000 yen.

"While I could do without the payments, tekiya are actually not as bothersome as the police," said one, on condition of anonymity. "After all, if I get moved on for illegal parking I can't do business."

Others, such as Motoki Ito of Motoya Express, a van-based chain selling fresh coffee, have found different ways to avoid such obstacles. Ito has reached agreements with stores and supermarkets, such as National Azabu Supermarket in Hiroo, to operate for a fee on their property. An added advantage is being able to set up tables for customers, a luxury that most van-vendors can't offer. However, he admits, it is not the perfect solution.

"Being out on the streets offers greater freedom, and that's what most people in this kind of business want," Ito said. "But you have to weigh the pros and cons. Contractual agreements can be restrictive, but they take away the hassles and allow you to grow."

Ito knows the importance of growth. Since starting out in 1996 with one van, the 40-year-old now has 13 around Japan bearing his company logo -- each raking in monthly takings of around 1.2 million yen, he said. He's confident that there's even more room to expand.

Susumu Takeuchi, whose takoyaki (griddle-cooked octopus dumplings) yatai business Iron Cook K.K. has mushroomed from just one van to 150 in seven years, agrees with Ito, saying that van-based yatai offer the perfect platform for any number of services -- not just catering. The 31-year-old entrepreneur notes that setup costs as low as 3 million yen are a big lure. Though the future clearly seems to belong to a new breed of merchants such as Ito and Takeuchi, as mother-of-two Mineko Yamaguchi said this week over drinks in an old-fashioned Shinjuku yatai, "They may be on the way out, but it will be sad when this relaxed setting, this taste of old Japan, is gone."

By the way, in spite of the sock scent, old Tanaka's oden was quite tasty after all. And having lived to tell the tale -- at only around 2,000 yen for the food and I forget how many beers -- it only remains to bid "gochiso sama" to another tradition whose days appear to be numbered.