Kinoji lies well off the beaten track, on an unremarkable stretch of a nondescript avenue. But that only makes it easier to spot the bold, contemporary lines of the five-story architects' building, in which Kinoji occupies the basement level.
The only indication of its existence is a rust-brown bast fiber noren, illuminated from above by spotlights and inscribed in the cursive style with the kanji of its name. Brushing through this and making your way down stairs of immaculate battleship gray, you step into a space of textbook Tokyo minimalism.
Most operations that seat only 20 or so people feel intimate to the point of being cramped. Kinoji, however, is as spacious and cool as a postmodern chapel. The only natural woodwork in evidence is the raised dais with its two low tables, and the chopsticks that adorn each lacquered place setting. Every other surface is matte black, smoothly dressed concrete, sleek steel or opaque glass panels.