The chances of discovering Adan by accident are about as great as seeing snow in Okinawa -- in summer. It lies in anonymous residential territory in an unprepossessing quadrant of darkest Mita, well away from the regular foraging trails of mainstream Minato Ward. But even if you were to stumble unaided upon Adan's funky frontage of dark, rough-hewn wood, it is highly unlikely you would find yourself a seat.
There are several reasons why it is invariably full every evening, despite such an unpromising location. There's the setting, an unusual old redbrick kura storehouse, beautifully refurbished and decorated with boldly colored wood carvings. But most people are there because Adan exudes the kind of casual, low-key cheer too often lacking in the sterile surrounds of Tokyo's self-styled "dining bars."
The master of the house, its instigator and grizzled eminence, is Issaku Kawachi. He plays the role of host, holding forth from behind the bar or moving around his cozy premises, attending to customers and greeting old friends -- of which he has many, thanks to his long involvement in the music industry.