There is precious little architecture left in central Tokyo these days that has any history attached to it. So when restaurants want to imbue their premises with a period feel, mostly they just have to fake it. The results can range from ersatz Edo-style castles to flimsy, film-set backdrops glorifying the gritty Showa years of post-war austerity. Whichever way, the results invariably tend toward theme-park pastiche.
That is certainly not the case at Coca Restaurant in the heart of Yurakucho. It may be surrounded by some of the flashiest, priciest real estate in the city -- indeed, on the planet -- but this modest, grimy, three-story gray-brick building is a hold-over from a much earlier era. Evoking the feel of 1930s Canton or Bangkok's Chinatown, it is grubby and shabby, not so much retro as a relic -- and in this funky, faded, prewar authenticity lies its charm.
The warm glow of the red neon sign above the door is a low-tech beacon in a high-tech part of town. Banks of bamboo steamers waft their vapors and the tempting aromas of dim sum through the dining rooms and out into the street. It's the sort of place where you stop and join the queue by the door, not so much because you're hungry but to imbibe some of that cheerful, good-time atmosphere.