Maruichi is so intimate and unpretentious that it has chosen to call itself a bistro. But that gives the wrong impression entirely. You will find no red checkered tablecloths here, no tourist posters, Pernod ads or guttering candles jammed into empty wine bottles. Instead it espouses a quiet simplicity that feels altogether more Japanese than Gallic.
It's a tiny place with just five tables, plus a small counter along an open kitchen as compact (and shipshape) as the galley of an ocean-going yacht. The rough ocher walls are plain and unadorned, save for a blackboard listing the specials of the day. The furniture is rustic but comfortable, the tables covered with "cloths" of cheerful yellow plastic. The place settings feature chopsticks propped up on twigs of charcoal, with the knives and forks kept in baskets at the side, as if to emphasize that here you are a long way from France.
Cast your eye down the menu (although you will have to be able to read Japanese to do so) and you will find it infused with a similar interplay of influences. Chef Kimio Ichikawa is well-grounded in the basics of French cuisine, but he brings a homegrown Japanese sensibility to his art. A quiet man who prefers to let his food do the talking, he also has a love for the smoky, spicy flavors of Southeast Asia. The results are original and delectable.