Martiniburger. It’s a great name for a restaurant. Even before you arrive you can picture it in your mind: As sleek as a cocktail lounge, with subtle lighting, cool music and even cooler people tucking into prime patties of best beef. And you wouldn’t be far wrong.

Except for one detail: You visualize it in one of Tokyo’s ritzier districts — behind the boutiques of Omotesando perhaps, or in upwardly mobile Azabu-Juban. Instead you find yourself trudging away from the bright lights of Kagurazaka, down to the unfashionable, unheralded slope known as Watanabezaka.

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