Though its major cities bear an increasing number of espresso-championing Third Wave outlets, Japan is still very much a country of filter coffee. One café in Shimokitazawa, a short trot from where my brother and I were staying, obscured its facade beneath defiant 'filter only' signs, some of which even instructed latte-seekers to hightail it to Starbucks. If you believe that good coffee requires eye-wateringly expensive espresso machines, Japan's coffee culture will seem to have flowered relatively late. If, like me, you prefer your drop to have been circularly poured through a filter from a skinny-necked kettle, then Japan's mastery of coffee can be traced back a century or more. During my time in the country I had some of the best coffee I can recall. Sometimes the default option, always black, is drearily flushed from a cheap filter machine and priced accordingly, but it is not at all difficult to find decent-to-excellent pour-over if you bother to look.
My most memorable experience was at a small place in Kyoto that used a traditional filter method known as 'Nel Drip'. Once I had selected the beans—by scent, no less—the proprietor began the careful 5-7 minute process of heating, pouring and waiting. A Nel Drip filter is essentially a cotton flannel (hence the 'nel') and requires twice the amount of coffee as an average filter cup. The water is added slowly and at a lower temperature, resulting in a dense, layered flavour that can be savoured even as it cools. Before I was served, the proprietor sampled the results of his labour from a wine-tasting glass to make sure it was satisfactory. It was the most care I have ever seen anyone take in preparing coffee.
If you prefer espressos and hate friendly customer service (you should probably leave Japan if the latter is true), head down to Bear Pond Espresso and try a mythical smear of 'Angel Stains', a steal at only 690 yen. Get there early, as the maestro can serve as few as 20 on a given day before refusing to make any more, and no one but him is allowed to touch the espresso machine. His wife, meanwhile, will greet you with all the warmth of a clenched ice cube and vigilantly enforce the café's no-pictures rule. The muddy taste of semi-diluted raw cocoa goes perfectly with the frigid tension.