Japan’s Cocktail Vending Machines Are the Best Idea Ever
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Japan knows how to perfect things. From streamlining and revolutionizing the assembly lines for cars, to crafting award-winning whisky that often out-rank distilleries that came up with the process, contemporary Japan has made a name for itself less for innovation and more for perfecting things that originate from other shores. On a recent visit to Hokkaido, the country’s northernmost island, all the current drinking trends were on hand. I tasted that award-winning whisky, and sampled good craft beers at a craft bar with eight local pours on tap. I paid too much for an old fashioned at Bar Yamakazi, helmed by 94-year-old Tatsuro Yamakazi, who’s dedicated his life to crafting perfect cocktails. He wasn’t working the night I visited, and while the bar itself felt like the perfect personification of a U.S. speakeasy, the drink I ordered was…good. Maybe even great. But it didn’t feel particularly Japanese, nor did it necessarily exceed ones I’ve had in New York, DC, or LA.
But beyond a new-found affection for unfiltered sake, my drinking habit in Japan over the course of 10 days gravitated toward the cheap stuff. And it was awesome.
Craft beer is just starting to gain traction in Japan, and some—like Kiuchi, a sake brewer since 1823 and craft brewer as of 1996—are great. But they were also hard to find unless you hit a dedicated liquor store or visited craft beer bars like Sapporo’s The Craft, which is tucked into a narrow building on a bustling street in Sapporo’s business district. Solid beer, but with the same prices you’d expect in the States.
Instead, I leaned into Japan beer mainstays: Sapporo, Asahi, and Kirin. In cans, sold for less than $4 U.S. for a tall boy from a resort vending machine, and for less than $3 in convenience stores like 7-11. A can of Sapporo Classic—a light lager sold only in Hokkaido, the brewer’s home prefecture—perfectly complimented a bowl of miso ramen while seeking refuge from the falling snow while skiing, and worked even better at après, when I’d grab a few cans off the shelves of a local shop.