Words: Victor Goh
There are cities you visit, and then there are cities that visit you.
Tokyo has always been the latter for me - precise, composed, and yet, capable of sudden tenderness.
Introduction
I arrived with no real plan, only an instinct to stay somewhere that allowed me to feel both above and within the city. OMO5 Tokyo Gotanda by Hoshino Resorts offered exactly that: a room suspended between the quiet rhythm of Shinagawa and the pulse of Tokyo’s night lights.
The bedroom felt like it held much more - conversations with the skyline, the whisper of trains crossing the river, the soft companionship of the city itself. Tokyo’s real estate is precious, yet even within compact walls, there’s a generosity of thought. The beds folded, the space expanded; nothing felt excessive, yet nothing was missing.
I unpacked carefully - a habit, perhaps, but also a ritual. I hung my jacket, arranged my watches, folded my shirt as if greeting an old friend. There’s a sense of belonging in the small order of things, especially in a place that thrives on quiet precision.
That evening, I stood by the window in loungewear, watching the city stretch into the night. Gotanda below glowed in soft amber tones - not the blinding shimmer of Shibuya, nor the theater of Ginza - but a calm, working city winding down.
A toast to the beautiful evening in Tokyo. A not-so-hidden spot at the OMO5 Tokyo Gotanda with the best view that only the staff can tell you about.
The air was still. Somewhere, a train sighed. I caught my reflection in the glass and thought, This is Tokyo when it exhales.
The Flavor of Intimacy
The next morning began not with a plan, but with a conversation.
At the Go-KINJO Map, OMO Base where guests gather between coffee and curiosity, I met one of the OMO Rangers - Kumiko, the hotel’s resident neighborhood expert. She wore the kind of enthusiasm that Tokyo carries quietly: genuine, precise, never performative. Over a map and a cup of confidence, she began tracing lines through the streets of Gotanda - tiny eateries tucked behind convenience stores, a bakery that opens just before dawn, the spot by the river where the skyline bends at dusk.
It wasn’t a tour. It was an initiation.
She called it “the everyday charm of Gotanda,” and I believed her. In that exchange - brief but sincere - I felt the subtle genius of OMO’s hospitality. It doesn’t curate; it connects. By the time I walked out, I carried not just a map, but a kind of permission: to explore without expectation. That’s when I first learned about the Gotanda Gourmet Express Pass - a small, unassuming Gourmet adventure that would shape my evening to come.
Left: Kumiko retracing her memories of enjoying her favorite snack at a famous Gotanda eatery in-front of the Go-Kinjo Map.
Right: The Gotanda Gourmet Express Pass, which grants guests a 30-minute seat at a popular, hard-to-book restaurant to sample a signature dish.
The Gourmand Taking on Gotanda
Whilst James Bond’s suit pockets were lined up with gadgets, mine was simple: a Gotanda Gourmet Express Pass, and notes from Kumiko.
My first meal was at Karinto, early in the evening. The kind of place where you instinctively lower your voice. A small, polished room, warm wood, quiet jazz. The starter - fried goma tofu in a velvety ankake, draped with thin sheet of yuba and pumpkin. It was comfort disguised as elegance. The flavors were gentle but deliberate: the goma tofu carried a soft nuttiness, the ankake lent an earthy sweetness, the ankake folded everything together like memory.
The unforgettable experience at Karinto.
Next, came the delicate quail eggs, crisp on the outside, molten at the core. They were paired with kushikatsu sauce - that unmistakable savory-acidic Japanese Worcestershire - and a pinch of salt. Each bite cracked open to reveal golden richness, the acidity cutting perfectly through the yolk’s silkiness.
The highlight, of course, was the famed Hida beef kushiage - cooked to a perfect medium, still tender at the center, its edges sealed with just enough crunch to hold the flavor in. Served simply, with a choice of soy and mustard or salt, it was indulgence without extravagance.
To pair, the house pour: a red Primitivo di Manduria, its balanced acidity cleansing the palate and keeping each course bright.
Chef Sato caught my eye as I finished the last skewer and offered a small, satisfied smile. We took a quick photo together - the kind you keep not for social media, but for memory. Behind him, the kitchen glowed like a quiet forge, the rhythm of Gotanda carrying on outside.
Pizzeria Bruna.
Later that night, I wandered into Pizzeria Bruna, a completely different rhythm. The air was filled with the scent of wood fire, the laughter of a few regulars, the quiet clink of wine glasses. I ordered the Neapolitan - tomato, mozzarella, anchovies, garlic, oregano - simple words for something extraordinary. The first bite was decisive: the crust airy and alive, the anchovies unapologetic, the tomato sweet but with an edge of salt. There was something deeply human about eating pizza this good in Tokyo - familiar yet redefined. I finished, predictably, with tiramisu. Large, unrestrained, creamy - the kind that makes you forget time. I smiled at how something so Italian could feel perfectly at home in Japan: precise in craft, indulgent in soul.
The Small Hands of Yoshiko
A few nights later, I found myself at Yoshiko Gyoza, the kind of place you end up when your heart - not your schedule is leading the way. It was late, past the dinner rush. The street outside was almost empty. Inside, the diners brought the late night to a kind of party with sound of laughter and clanking glasses.
When the plate arrived, I understood why this place carried a name, not just a sign. The founder brothers from Osaka had opened it to honor their mother Yoshiko, who once ran a small restaurant and made gyoza by hand.
You can taste stories like that.
Yoshiko Gyoza.
Each dumpling was delicate, thin-skinned, with a vegetable filling that released a quiet sweetness. The crisp edges gave way to tenderness - like a conversation that turns unexpectedly gentle. I imagined Yoshiko herself, wrapping these in her kitchen, the scent of cabbage and garlic in the air, her sons watching in silence, learning not just technique, but devotion.
Food like this doesn’t aim to impress. It invites you to remember what a fun but tender evening snack helps you stay warm in the heart and share a smile.
At Shinjuku Gyoen.
Between Towers and Gardens
Days in Tokyo unfold like music — themes returning in softer keys.
I started one morning at Shinjuku Gyoen, where the air still held a trace of dawn.
Paths curved under canopies of maple; ponds mirrored the sky. The calm was deliberate, human-made, and yet it carried nature’s sincerity.
It’s a garden that asks nothing of you but time — and rewards you with silence.
From there, I drifted toward the National Art Center, one of Tokyo’s most graceful architectural statements.
The light inside behaved differently here — refracted, slowed, softened.
People moved like punctuation marks in an essay of glass.
I lingered, tracing shadows on concrete, thinking about how Tokyo manages to be modern without losing its humility.
Then came teamLab, the city’s most poetic collision of technology and wonder.
Walking into those mirrored rooms was like walking into a dream that knows your name.
Light, color, and sound moved in empathy — they reacted, waited, listened.
I reached out, and art reached back.
Evening led me to Azabudai Hills, a new symbol of Tokyo’s evolving refinement.
It’s a neighborhood that feels curated but alive — boutiques, cafés, architecture that balances ambition with restraint.
I stopped for coffee, watching people pass with that unspoken Tokyo grace — composed, aware, content.
And then, Tokyo Tower — timeless, glowing softly against the indigo sky.
I’ve seen it countless times, yet it always feels like a gentle heartbeat for the city — not an icon, but a pulse.
OMO Chill Night Party
If mornings at OMO5 Tokyo Gotanda by Hoshino Resorts are made for quiet reflection, nights are designed for company.
One of the hotel’s most unexpected charms is the OMO Chill Night Party - an evening ritual that turns the OMO Base into a softly glowing gathering space.
By the time I arrived, the lounge had already transformed. The lights were tinted gold, a gentle counterpoint to the electric skyline outside. A tower of empty champagne glasses caught the light like a sculpture, and bottles of zero proof sparkling wine lined the counter.
The OMO Rangers moved with easy warmth, hosting what felt less like an event and more like a celebration of everyday Tokyo. The nightly toast gathers guests from different walks of life into one shared moment.
The food mirrored the neighborhood’s story: small plates inspired by local restaurants, a few sweets that looked almost too perfect to eat. When the evening drew to a close, the Rangers thanked us not for coming, but for “sharing the night.” As I stepped into the elevator, the echoes of laughter followed me up to my floor.
The City That Listens Back
Back in my room at OMO5 Tokyo Gotanda by Hoshino Resorts, I poured a small whisky and sat again by the window.
The skyline shimmered like a living painting - lights shifting, cars whispering through the night.
Some places demand to be conquered. Tokyo, instead, asks to be understood - not in words, but in gestures: the bow of a chef, the nod of a bartender, the warmth of a stranger at a shared table. It’s a city that listens, even when it speaks in silence.
The lights outside blurred softly against the windowpane. “Goodnight, Gotanda,” I whispered. And for a moment, I could swear the city whispered back.
OMO5 Tokyo Gotanda by Hoshino Resorts
Address: 8 Chome-4-13 Nishigotanda, Shinagawa City, Tokyo 141-0031, Japan
Phone: +81 50-3134-8095
Website: hoshinoresorts.com/en/hotels/omo5tokyogotanda/
