One Melonpan at a Time
Tokyo Culture
If you’d like to jump to the second part, after the short-story, search the below text for “With rainy season just started”
My friend Emily lives in Tokyo’s shitamachi - low-rise, tight-knit neighbourhoods where old Tokyo lingers in the chūhai cans on trash day. Families have lived there for generations. And random Americans mix in. Emily loves fukubiki, the raffle, that shōtengai shopping streets organise in order to increase revenue. Emily really does love fukubiki. The spinning, the clacking, the brief moment of hope before the white ball of disappointment dropped out like an indifferent shrug from the universe and you won a tissue box.
Emily is a lovely American in her 30s. She speaks fluent Japanese and is a mother of two. She’d mastered the rhythms of Tokyo life: getting out her trash on the correct day, ignoring PTA emails, and she knows how to get from Sekaidō to the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building without getting wet on a rainy day. But fukubiki was her annual blind spot. No matter how much she spent at the local shōtengai, she never won more than a box of tissues and a sympathetic nod from the old man manning the machine.
One year, though, something changed. Emily discovered a crucial detail in the fine print: stamps weren’t given per total amount spent - they were given per shop, as long as you spent at least 500 yen. Meaning: spend 3,000 yen at one store, and you get one stamp. Spend 500 yen at six different stores, and you walk away with six stamps, a tote bag full of random objects, and possibly early signs of tendonitis.
So she did what any rational Tokyo mother would do: she formed an alliance with her elderly neighbour, Mrs. Suda, a retired ballroom dancer with a squeaky shopping cart and a sixth sense for which shops had the easiest 500-yen thresholds.
They teamed up. One item per store: six croquettes, a bath sponge shaped like Mount Fuji, a deeply unappealing yakitori key-chain, and a single ¥498 pair of socks (with a 50-yen chocolate to push it over the line). By noon, they’d collected 47 stamps, spent ¥23,000, and eaten two melonpan each.
At the raffle tent, a PTA faction had already begun to circle. Thirty mothers from Class 2-B had pooled their receipts from the class’ Christmas party snack run and were fanning out across the fukubiki grounds in tactical formation. One woman had a binder. Another wore a headlamp. A third appeared to be tracking probabilities on her phone.
One of the Class 2-B mums gave Emily a once-over and muttered, “Those damn tourists.”
A couple of others rolled their eyes in silent agreement.
Then a small voice piped up from behind a pile of shopping bags:
“But that’s M’s mom! From Class 5-A!”
The mums fell abruptly silent. Someone pretended to check her binder.
Emily and Mrs. Suda had been there first - positioned neatly in front of the tent, another melonpan in hand. But as the line began to shift and swell, the Class 2-B unit started inching forward, deploying shopping bags and toddler strollers like territorial markers. It got tense. Subtle manoeuvrers. Debates over queue philosophy. The occasional strategic cough.
For 5 minutes, Emily held the line with a steady barrage of polite but firm: “We were here first.” Mrs. Suda backed her up with the kind of pointed silence only a retired ballroom dancer in orthopaedic shoes can deliver.
Credit: Patent 89694 apparently
Finally, they reached the front.
The drum spun.
ガラガラガラガラ…
The ball clinked out.
Gold.
Everything paused.
The old man behind the counter dropped his tissue packet mid-handover.
The Class 2-B mums gasped in eerie unison. Even the tinny speaker playing “Jingle Bells” seemed to glitch mid-jingle.
Someone from the PTA contingent leaned in, whispering: “Did she really win?”
“Well, we were here first,” Emily whispered again, but this time without needing to explain.
Emily had won the grand prize: a weekend for two at Kusatsu Onsen, complete with meals and massage.
She turned to Mrs. Suda.
Without a word, the elderly woman reached into her cart for a glossy photo from the Kusatsu Ballroom Open, circa 1983. She was mid-twirl. Her partner was mid-divorce.
She handed the photo to Emily.
It was not a question.
It was destiny.
And, as it turned out, the beginning of an annual ritual involving ¥500 thresholds, questionable key chains, and the kind of joy only found in strategic melonpan consumption.
Credit: Kiyok.
Confession first: this story was partly made up - well the bit about the tradition and the strategic shopping at least is. Emily’s name is not Emily but she did win a trip. I needed a playful storyline to introduce the real star of the show: Tokyo’s shopping streets, or shōtengai. (Remember Sugamo?)
With rainy season just started, there’s no better time to explore them. Some are covered (not Emily’s, sorry), making them perfect for rainy-day wandering - no big umbrella gymnastics required.
Shōtengai are lined with independently run shops, each one full of personality.
You’ll find family-run restaurants, general stores, and nostalgic goods.
Many still retain their retro charm, offering glimpses of everyday Tokyo life.
And if you’re just looking to kill some time? Shōtengai are made for aimless snacking:
Yakitori skewers sizzling on the street.
Fluffy shokupan and eccentric bakery creations.
Old-school wagashi, pickled vegetables, bento to-go... you get the idea.
Although you will have to find a park nearby to eat some of this - a bento is better eaten while sitting.
Rainy Day? Head to One of These Roofed Shopping Streets Instead!
Tokyo’s longest covered arcade. Endless eateries and quirky shops. Yes, a lot of chain stores as well, but definitely a good place to pretend you were just passing through... for two hours.
Stylish, buzzing, and a little too cool for its own good. One of Tokyo’s best bakeries is here - no, I’m not telling you where, that’s part of the fun.
Asakusa’s old soul. Classic wagashi, lots of weird touristy knick-knacks, and possibly the only place where buying an obi feels oddly natural. If you’ve been to Sensōji, you’ve probably already walked through here without realizing.
No, not that Ginza. Next to a pet shop specialising on birds, you’ll find Toridai, a delicatessen place famous for chicken dishes. Yup, that’s Jūjō.
Akabane Suzuran Shopping Street
A blink from JR Akabane’s east exit. Compact, charming, and somehow always busy in the most comforting way.
Joyful Minowa
Yes, that’s really its name. Dating back to the Taishō era, this retro arcade has 70+ shops still open, defying all odds and several convenience store chains. Follow along on Instagram!
Not near any of these? Here’s a dangerously comprehensive (Japanese language) Wikipedia article of all the roofed shōtengai in Japan. Judging by the scroll bar, it’s doing a thorough job.
Also: I've pinned all the above (including the open-air in Sugamo), on Tokyo Unfolded’s Google Map - in case you find yourself in the rain, vaguely hungry, and needing a plan.