Why are there so many Chinese restaurants named “Koraku (康楽)”? First of all, it is likely because “Koraku” signifies happiness in Chinese, and even in Japanese, it can be interpreted as a combination of health (康) and pleasure (楽).
However, as Google Maps reviews reveal, this particular restaurant has a notoriously bad reputation. It is obvious that they harbor hostility toward tourists—especially foreigners. They also seem to put almost zero effort into running the business, and they completely lack any sense of hospitality. The food is neither good nor bad.
Since I am a big drinker, I only ever order a single plate of gyoza and a small bottle of beer here, simply because there is no other alcohol available. My stay lasts barely 15 minutes. For me, it is just a spot to drop by on a whim to kill a little time. If you ask me whether the gyoza is good, I suppose it might be. Since photography is strictly banned, I never take any pictures inside either.
I have never seen any other customers besides myself, but that is probably because I only visit during weekdays in the late afternoon. I am sure it gets reasonably crowded on weekends. Anyway, the defining characteristic of this restaurant is that it smells absolutely nothing like capitalism.
Of course, there are countless other places to choose from in Asakusa, but the only reason I bother coming to this specific spot is because its blunt atmosphere is just so quintessentially Asakusa.
To put it into perspective, this restaurant satisfies my eccentric desire to immerse myself in a blunt, harsh, and uncomfortable dive bar—the kind you might encounter in a Spaghetti Western or Star Wars.
Call me cynical, but I hate the idea of lining up at popular spots like Mizuguchi Shokudo or Yoshikami, being crammed into tight seats, and pretending to enjoy “B-grade cuisine.” Instead, I prefer places that are completely empty, where I can just stroll in on a whim, get my food immediately, and quickly move on to the next bar.