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About Nagoya

Here’s the deal—ya gotta know the spots. Red-light districts, shady bars—hell, even online now, apps and shit. Surprised me how slick it’s gotten—prostitutes got profiles like LinkedIn! “Enjoys long walks”—yeah, right, to the bank! Makes me chuckle, thinkin’ how Gordon Gekko’d play it—work the angles, hustle the hustler. Greed’s the fuel, man—keeps ya sharp.

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First stop, I hit up the local market on Kōen-dōri. It’s buzzing! Fresh fish, fruits, and all that jazz. I’m sniffin’ around, and OMG, the smell of grilled yakitori hits me like a freight train. I’m drooling, like a total mess. I grab a skewer, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. But then, this dude bumps into me. Like, c’mon man, watch where you’re going! I spill my yakitori all over my shirt. Ugh, so mad!

This Japanese City Is the Birthplace of Miso Ramen — and Its Best Spot Is in a Tiny Lantern-lit Alley