Prelude

Shōkei Matsumoto, a Shin-Buddhist monk at Kōmyō-ji, a modest temple in Kamiyachō, Tokyo, contends that tidying is not just about organising our physical spaces but serves as an act of eliminating gloom in our hearts and cultivating the mind. This monk should know—he has authored a range of books on the themes of cleaning, tidying, and contemporary spirituality from a Buddhist perspective. He is also a master in the modern art of personal branding, which he appears to balance well with monastic duties.

At the beginning of each week, as I prepare to work, I make it a point to clear my desk of any unnecessary items, a practice that sharpens my focus and allows me to channel a little Shōkei Matsumoto. It is not excessive clutter, but insidious, easily overlooked items that we might unconsciously feel are necessary—an empty glass, two books, my phone, and earbuds. 

This morning, I extended the ritual to my computer. Over the last fortnight, an assortment of digital files had accumulated on my desktop. Among them, a screenshot of a photo uploaded to Twitter in 2019 of a tiny playground in Tokyo between concrete buildings, its sole piece of equipment a forlorn panda ride. It was an artefact of research from a previous newsletter where I inquired into compact urban parks in the metropolis. The panda ride, visible as a thumbnail, had been catching my attention daily—I'd thought about it quite a bit.

The concept of digital clutter expands beyond the desktop to imagery as a whole. Consider the act of viewing social media in the morning—the longer you can avoid it after waking up, the clearer your head, and the easier it is to bring purpose to the day’s work. Succumbing to the temptation of scrolling first thing in the morning, even if only long enough to see one image, can derail your thoughts and inadvertently prompt ruminations on various topics, individuals, and occurrences—subjects you initially had no plans to contemplate.

I try to move on from work when it is complete, ensuring that previous projects do not hinder new ones. Yet, the panda ride had repeatedly interrupted my thoughts as a result of my untidy desktop. In the newsletter featuring the panda ride, I’d extolled the virtues of observing subtleties in the city to gain a deeper understanding of Tokyo, but it was nagging at me—I realised I had not thoroughly investigated the panda ride itself prior to citing the widely circulated Twitter post it featured in. This oversight demanded resolution.

The park housing the panda ride, known as Kin Kin Hiroba or 'Open Space', occupies 76 square metres in Kanda's Nishikicho—a valuable plot of land a mere 15-minute walk from the Imperial Palace. The choice of panda is a rhyming pun with Kanda. Previously, I’d theorised that the park was a placeholder for redevelopment, and found an interview with Hideto Mitsumoto, General Manager at the Urban Renaissance Agency, which oversees the park, where he confirmed that indeed is the case. The lot was once just another short-stay, income-generating car park, but the agency converted it into a public space. It is laudable despite the quirky execution. My conjecture regarding the panda ride’s design and solitary placement, theorising it stemmed from safety considerations, found substantiation in a Nippon TV News article.

I felt I'd seen the park before happening upon it in my newsletter research, and surely enough, it has appeared on a TV Asahi show I watch occasionally called Nanikore Chin Hyakkei, which showcases bizarre and amusing submissions from viewers nationwide. Kin Kin Hiroba is also featured in the manga serial Jashin-chan Dropkick (Dropkick on My Devil!), and was later vividly animated in the anime adaptation. TV appearances and manga-anime fame had already attracted curious viewers to the plaza, well before it gained attention on Twitter.

Some fans call for the park to be made into a heritage site, halting the progress of the planned urban development. While a number of commentators highlight its peculiarity, there's a tangible sentiment among others that the panda ride possesses a certain emotive quality. Under the Japanese Instagram hashtag #キンキン広場, one finds models posing on the ride, flagrantly ignoring its 40kg weight limit, alongside a range of artistically directed photography. Small local festivals also take place here: I discovered an entry on the Urban Renaissance Agency's blog demonstrating how the space was once filled with benches and exercise equipment but was decluttered to make room for events like a plant potting day for local children. This minimal approach would surely resonate with Shōkei Matsumoto.

Kin Kin Hiroba alone is enough for some to make a special trip to Kanda Nishikicho, whether they are anime aficionados or photographers keen on distilling the park’s urban charm into a single, flawless photograph. Yet, with my tangential research craving satisfied, I’m keen not to dwell too long or drag it out into a full-length newsletter feature. Just as I began to fret over how I'd connect this diversion to the theme planned for this week's newsletter, I noticed the park’s next-door neighbour: a 50 years established coffee shop named Kissa Poupee. 

Kissa Poupee’s modest yet welcoming façade adds a distinct retro flair to the utilitarian mid-century concrete building it sits at the base of. A whimsical, oversized ice cream cone signals that the shop is open for business, complemented by a revolving lightbox kanban (sign) featuring a line art figure that lends a burst of character to its unselfconscious branding approach. The scene is completed by neatly arranged pot plants in front of a strip of faux red brick cladding, cleverly concealing the stark underlying concrete.

Inside, the café's interior has a cosy atmosphere, steeped in a warm wooden palette that adorns the walls and furniture. Chairs with a design that pays homage to timeless European and American Colonial styles, crafted from durable hardwood, capped with finials and upholstered with a red leatherette covering, are placed around small tables and booths. The bar area is compact and efficient, showcasing an array of cups and coffee-making equipment. Soft lighting emanates from classic, wall-mounted fixtures, adding to the relaxed and inviting ambiance. Decorations are sparse yet tasteful, with framed pictures and small posters irregularly placed along the walls, providing visual interest without overwhelming the space.

The lunch menu is straightforward: a choice of pirafu (pilaf), mito sōsu (meat sauce), Naporitan (Napolitan) or Miranēze (Milanese) spaghetti. But the main attraction is the homemade curry, which has been passed down through generations and routinely reaches the Kanda Curry Grand Prix finals. Naturally, the owner is particular about the coffee beans he uses too. A roaster in Meguro makes a special blend for Kissa Poupee, a traditional, slightly deep-roasted bean, which is praised by customers for its excellent taste, whether served hot or iced. A full-bodied coffee after curry is somewhat of an assault on the digestive system, but it's surprisingly satisfying following the spicy chocolate notes of Japanese-style curry.

The atmosphere seems suspended in time, suggesting that this establishment has served as a quiet retreat for many over the years. This was the subject I intended to explore in today’s writing session, before the distractions of digital imagery led me off-piste. This is what makes a journey to the otherwise inconspicuous Kanda Nishikicho worthwhile for me. Indeed, it is a fine old kissaten.