日本人的待客之道

The last time I was in Tokyo， I made an 1）excursion to the 2）Nihonbashi branch of 3）Takashimaya， a chain of department stores founded in 1831， because a friend told me to ride the elevators. Architecturally， the elevators aren’t anything special—the building dates back to 1933， and it looks like other grand department stores from that era. But it’s staffed by employees so attentive and polite that they transform the act of moving between floors from a 4）mundane， even annoying， task into a 5）pageant of 6）ritualized 7）courtesy.

It starts as you approach the elevator bank. An attendant in the well-tailored uniform of a 1960s stewardess （jacket， skirt， gloves， 8）pumps， 9）jaunty hat） welcomes you with a series of bows and spoken greetings that continue， without pause， as she pushes the call button and directs you to the arriving elevator with an arm held at a perfect 90-degree angle. When the elevator door opens， an operator—dressed like a stewardess from a competing airline（different color jacket）—welcomes you with more bows and greetings. This is when the display of politeness turns into a delicate series of 10）choreographed movements： You step into the elevator； the operator 11）pivots and extends her arm to protect you from the closing grate； and the attendant in the lobby turns to face you and bows deeply， holding the position with practiced stillness. Third floor， please.

Is it too much？ Maybe. The bowing and gesturing might be unnecessary—if you’ve made it to Tokyo， you know how to work an elevator— but it sends a message： From the moment you walk in the door， the employees are completely attuned to you.

Even though I was impressed with Japanese 12）civility from the moment my passport was stamped at Narita airport， I didn’t fully appreciate the extent of the country’s service culture until I was partway through a multicourse meal at Ishikawa， a small Tokyo restaurant with three 13）Michelin stars. I was sitting at the counter， directly opposite chef Hideki Ishikawa. At times he explained to me what he was preparing， but he left other dishes to my waitress， who spoke excellent English. After asking her a quick question， I noticed that she 14）kneeled before answering. In fact， she always kneeled before speaking. She wore a slim-fitting 15）kimono， and when she lowered herself she gracefully corkscrewed her body so that her knees settled on the ground without her needing to steady herself.

I felt awful—and 16）elated. What a wrong， beautiful manner in which to be guided through dinner. At the end of the meal she， Ishikawa and what seemed like the rest of the staff escorted me to the sidewalk. They stood in a line and bowed. At the end of the block， I glanced over my shoulder. They were still in formation， and when they saw me turn they bowed again.

“You have a three-star restaurant in Japan， the famous chef with all the awards—and he’s not only preparing the food， he’s preparing it for you，”says David Kinch， the chef and owner at Manresa， in Los Gatos， California. Kinch， who once worked in Japan， and he tells me that my meal at Ishikawa is how it’s done in Japan. “He actually hands it to you. He asks you， ‘How are you？ Are you enjoying it？ Is it to your liking？’ It’s a sense of hospitality that comes across as 17）genuine， not as part of a training program，” says Kinch.

A job means more than just checking off a couple of boxes. According to Masaru Watanabe， the executive director and general manager of the Palace Hotel Tokyo， a grand hotel overlooking the grounds of the 18）Imperial Palace， it demands an emotional commitment. “Although Japanese hospitality， or what we call omotenashi， has developed a reputation outside of Japan as being a 19）benchmark for exceptional service， it can be very difficult to define.” says Watanabe. “To me， it is hospitality that’s extended with the utmost sincerity， grace and respect， however big or small the gesture or the task. Not to be mistaken with the other， perhaps m o r e c o m m o n l y experienced version of service， which is superficial service delivered out of a sense of obligation and with an expectation of reward.”

I experienced that one night when I went for a 20）nightcap at the New York Bar on the top floor of the Park Hyatt Tokyo， where I was staying. The staff reopened the bar—even though it was well after last call—because it was my birthday. How did they know？ My mother had a cake delivered to my room earlier， and it seemed the entire hotel was notified. Looking out over the blinking red lights that punctuate the Tokyo skyline， with a long pour of a Yamazaki single 21）malt， I thought about what might have happened at a similar hotel in London or Paris： I would have been given a 22）courteous but firm no， possibly offered a glass of Champagne in the lobby or my room. It’s a safe bet the hotel wouldn’t have reopened its marquee bar for one last $14 whisky.

According to Merry White， author of Coffee Life in Japan and professor of anthropology at Boston University， what I experienced at the Park Hyatt Tokyo was an example of omoiyari. “It means the active sensitivity to other people，”she tells me. “It anticipates the needs and desires of other people. It’s not broad-brush， it’s fine-tuned.” White explains that omoiyari is taught to children and praised in school. When the staff reopened the bar for me， it was because they could tell it would make me happy to play out my Lost in Translation fantasy.

I found omotenashi in a municipal agency that rented bicycles for what worked out to 85 cents a day. I walked down a flight of stairs into a windowless storage room located under the sidewalk and was greeted by an elderly gentleman who welcomed me， carefully went over the contract， then personally checked the wheels， gears， brakes， handlebars and seat before escorting me to the street. The attendant wasn’t being 23）servile or 24）obsequious or overly concerned by my obvious foreignness. When he bowed and wished me well with what seemed like heartfelt sincerity， he was being professional.

上次在東京時，我游覽了高島屋的日本橋分店，只因一個朋友告訴我要去坐它家的電梯。這家連鎖百貨商店創建于1831年。從建筑學上來說，這些電梯并沒什么特別之處——這座建筑可以追溯到1933年，看上去跟那個年代延續至今的百貨商店也無甚差別。但其出彩之處是電梯還配有細心周到、彬彬有禮的服務員工，他們將“在樓層之間移動”這一乏味甚至是惱人的任務變成了一場儀禮盛會。

這一切從你走近電梯門就開始了。一名身著剪裁考究制服的侍者，以一系列的鞠躬和問候歡迎你的到來，那制服就如同上世紀六十年代空姐的裝束（外套、短裙、手套、單鞋、漂亮時髦的帽子），接著無片刻停頓，她便按下呼叫按鈕，手臂舉成完美的90度，指引你走近上升的電梯。當電梯門打開時，一位操作員——著裝酷似對手航空公司的空姐（外套顏色不同）——以更多的鞠躬和問候對你表示歡迎。這時，禮貌的表演變成了一系列設計精妙的舞蹈動作：你走進電梯；操作員旋轉并伸展她的手臂以保護你不被正在關閉的門閘夾傷；接著大廳里的侍者面向你深深鞠躬，以熟練的沉靜保持姿勢不動。請到三樓。

這是否太過了呢？也許吧。這樣的鞠躬和手勢或許毫無必要——都能來到東京了，你總不至于不會自己坐電梯吧——但這樣的儀禮傳達了一條信息：從你走進大門開始，這里的員工們就完全以你為尊，體貼照顧。

盡管自從我的護照在成田機場蓋上戳伊始，我就已被日本人的禮儀所打動，但直到我在石川餐廳——一家被評為米其林三星的東京小餐廳，享用一頓由多道菜組成的大餐且吃到一半時，我才真正欣賞起這個國家的服務文化。……