Trapped in Tokyo through another steamy summer and, not surprisingly, we are dreaming of south-sea islands. Sun-dappled beaches of pure white sand lapped by the calm, azure ocean; the wind soughing through fields of sugar cane; and a plate of stewed pigs' ears and goat sashimi washed down with high-octane awamori liquor. Ah, that's heaven -- or at least the Okinawa version.

Japan's southernmost prefecture may not boast one of the world's great cuisines, but its islands -- at least the more remote ones -- come very close to subtropical perfection. And these days Tokyo has a growing number of bars and restaurants providing that exotic experience, vicariously, at least. And so here we are, feet tapping to the rhythmic twang of a sanshin, the Okinawan three-string shamisen, and head nodding to the plaintive, haunting singing of the isles. We are in the heart of Roppongi, four floors above the crossing, in Shimauta Paradise.

It's a simple, laid-back izakaya, with a vaguely maritime feel to the decor. The ceiling is low but the large communal tables with long benches give it a spacious feel. The young crew, amiably casual but generally on the ball, wear T-shirts and jeans. Some customers even sport cut-off shorts and sandals. This is certainly not your typical Roppongi crowd.