Mils Tacos – Sasazuka’s Slow-Burn Sensation | MK Eats
- M.R. Lucas
- Jul 31
- 3 min read
In midsummer, Tokyo becomes a furnace of concrete and humidity. I find myself dodging the sun from shadow to shadow, like a hazard on a Super Mario Bros. 3 stage. By the time I reach the quiet stretch of Sasazuka, the part of Shibuya only locals talk about, I feel parched and half-delirious. But there is an oasis in the heatwave haze: Mils Tacos.
Word is spreading about this spot, and for good reason. Greeted in English as if greeting an old friend, I enter a space that feels more like a home kitchen in Guadalajara than a Tokyo restaurant. Inside, vintage lucha libre masks are on display, a looping black-and-white film shows two men in sombreros sipping tequila, and Mexican cookbooks line a shelf, some with owner Roy’s signature recipes. The vibe isn’t trendy; it’s warm, familiar, and genuine. The windows are lined with glass bottles of Jarritos soda—lime, mango, and cola—the same ones I used to grab at the bodega back home in Queens.
Then, the food arrives.
A burrito, tightly wrapped and steaming with beef, beans, and a flavorful mix of ingredients, as thick as my fist. Chicken nachos piled high with melted cheese, jalapeños, black beans, and salsa—no skimping here. The fridge is stocked with Mexican staples, such as Corona and Tecate, along with a rotating selection of craft beers, mostly IPAs. A cactus stands at the entrance like a mirage: from the outside, the place seems modest, but inside it opens into the warm buzz of a cantina.
Mils Tacos isn’t trying to be trendy; it aims to feel like home. Roy, the owner, explains that his concept is grounded in flavors from his childhood and a response to Tokyo’s historic lack of authentic Mexican cuisine. “Nachos weren’t on the menu where I worked,” he recalls, referencing his eleven years at a pioneering taco chain in Japan. “But I kept searching for them. Each time I found some, I’d wonder, ‘what is this?’” They were good, he admits, but never quite right.
So Roy started experimenting in his kitchen, reverse-engineering the nachos from childhood memory until he finally perfected the flavor. When he served it to his boss, the feedback was bittersweet: “It’s delicious, but it won’t sell here.” Roy believed otherwise.
He left on good terms, still consulting for his former employer, and opened Mils Tacos three years ago. The response has been excellent. Customers now order nachos not to share, but to enjoy alone. Tables stay busy. The phone rings nonstop. Plans for a second location are already underway.
The kitchen is cozy yet efficient, staffed by three Mexican chefs working in perfect harmony. Genuine tequila and mixed drinks are available, a rare find in Tokyo unless you’re well-connected. Mils continues to evolve, and loyal customers notice. Regulars greet Roy by name, chatting like neighbors leaning over a fence. No one rushes. You open a Tecate, let the conversation flow, and stay longer than you planned.
From The Wife’s Notes
Initially, I was worried that the space might be small, but the friendly staff made us feel comfortable, and we were seated quickly. Both my husband and brother-in-law, who are foreigners, received warm welcomes, and the relaxed atmosphere was immediately obvious. The menu was simple, with a QR code that showed photos, making it easy for first-time diners to place their orders. A highlight was a shrimp and avocado dish inspired by Japanese flavors; it was especially delicious when wrapped in tortillas for a traditional touch!
Hours later, my clothes still carried the smell of grilled meat and spices. I kept asking my wife and brother, “Man, do you remember those nachos?” because honestly, they were that good. This isn’t Tex-Mex imitation; it’s the real thing. And I’ll be back.
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