The wooden pleasure boats now moored along the Sumida River began as vessels of rank, not recreation: in the early Edo period, the largest yakatabune belonged to daimyo households, and a 1682 sumptuary edict forced shipwrights to strip them of gold leaf and lacquered ornament. What survived the edict was the essential form. A flat-bottomed hull. A low roofed cabin. Tatami laid the length of it, and a row of paper lanterns strung along the eaves. By the eighteenth century the boats had passed to merchants and townspeople, and the river became Edo's summer promenade. Cooling boats gathered for the Ryogoku fireworks, a tradition dating to 1733 and still observed each July. The tempura served aboard was a street food elevated by proximity to the water, fried to order in the stern galley while the hull drifted. A private yakatabune dinner cruise preserves that arrangement almost exactly: cooking happens on board, in motion, a few metres from the diners. The modern route is a legible map of the city. Boats depart from piers near Azumabashi and drop downriver beneath a sequence of bridges, each painted a distinct colour under a 1920s reconstruction programme that followed the Great Kanto Earthquake — Komagatabashi in rust red, Kiyosubashi in pale blue, Eitaibashi in deep indigo. Tokyo Skytree stands 634 metres above the eastern bank. Downstream, the channel opens into Tokyo Bay, where the Rainbow Bridge frames the Odaiba waterfront and boats often hold position for twenty minutes before turning back. Fewer than 40 operators remain in the Tokyo yakatabune cooperative, most of them family firms in their third or fourth generation. The craft is specific. Hulls are built low enough to clear the older bridges at high tide. Cabins seat between 20 and 100 guests on tatami or, increasingly, on sunken hori-gotatsu benches that spare Western knees. Menus differ by house — tempura and sashimi at some, sukiyaki or a tea ceremony with wagashi and live shamisen at others — but the structure holds: a set course, unhurried, served while the shoreline moves. That continuity is why the boats matter now. Tokyo rebuilt its riverfront twice in the twentieth century, and the Sumida's banks are largely concrete revetment today. Seen from the water at night, with the lanterns lit and the bridges above, the city returns briefly to its older orientation. A private yakatabune dinner cruise is less a meal with a view than a surviving vantage point.