When I first got to L.A., I didn't know my puet from my elbow. Luckily, a guy I knew from Oberlin gave me the lowdown on where to hang and where to eat.
Certain neighborhoods figured into his recommendations: He was fond of Palms, with places like Cafe Brasil and Versailles topping off his list. Torrance, a less-than glamorous sprawl of suburbia in the South Bay, didn't make his top ten. In fact, he recommended I skip over it.
"There's nothing there," he said. "Nothing at all."
After a decade in L.A., I now know he couldn't have been more wrong.
After one incredible feast of kushiyaki and Kyoto-style oden at Torihei, the only U.S. outpost of a franchise with eateries in Ginza and Yokohama, we were already looking forward to our next trip down the 110 for more beer and meat on a stick.
Kano & Yuri at Torihei
If you don't have a friend like Kano to show you the ropes, Torrance is as impenetrable as a Chinese box. The zoning is a complete mystery; there's block after block of warehouses, stitched together with strip malls packed with cell phone shops (what is this, the '90s?), gas stations, and Japanese restaurants.
The problem is, which one of these places is good? There's hundreds of them. And once you pick a place, how do you know what to order?
Well, with Kano, we always let her do the ordering (although after a recent conversation with Lisa's friend Chung-Yee, I couldn't help ordering the chicken-skin yakitori).
With Kano, there always ends up being too much food. But it also always ends up being an absolute feast.
Rather than blabber on and on (too late!), let me reproduce, verbatim, the semi-drunken notes I typed up in a delirium of foodie bliss just after we got home from Torihei:
Oden #1
Absolutely Delicious
Oden #1: A pouch of shrimp in a slurp-worthy broth. The broth was so delicious Aki was drinking it from the rim of the bowl!
Oden #2
Oden #2: A brighter, tangier broth with boiled half-eggs stuffed with salmon roe.
Karaage
Karaage: Succulent Japanese-style fried chicken with the fatty tang of skin but dark, rich meatiness of moist thigh meat. (Of course, can't have yakitori without a tall, sweaty bottle of Asahi.)
Daikon: smothered with ume (plum), twisting together the refreshing, the tart, and the sour.
Fish cakes
Fish cakes:, tender as soft tofu, in a broth with a garnish of yuzu.
Beef tongue kushiyaki: Each slice with a dollop of sharp wasabi; thick-cut but just the right size to tuck between your teeth.
Yakitori
Yakitori #1: Plain Jane, straight-ahead yakitori, tender and bursting with flavor (and dipped in a mound of salt).
Yakitori #2: Chicken skin accordioned on a stick, each bite almost disappearing like smoke in your mouth.
Yakitori #3: Chicken hearts with cloves of garlic. According to Kano, always order the special heart, not just the regular heart. The special heart is fattier (mine is probably special too, unfortunately: time to hit the gym), mouth-watering.
Chicken meatball yakitori
Yakitori #4: Chicken meatballs. Almost too big for a single bite, but a just-crisp-enough casing and mild ground chicken flavor on the inside.
Interesting
Woven basket of roasted ginkgo nuts, rolled in salt.
So-so
Kalbi: Too voluptuous seasoning, not enough char.
Asparagus: Bacon-wrapped asparagus rolled in Japanese curry. An interesting idea, but the asparagus was still too raw, and the flavors didn't blend.
Gratuitous karaage shot
One of the best parts about eating at authentic Japanese eateries, for us, is that Aki gets in on the act. Maybe it's because he twists and turns at the slightest hint of a Japanese morpheme, looking for an aunt or uncle or grandparent. Or maybe it's because his Ojii-san and Obaa-san love taking him to shabu-shabu at Shinsengumi in Monterey Park once a month.
In any case, Aki is down with pretty much any flavor redolent of the Japanese kitchen: miso, soy, tofu, bonito, white rice, noodles, pickled fish...you name it.
He can be a handful in a restaurant, it's true. But as a child, I was as picky as picky can get, and my parents will swear to it. As long as Aki loves stuffing his face with exotic flavors, I don't mind a little wriggling, wrestling, and piercing screams that get other customers' eyes rolling.
After all, Torihei is an izakaya, people: It's supposed to be loud!
And as far as izakayas go, Torihei easily has the best pub grub we've ever had. And that includes Japan.
Do yourself a favor and block out a few hours to eat (and drink) in Torrance. It's as good as it gets.
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| From April 2010 |
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