Ritz Bites

Masa Takayama Was Here: Arado

Arado is a perfectly fine and friendly Korean style Japanese restaurant with a helpful staff, an oozingly sincere mission statement, and side room bizarrely dedicated to the oceanic world. But one major element that defined the place's first incarnation is long gone: the man who went on to become arguably the most famous sushi chef in America.



Along with delis and era-appropriate health food restaurants, modest Japanese restaurants were a staple of our hamisheh restaurant eating in late 1970s and early 80s Los Angeles. The regular rotation included Aoi on First Street (still there), Kuishimbo on Wilshire and Wilton (moved to 6th and Catalina), Feast from the East when my dad's friend ran it, and Benibasha on Olympic and Norton, with its awesome jukebox. (After we saw Grease at a Hollywood movie theater, I was thrilled to find "You're the One That I Want" included among the machine's killer choices of late 70s pop hits.)

My sister was the adventurous one when we ate out, and an unusually young raw food enthusiast. Few single-digit aged kids ordered steak tartare at Chasen's or asked their mom to bring home a dozen oysters from Phil's Phresh Fish. I stuck to the tried and true. I'd eaten more chicken teriyaki and tempura combos by age 10 than I care to count.

When a simple Japanese restaurant and sushi bar called Saba-Ya opened its doors near Kuishimbo on Wilshire and Wilton in the early 80s, our family went there a lot, in part because Alison's seemingly endless appetite for the sashimi, and friends owned a women's clothing store in the same strip mall. The sushi chef and owner was an affable Japanese gentleman who warmly welcomed us to the bar, where he'd ply my sister with his product. I wanted to want to eat those delicate slices of translucent raw fish, but in reality, I found sushi revolting. Cucumber rolls were fine, but raw tuna itself made me gag. Literally. In front of the nice sushi guy. Classy!

After a few years the main chef was no longer at Saba-Ya. We remained regulars anyway, but got word he'd opened a new joint across the street, tucked in the back corner of the slick two-story strip mall that also featured an exciting new take-out place called El Pollo Loco. Apparently the other sushi bar was a step up from Saba-Ya. So one afternoon my dad and I poked our heads in to scope it out; the light stained wood paneled room was beautiful, and still remains in my limited experience the paragon of less-is-more impeccable Japanese taste, but we couldn't spot a menu anywhere. Plus it was filled with seriously serious businessmen, and the hushed sound level was intimidatingly serene.

We then read how a sushi chef named Masa Takayama who's run a little restaurant called Saba-Ya operated THE most expensive restaurant in Los Angeles located in a Koreatown strip mall. It also happened to be Marlon Brando's favorite. Suddenly the situation made sense, and Ginza Sushi-Ko soon after relocated to Beverly Hills.

Arado doesn't exactly retain the luster of its previous tenant. But it's good for sharing an easy lunch and stories with the kids, and using nostalgic reflection as consolation for not eating at Masa any time soon. Who knows, maybe he'll want to revisit his humble L.A. roots someday.

Arado
4001 Wilshire Boulevard
Los Angeles, CA 90010
213.387.1199

Take the 405 South forever, exit Ramen Parkway...

While we're in New York for a little while, let's brag about some local So Cal food gets -- killer ramen.

Santoka thankfully lives up to the hype, which is very important. My typical colossally stupid driving mistakes when going behind the Orange Curtain mean the effort better pay off. This famous ramen has all the smoky intensity with more delicateness than Daikokuya. The food court setting and display of molded faux food in the great Japanese tradition cannot be undervalued either.

I had not an ounce of eater's remorse with the Chibi (small) shio ramen combo with negi meshi (green onion and egg mixture over rice). I totally preferred the salt ramen broth to the stronger miso and soy sauce varieties. And I could have eaten a regular sized portion, plus the sides. 

For more information, go to the  real experts.

 

Santoka Ramen
665 Paularino Avenue
Costa Mesa, CA 92626

NYT Op-Ed Page: Sushi Sunday

With so many other hot button news topics in play now, it was surprising to see not one, but two sushi-themed op-ed pieces in Sunday's New York Times. 

Apparently we need to try more stuff other than ubiquitous tuna.  Fortunately in these parts that's an easy order, and I already try to minimize my tuna intake.  But does this mean no more occasional toro treats? 

Next, I wonder if the leagues of paranoid preggos out there (myself formerly among them), will take Steven A. Shaw's lesson to heart:

You can be sure that, were there documented complications resulting from pregnant women eating sushi in Japan, there would be swift government intervention. Yet, in the United States, it is taboo for a pregnant woman to eat raw fish....But this isn’t because scientific research has concluded that unborn children have been damaged by sushi...There are several reasons, however, that these fears are unfounded.

OK, good points all, especially "pregnancy should be a time of joy, not stress."  But I doubt the author's point about how the ban insults Japanese culture will carry much influence.  Millions of culturally insensitive food faux pas happen every second.  If that were a serious issue, bye bye California roll, as well as a good chunk of Nobu's menu.

Noshi Sushi Noshing

Over ten years.  That's how long I've been meaning to go to Noshi Sushi on Beverly.  Pathetic.

Let's face it: Noshi isn't the most welcoming of places from the outside.  With its blocked out window openings and monochromatic brown exterior, the restaurant looks like a bunker.  Customers are 100% reliant on the Open/Closed sign, since the other ways of sussing out if a business is open are completely moot.  You can't see if the lights are on, or if there are people enjoying well-priced sushi inside. 

Within an hour and for a mere twenty-odd bucks per person, we'd stuffed ourselves with yellowtail, spicy yellowtail, yellowtail belly, red snapper, snow crab hand rolls, albacore sushi, and freshly sliced cucumber salad.   

I'm so glad our friend Andy kept pushing us to meet him for a Noshi lunch, also because I love this older generation of Japanese eateries.  I worry that the cultural synthesis evident in many of the Japanese restaurants I grew up eating in around L.A. -- those American coffee shops given a once-over with Japanese surface treatments -- will gradually disappear. 

At least Noshi's reputation and prices should keep it going strong (and unchanged) for many years to come.

Noshi Sushi
4430 Beverly Blvd.
Los Angeles 90004
323.469.3458

We've Come a Long Way, Baby

The prospect of running an annoying bureaucratic errand to the L.A. County Registrar-Recorder in Van Nuys, going to the bank, eating at a sushi bar with the baby, and fitting into my pre-pregnancy Lucky jeans all in the same day would've seemed nearly impossible merely a few weeks ago. 

Yet on the day of his fifth month birthday, all these things were magically doable.  Just as babies grow by leaps and bounds, parents get satisfaction from our own minor personal milestones, too.  I felt good.

The dumb stuff was done.  Time for lunch.  The wait at the Studio City Sushi Katsu-Ya was hardly quick during the lunch rush.  But by the time we were in the perfect seat at the end of the sushi bar, I had a sleeping baby in the sling and a big appetite at the ready.  And a lot of excitement -- I never thought I'd eat at an actual sushi bar with a child, ever. 

The yellowtail sushi was so soft that it hardly needed to be chewed.  And that crispy rice with spicy tuna specialty is popular for a good reason.  But I had to pick out shells out of the blue crab handroll, happy that I didn't crack a tooth before I caught the bits. 

As great as Katsu-ya is, lunch wasn't paced very well considering I ate at the bar instead of a table, and I felt bad interrupting to make requests or ask questions because the staff is so intensely focused on what they're doing.  On second thought, it was lunch -- they assume people want to get in and out fast. 

I plan to bring this new extra confidence to our treasured little Sushi Ike down the street.  (We've been a few times, but always sat at a table.)  Now I'll have to go for lunch during nap time, and enjoy the more personable , leisurely service at the bar.   

What's Wako?

Wako Donkasu serves as a good reminder that looks can be deceiving.  I expected some sort of delicate food served in the gorgeous looking dining room I've noticed on the south side of Olympic a couple blocks east of Vermont.  We easily convinced Peter and Michelle to join us in the unknown, which turned out to be a ... cutlet place.  My husband got the last laugh, since I was in it for the decor and don't care for cutlets, and he LOVES them.  So the arrangement worked out quite nicely, actually.

The interior is full of Dwell meets the Martha Stewart set in K-Town.  Try-this-at-home elements abound.  Rectangular light fixtures have delicate paper loosely attached, which are a clever DIY touch.  The other side of the restaurant is lit with round pendants (pictured), and the large centerpiece placed in the middle of a communal table is the best use of fake flowers I've ever seen.  The west wall with dark and light wood horizontal panels placed at random intervals is brilliant.  Few places in this town peddling huge meals for around the ten dollar price point offer such a sophisticated interplay of texture and overall design sense.  It's accessible Asian contemporary modernism put into action.

And what a menu!  The wham bam forwardness of the graphic design lays it out clear and simple.  Wako serves just about everything fried.  Hamburger croquette?  Check.  Pork katsu served between slices of soft fluffy white bread?  Wako does it.  The sesame seeds given to us with a mortar and pestle keeps the fun coming; the waiter then pours the tangy sweet katsu sauce on top of the ground sesame mixture for dipping fried strips of protein.

I get the fish combo, which for $12 is an insane amount of food.  In addition to the battered white fish with tartar sauce, it also had a big shrimp, a fat ball of mashed potato croquette (with peas and corn bits inside), and sides including a lovely shredded cabbage salad with miso dressing, and bummer, bad miso soup.  It's hard to mess up miso soup, but Wako manages to make a gross, sweet one.  The soba noodles won't be winning any awards either.  Anyway, these are minor strikes.  The fried specialties are light enough so that we don't feel completely ill when dinner is over.

Dinner for four comes to $50, including tip.  For dessert and a nightcap we head to Campanile, since it's a quiet week there and the bar is empty.  The tab for three glasses of dessert wine and two desserts is nearly double that of dinner.   The evening held some nice surprises for us, but sadly, this last one is more amusing than shocking.

Wako Donkasu
exact address unknown; Olympic Blvd. between Normandie and Vermont Avenues