Some die-hards even took the bit and drove the 40 miles into the deepest part of Orange County (seriously, it's practically Irvine!). Good for them, but I already had my desination izakaya: the original Musha in Torrance—yes, consider this my impassioned plea for the South Bay.
Now the fabled restaurant has set up a second location in Little Tokyo. The dining room was half full when we arrived on a Friday night. Cool, the tatami room was available—but no sooner did we settle on the floor than my dining partner started fidgeting on his zabuton. Uh oh. This was going to be a long night.
Like most izakayas, the menu was encyclopedic: sushi and sashimi, “grilled,” “stewed,” “steamed,” “deep fried,” “stir fried.” “Must have items” were stamped with a jaunty red star-and-circle. Even still, it was a good thing I came properly prepared with a list of recommended dishes.
But one after another—braised pork, the octopus fritters—was met with a chagrined, “Oh…I’m sorry, but we’re out.” We understood; it’s a common enough problem with new restaurants. However, when asked, our server was extremely shy about offering recommendations.
Left a bit in the dark, we proceeded to order from the “grilled” portion of the menu, thinking that robata-yaki would not only be the safest bet, but the best indication of the cuisine. As common as izakayas have become in the city, ones with a traditional, binchotan-burning grill are still the exception. But as the dishes began to appear, we realized our error. At Honda-Ya, “grilled” translated to sautéed or pan-fried fare; the actual robata selection was printed separately on a white sliver of a paper that had slipped under our sake menu. Sigh.
Round three, and regretting a nightmare of a dish that fused mochi cake, cod roe and mozzarella cheese in a porcelain baker (please don’t ask, it was a regrettable moment of indiscretion), we ended our night with the high notes of barbecued eel and bacon-wrapped sausage, served gratifyingly hot on delicate skewers. Lesson learned, I thought as we uncoiled our cramped legs. Domo arigato, you elusive robata.
Food: A wide-range of small plates, categorized according to preparation type, as well as noodles, rice dishes and combinations. And that scrap of paper isn’t for sushi; that’s the robata selection.
Drink: Solid and diverse offering of sake and beer. Kirin and Sapporo are available on draft.
Insider tip: The tatami room may promise an "authentic" experience; but for long-legged joes, a commonplace booth, the communal table at center or even a seat at the robata bar makes for a more enjoyable meal.
Jiyeon Yoo is Restaurants editor for Metromix Los Angeles.
