by Richard Foss
If you enjoy global cuisines, you probably visit restaurants with names in other languages all the time and wonder what they mean. They’re often regional, the name of a village or a song that evokes memories for the homesick. Sometimes they’re generic, like “fragrant garden” or “beautiful table,” but occasionally they reflect something about the owner or founder.
An unusual case of the latter is Chinchikurin in Torrance. The name translates from Japanese as “short fat guy.” The restaurant’s specialty is okonomiyaki, which translates as “grilled however you like,” so together they mean “short fat guy grills things however you like.” As restaurant names go it’s evocative, and the image that formed in my mind of the accommodating cook behind the grill was a happy one.
For those who haven’t tried okonomiyaki before, it’s worth knowing this item deserves the name – it’s a choose-your-own-adventure item that always involves many options of meat, seafood, vegetables, and sauces over a pancake. There are two major regional styles – in Osaka, a cook starts a stir-fry of whatever you like, pours batter over it, then finishes it with sauces and bonito flakes. This version is often called a Japanese pizza, because it fits the same ecological niche of being a popular fast food.
Chinchikurin specializes in Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki, a much more complex item involving many layers of food. It starts with a crepe that is successively topped with shredded cabbage, noodles, an egg, sauce, bean sprouts, a shower of seasonings, whatever protein you ordered, and then more sauce and seasonings. It’s endlessly interesting to watch the chefs creating these, as they assemble these baroque creations using spatulas, spoons, shakers of condiments, and the occasional blowtorch to crisp the cheese or mayonnaise atop a tower of food. If it reminds you of teppanyaki, the style of cooking popularized by Benihana of Tokyo, that’s probably not a coincidence – okonomiyaki was first popular in the 1930s, and the more meat-heavy teppanyaki became popular more than a decade later.
Okonomiyaki is a filling dish, but on a recent visit we decided to order a pair of appetizers, the fried chicken topped with Japanese tartar sauce and the “cheesy spam accordion,” because when you see something with a name like that, how can you not order it. It’s a large piece of spam with neat slices cut most of the way through it so that the cheese on top can melt down into it when it is hit with the blowtorch and then topped with herbs. My spam consumption for a typical year is a few ounces in Hawaiian and Korean restaurants, but I found this weirdly enjoyable. If you like fat, salt, and umami you may like it too, and since the fast food industry makes bucks producing fatty, salty food, they may be on to something.
The fried chicken was the standard lightly breaded and juicy birdie bits topped with something that was more like an egg salad with a dash of wasabi than a conventional tartar sauce. This was good on the chicken, much better when mixed with the chopped cabbage that was underneath it. It’s not essential, but was a nice bite to start with while waiting for the main event.
The most traditional filling for okonomiyaki is pork, with or without flattened deep-fried squid, and I’ve enjoyed both. On this trip our party of three split two orders, one pork with basil and cheese and a house special called Chinchikurinyaki. That includes seasoned ground beef and a heaping topping of scallions along with all the other goodies that are encased between the turnip-flour pancake and the noodles. Since the very meaning of okonomiyaki is to have it however you like it, there are numerous add-ins and you’re welcome to create your own combination. We added a little kimuchi, the mild Japanese variant of kimchi, to ours. You also have the option of having the fried noodle cake soft, which is traditional, or crisp which is modern, and in the spirit of experimentation we ordered one made each way. Vegetarians and those who are on gluten-free diets will be happy to know that their needs can be taken care of too – there really is something for everybody.
It was great fun watching the hummingbird-like movements of the chef as he deftly tossed and piled food on the grill, and we speculated about which of the creations would be ours. While doing so we sampled Japanese beers, the Sapporo black and Kawaba sunrise ale. Many people think of all Japanese beers as pale with the distinctive sweet overtone of rice in the mix, but these are from a very different tradition. The Japanese learned brewing from Germans, and these have the depth of flavor that shows they were paying attention to their teachers.
When our entrees arrived, we decided we were wise to order only two for three people since we had starters. The standard size plate was topped with fragrant food from end to end, and one would have to be hungry indeed to finish one and have much room for anything else. The basil and cheese was a thing of beauty, though my wife was insistent that the stripes of torched cheese and verdant green herbs on top made it look like a space alien. If space aliens were this tasty, they would be in trouble here. There were so many layers of flavor, so many textures, that every bite was different and they were all good.
The Chinchikurinyaki had a slight sweet and sour tang in the sauce and was also a symphony of impressions that changed as we ate it, and I’d be hard-pressed to say which was my favorite. We did have a slight preference for the crisp noodles over the soft ones, just because they held their texture as the meal went on and other elements softened in the moist heat.
I should mention that Chinchikurin also served rice bowls, ramen, and noodle dishes including cold noodles to be dipped in either a spicy or mild broth with your choice of meats and vegetables. I have had the cold noodles and found them very refreshing in hot weather, but gravitate to the okonomiyaki because it’s rare to find those locally. The restaurant also serves desserts, but I have yet to leave room for them when I visit here.
As I have learned more about the incredible variety of Japanese food, the differences between various regions, I have marveled at the power of their cooking philosophy, called washoku, which means harmony of flavors. I am very thankful that the short fat guy, whoever and wherever he is, brought this particular variant to our shores. And now that I am finished writing this I’m ready to go have another okonomiyaki, because I’m hungry for another one made just as I like it.
Chinchikurin is at 1725 West Carson Street, Unit B in Torrance. Open daily except Tuesday 11:30 a.m – 9 p.m. Free parking in adjacent lot. Wheelchair access good. Beer, wine, and sake served, some vegetarian items. (310) 533-5003, menu at chinchikurin-usa.com. ER
One Response
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