Torafuku - Like White on Rice

Torafuku.

Don’t say it out loud unless you want to get lynched by a gang of rabbis.

It occurs to me that I actually have no idea how to pronouce the name of this restaurant, Torafuku, but when first it appeared in its little end-of-block location on Pico Blvd. near the Westside Pavilion a few years ago, I was certain that the place would be doomed because people would be afraid to say “Hey, let’s do Torah, fuck you” for fear of being labeled one of those fanatical subversive ex-Jews raising their fists in anger. You know, because there are so many of those loons running around out there wearing their yamulkes upside down.

Or perhaps Torafuku is “tora-foo-koo,” or hell, maybe even “toe *pause* rafu (rhymes with “snafu”) koo.” But neither of those conjures the same colorful (fun) imagery.

If you thought "Torafuku" was tough, try saying “kamado” without thinking about a small but ferocious dragon, “free balling,” or a toilet. Or all three simultaneously. Use your imagination.

Torafuku is famous, if a few threads in the underground and five location in the Motherland can be considered “fame,” for their steamed rice. It’s not the rice, per se, but the kamado in which the rice is prepared that gets people’s chopsticks in an orgiastic tangle. These 500-pound behemoths are iron pots encased in earthenware ovens that boil, slow steam, then bake rice, an ancient method that supposedly produces rice with an unparelled flavor and texture.

Hm. It's white rice, for fox ache.

Whether it’s the kamado or the output of the kamado, I was absolutely intrigued by steamed white rice as a focal point. Truffles, fois gras, jamon iberico, pizza napoletana, prime rib – these are things that I consider foods that deserve attention because they are expensive, exotic, taboo, illegal, difficult to obtain, not normally prepared at home on a Tuesday night for dinner (unless, of course, donning a tall white hat, chef's jacket, gold medals, and pushing an extremely large metal cart through your kitchen with a side of beef you’ve been roasting all day is a regular, weeknight occurrence in your household). For someone with an Asian heritage, rice is none of the above. Rice is mundane. Rice is common. Rice is so very everday with Rachael Ray. We Asian folk eat plain white rice like you white folk eat Wonder bread. For me in particular *ahem* I don’t even like rice.

Wha?? you say. She’s an Asian girl and she don’t like rice?!?!

Yeah. My family doesn't really understand me either.

I realize, of course, that all this baloney coming from me about rice is a bunch of processed meat, since I am fast returning to my sushi-hound history. (Oh, The Captain is going to be proud of me now.) Contrary to the popular notion that sushi is a cuisine of raw fish, the truth is that sushi is a Japanese sub-cuisine that is focused on rice. "Sushi" is sweetened, vinegared rice, so saying I love sushi so much that I put Shamu to shame is not quite accurate. Oh well. I have always been more of a sashimi girl anyway. So no, I am not a hypocrite. At least, not when it comes to rice.

For some reason, from the outside, I expected the interior to feel like Shogun (the way Nanbankan makes me feel like I am a geisha shuffling inside to meet some samurai warrior). The dark wood, pottery, and calligraphy all suggested ancient feudal Ran Japan. Though use of the kamado is an ancient technique, Torafuku’s décor definitely breathes the opposite: quiet, modern Asian (omg, that is the exact opposite of me!) with simple, sleek lines, light colors, and the occasional paper sliding door. The only thing that even suggested Shogun was…pretty much nothing.

The dining room had plenty of available tables when we walked in, but we opted for the bar because I am bar-dining type of girl. There are a number of reasons, the most notable being 1) it’s a bar, which is a comfortable, familiar place for a lushious lush like me, 2) service always seems to be faster at the bar because the server/bartender is never more than two feet away, and 3) if I happen to be on a date, I don’t have to be in the uncomfortable position of facing him at a table, and can choose to turn or lean in if and when I feel the urge or the alcohol that has been consumed at the bar has taken over.

I'm not saying I was on a date. I’m just saying.

I could see the row of kamados behind the counter from where we were seated at the bar. I ordered an umeshu because that’s how we do, then did my best to not knock over spice canisters and tiny shoyu pitchers while negotiating the menu, an awkwardly oversized thing that was covered front and back with bulky, broad slabs of wood. It seemed a little bit much for a menu. It seemed a lot much for the simplicity of only two pages inside.

Now consider the first several paragraphs a disclaimer; I do not love rice. I am quite certain that unless the rice is tossed with salty meat and swimming in hot cock, I wouldn’t choose to eat it. Therefore, because I categorize plain steamed white r
ice as “filler,” it is no surprise that I did not order rice from Torafuku’s selection, which includes rice dishes that are mixed with things (anchovies and egg) and plain steamed rice, which is $3 at Torafuku. I believe the restaurant’s real name is Walletfuku.

We did, however, order one of my favorite things, lightly seasoned, broiled fish. Forgive me for not paying attention to the type of fish – the menu said cod, but I swear it was something oilier like a mackerel (my favorite). Under the broiler, the top layer of skin had browned and blossomed into a field of tiny black blisters, a miserable consequence for an overeager beauty in a tanning bed, but a fabulously crisp culmination for a side of fish. I peeled the skin back away from the glimmering, fleshy flakes inside, and while some people won’t eat fish skin, I devoured it. They should sell that stuff as snacks in a bag.

The rest of the dishes don’t deserve any special mention other than that they we ordered them and ate them. Torafuku’s menu is divided into a number of categories of foods, all of which I would call “small plates”: Starters, Soup/Salads, what they call “Japanese Delicacies,” the Rice Dishes, and Noodles. We ordered things from the section called A La Carte, which includes Sushi, Sashimi, Grilled, and Breaded, which you order per piece. Chicken from the charcoal grill, like yakitori, but not on a skewer, was bland, requiring a prescription strength dosage of spice (togarashi), but tender. I would have been very surprised if it had not been tender – you can send thighs through a wringer and they’d still be juicy, right?

We ordered free-range chicken and little meatballs from the Breaded section. They were crisp, no doubt, and came with sauces that matched: a semi-sweet brown sauce for the chicken like tonkatsu sauce, and a strange, tartar-like white cream sauce. I ignored both and went again for the spice.

The meal at Torafuku was not horrible. In fact, it was very very decent, and the setting was pleasant. However, I doubt I’ll go back because it is also fairly expensive for what it is, and given that I don't sweat over rice, well...

The date that wasn't a date, on the other hand...

Torafuku
10914 W. Pico Blvd (just west of the Westside Pavilion)
Los Angeles, CA 90066
310.470.0014
www.torafuku-usa.com

** a year ago today, i made strawberries and cream babycakes for our babycakes **

tags :: food : and drink : japanese : restaurants : reviews : los angeles