Everything you’ve ever wanted

Gaja is a remote outpost. A mile or two beyond the docks, it sits in a featureless non-space. Just north of the refinery-stripclub-truckstop district and just east of the Redondo piers, with its slatted, pastel houses, home to middle-managers and antique collectors, the city of Lomita itself is a thoroughfare, a means of getting up the coast line, going where you want to go, to the beaches, the sun, the water. Gaja is sequestered away in this gray, odd, land-locked bedroom community in an unremembered corner of LA county. Which is why this spot is so remarkable; somewhere in this stretch of liquor stores, car dealerships and disreputable sandwich counters is this welcome surprise: the only make-your-own okonomiyaki in town.

Okonomiyaki translates literally into “what you want” (okonomi) “grilled” (yaki). Sometimes, okonomiyaki is described on English menus as a Japanese “pancake", but there is really no Western analog. What goes in a proper okonomiyaki? It depends. The variations on the basic setup are as numerous as the number of grains of sand in a good sized sandbox. There is the original Osaka-style okonomiyaki (kansai), which has a basic batter comprised of rice flour, mountain yam, water, egg, and shredded cabbage. On top of that goes any combination of pork, bacon, mochi, cheese, seafood, vegetables. Hiroshima style okonomiyaki is layered, piled high and pushed flat, with extra cabbage and a handful of soba noodles thrown on top. Tokyo-style okonomiyaki (also known as manjayaki) is a runny, viscous and slightly unappetizing regional variant that is worthwhile only because you eat it with a tiny spatula the size of a coffee spoon, scrapping bits of burned rice-flour batter off the teppan like a jolly giant taking paint off the side of a barn. The first time this asian couple visited Gaja solo, we ordered the modan mix you see below:

That’s pork, squid, octopus, scallop on top. Flip this thing over twice and top it off with okonomiyaki sauce, benito flakes, Japanese mayonnaise and pulverized nori or do whatever the fuck you want with it, that’s the point. Ultimately, this is what I like about Gaja. Okonomiyaki itself is a simple affair, a peasant dish made with whatever leftovers can be scrounged up around a Japanese kitchen; it is a dense, substantial all-in-one meal. What I like about Gaja, what I think sets this place apart from any other kind of restaurant you care to think of, is that it never serves the same meal twice. Each okonomiyaki is as special and individual as a melting snowflake. Sure, we all have our own way of handling a hot bowl of pho; and we’ve all experienced the uniquely delicious anxiety of checking a piece of ribeye at the Korean BBQ, but Gaja’s infinitely tweakable offerings is the king of DIY asian foods. Their menu, at somewhere around 100 pages, would make an excellent doorstop. In addition to three regional variants of okonomiyaki, Gaja also offers Japanese soup style spaghettis, risottos, teppanyaki, and intricately layered skyscraper parfaits (another post all to itself). 

2383 Lomita St, Suite 102                                 Lomita, CA 90717

The Piece de Resistance

Santouka Ramen

665 Paularino Ave.

Costa Mesa, CA 92626

The time has finally come to fully explore what it means to be covetous. I mean, what could possibly make a person wish they were me or wish they were with me in Southern California eating $6.00 bowls of noodle soup amidst a bustling and crowded Japanese style food court?

In short, two words: Santouka Ramen.

In the inhospitable landscape of So Cal tract housing, strip malls and crowded, poorly-designed freeways, there exists a small and unassuming refuge by the name of Mitsuwa Mall. Here, you can find Japanese food and products of all kinds. The Mitsuwa Market is a supermarket that offers everything from produce and meat to Japanese snacks and beverages including Dakara, a more tasty version of his favorite beverage, Pocari Sweat, which can also be found here. (It kind of tastes like sweat. I kid you not.)

Nestled in the bustling central food court of Mitsuwa is Santouka Ramen, indisputably the best Ramen place this Asian couple has found yet. We have so far been to two Santoukas- both of course inside of Mitsuwa malls. The first is in Costa Mesa and the second is in Torrance. Both serve up hot, steaming, salty, porky bowls of deliciously fulfilling ramen. Both offer atmosphere- bamboo furniture, Japanese business men in fine tailored suits, a mini pavilion in which to eat tatami-style. (The pavilion exists in only the Torrance location.) And both are no frills, cheap thrill type establishments.

Only have a credit card? Too bad, you can't eat here. Want to take your bowl to-go? Too bad, you can't do that here. Want extra soup or noodles? You're in the wrong place, idiot. Don't you get it?

This place does not need you, nor does it need me, for that matter. Santouka Ramen is an institution and it covets no one. It serves Ramen Perfection- tender pork, perfectly made noodles shipped from Japan, and hearty, hot, unfiltered broth. (Rameniac explains the history and particularities of Santouka's regional ramen style thoroughly well.) What do I mean by unfiltered? Well, their broth has substance. Small bits of pork fat float in it. You cannot see through it. Sipping a spoonful feels like swallowing a subtropical developing nation. It is hot in there and people of all ages are busy working 12 hours in a factory with no air conditioning. The air is thick with humidity and the day is overcast. Wood fires are burning. God, do you sweat.

But this is as it should be.

With a small bowl of ramen you get 1 large piece of fall-to-pieces-in-your-mouth pork; a larger bowl offers at least 2 slices. You have the choice of ordering the shoyu, miso or shio broth, although I recommend the always reliable shoyu. Santouka also offers meal sets- a bowl of ramen with ikura over rice and a hard boiled egg, for instance- to accomodate the extra famished. Get in line, fight for a table in the court, wait for your number to be called, and then go get your blue bowl of This is What Dreams are Made of Ramen. After you finish, you will be thinking about it for days.

Just look at it. What's not to covet?

Having Santouka is better than having a new i-phone or having that new Philip Lim dress at the Co-op or having a boyfriend that other girls may want. Santouka gives me reliable satisfaction,(yes, that kind of satisfaction).

So there, covetous bitches.