with a towel wrapped around his neck like a prizefighter, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips and a full-blast blowtorch in his hand. Toyo trades in extremes. Half the food that he sends out is raw: ruby cubes of tuna dressed with a heaping mound of fresh wasabi; sea grapes the size of ball bearings that pop like caviar against the roof of your mouth; glistening beads of salmon roe meant to be stuffed into crispy sheets of nori.
The other half gets the blowtorch treatment. Tuna is transformed into a sort of tataki stir-fry, toasted, glazed with ponzu, and tossed with a thicket of spring onions. Fish heads are blitzed under the flame until the cheeks singe and the skin screams and the eyes melt into a glorious stew meant to be extracted with chopsticks. Even sea urchin, those soft orange tongues of ocean umami, with a sweetness so subtle that cooking it is considered heretical in most culinary circles, gets blasted like a crème brûlée by Toyo and his ring of fire.
From spanking raw to burning inferno and back again, he cooks like a man possessed by some gnawing gastronomic schizophrenia. Every so often he looks up and gives wide-eyed onlookers an enthusiastic thumbs-up, but mostly he keeps to his food and his flame, laughing softly to himself at something weâll never understand. In some corners of Japanâs culinary world, where restaurants have roofs and ingredients come with responsibilities, he might be crucified for his blatant disregard for convention and basic decorum, but in Osaka, where eating is a sport and rules are made to be blowtorched, Toyo-san is a hero.
Toyo-san and his flaming tuna, icons of Osaka
(Michael Magers, lead photographer)
ç±³ 麺 é
Thatâs not to say Osaka doesnât dress up. After all, this is a city with more boutiques than Paris and more Michelin stars than New York. But even the high-end stuff in Osaka exudes the warm, inviting, youâre-here-to-have-fun-not-whisper-to-your-waiter vibe that you find at more everyday establishments.
At the heart of this ethos is kappo , counter-style dining wherein the line between chef and guest is all but dissolved entirely. Chefs talk about the menu, take orders, cook inches from your face, and reach across the counter to serve you dinner. If this sounds familiar, itâs because many of the best restaurants in the world right nowâMomofuku Ko in New York, LâAtelier de Joel Robuchon in Parisâmodel themselves after Osaka kappo .
Youâll find the counter philosophy expressed in a variety of styles across Osaka. Kigawa is the cityâs kappo nerve center, the birthplace of modern kappo and still the breeding ground for many of the cityâs best young chefs. The menu offers a hundred different dishes, all heavily tied to the seasons, all built with the best of Osakan raw materials. At Kahala, a favorite of brand-name Western chefs, Yoshifumi Mori serves an eight-course showcase of expensive, obscure local ingredients that concludes with a five-layer mille-feuille of rare beef and fresh wasabi. And at Yamagata, the chef turns his counter intelligence into a treatise on Kansai beef, a horumon -inspired showcase of the entire sacred cow: heart sashimi with charred edamame, grilled tongue coated in mushroom miso, and a four-ounce square of tenderloin sauced with barrel-aged soy and fresh sansho peppercorns.
But my favorite kappo , one of the purest expressions of Osaka-style counter eating, is found down a narrow alleyway just a few blocks removed from themadness of Dotonbori. When you walk into Wayoyuzen Nakamura, the first thing youâll see is Nakamura-san himself standing firmly behind the counter, smiling broadly and bowing as you take your seat. Heâll talk to you, ask you about your day, probe the dimensions of your hunger, discuss at length your hopes and fears.
âI can tell right away by looking at you what you want to eat,â he says. âI can tell you how many
The other half gets the blowtorch treatment. Tuna is transformed into a sort of tataki stir-fry, toasted, glazed with ponzu, and tossed with a thicket of spring onions. Fish heads are blitzed under the flame until the cheeks singe and the skin screams and the eyes melt into a glorious stew meant to be extracted with chopsticks. Even sea urchin, those soft orange tongues of ocean umami, with a sweetness so subtle that cooking it is considered heretical in most culinary circles, gets blasted like a crème brûlée by Toyo and his ring of fire.
From spanking raw to burning inferno and back again, he cooks like a man possessed by some gnawing gastronomic schizophrenia. Every so often he looks up and gives wide-eyed onlookers an enthusiastic thumbs-up, but mostly he keeps to his food and his flame, laughing softly to himself at something weâll never understand. In some corners of Japanâs culinary world, where restaurants have roofs and ingredients come with responsibilities, he might be crucified for his blatant disregard for convention and basic decorum, but in Osaka, where eating is a sport and rules are made to be blowtorched, Toyo-san is a hero.
Toyo-san and his flaming tuna, icons of Osaka
(Michael Magers, lead photographer)
ç±³ 麺 é
Thatâs not to say Osaka doesnât dress up. After all, this is a city with more boutiques than Paris and more Michelin stars than New York. But even the high-end stuff in Osaka exudes the warm, inviting, youâre-here-to-have-fun-not-whisper-to-your-waiter vibe that you find at more everyday establishments.
At the heart of this ethos is kappo , counter-style dining wherein the line between chef and guest is all but dissolved entirely. Chefs talk about the menu, take orders, cook inches from your face, and reach across the counter to serve you dinner. If this sounds familiar, itâs because many of the best restaurants in the world right nowâMomofuku Ko in New York, LâAtelier de Joel Robuchon in Parisâmodel themselves after Osaka kappo .
Youâll find the counter philosophy expressed in a variety of styles across Osaka. Kigawa is the cityâs kappo nerve center, the birthplace of modern kappo and still the breeding ground for many of the cityâs best young chefs. The menu offers a hundred different dishes, all heavily tied to the seasons, all built with the best of Osakan raw materials. At Kahala, a favorite of brand-name Western chefs, Yoshifumi Mori serves an eight-course showcase of expensive, obscure local ingredients that concludes with a five-layer mille-feuille of rare beef and fresh wasabi. And at Yamagata, the chef turns his counter intelligence into a treatise on Kansai beef, a horumon -inspired showcase of the entire sacred cow: heart sashimi with charred edamame, grilled tongue coated in mushroom miso, and a four-ounce square of tenderloin sauced with barrel-aged soy and fresh sansho peppercorns.
But my favorite kappo , one of the purest expressions of Osaka-style counter eating, is found down a narrow alleyway just a few blocks removed from themadness of Dotonbori. When you walk into Wayoyuzen Nakamura, the first thing youâll see is Nakamura-san himself standing firmly behind the counter, smiling broadly and bowing as you take your seat. Heâll talk to you, ask you about your day, probe the dimensions of your hunger, discuss at length your hopes and fears.
âI can tell right away by looking at you what you want to eat,â he says. âI can tell you how many
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