Humble Feasts: 36 Hours of Osaka Comfort Food

NAMBA, THE BRASH SOUTHERN node of downtown Osaka, is hard to love. Compared to Umeda, the city’s more cultured, affluent northern pole, it comes across as brash and garish, intense and overcrowded. The Osaka experience on steroids, some might say.

Others see it differently. This district, they maintain, is where the real Osaka shows its true and vibrant face. You don’t go there looking for peace, calm or refinement. You have to gear up for the unremitting, hyperventilating neon buzz.

And, yes, that is partly the reason I’m there. Even the laziest of strolls around Namba—most notably in the clogged streets of the Dotonbori area—offers a veritable contact high, especially for those of us who are only occasional visitors to Japan’s self-styled "Second City." (Actually, by population it’s the third largest).

But I have another mission: I’m here to eat. Not the sophisticated washoku menus served at Osaka’s discreet kappo (counter-style) restaurants, but the gloriously feed-your-face, low-end comfort food that is equally a hallmark of this ever-hungry town. My only parameters: I have 36 hours; and I will spend them all in Namba.

FIRST THINGS FIRST: BEFORE an evening of snacking and bar hopping, I need noodles. Kinryu Ramen fits the bill perfectly. Just look for the massive 3D green-and-gold dragon overhead as you emerge from Namba subway station (Exit 14 is closest). Open 24/7, Kinryu is utterly basic, a compact kitchen open to the elements on two sides, and feels little more than a yatai street stall, with its standing-only counters just big enough for eight people at any one time.

Kinryu now has four other locations nearby that are more spacious and even have seating. But I’m not planning on staying long. I buy a ticket from the vending machine (¥800 standard; ¥1,100 for extra chashu pork), wait till a space frees up at the counter, then join the other customers hunched over their bowls.

The thick, rich, steaming-hot torigara-tonkotsu (chicken and pork bone) soup and the hefty noodles pack the perfect combination of carbs, fat and salty-savory umami to line my stomach, turbocharge my appetite and prime the taste buds. Don’t overlook the free kimchi, spicy greens, and grated garlic in large bowls on the counter: they provide essential probiotics along with their heat and punch.

A Nightlife District Dating Back to the 17th Century

AMPLY FORTIFIED, I HEAD into the back streets, past a pair of red lanterns marking the entrance to a narrow, stone-flagged alley. Redolent with history and quite unlike anywhere else in this neighborhood, it leads to Hozen-ji, a small temple where locals worship at a Buddhist statue covered entirely under green moss. Before going any farther, I pause to offer a quick prayer for my safety and health, for the world at large, and also for the future of this charming oasis of low-rise calm, here in the heart of such a boisterous nightlife center.

Now it’s time to brave the crowds, gaze at the sights, and drink a few beers. The pedestrian street running parallel with the Dotonbori canal is ablaze with lights and packed with tourists. This has been the nightlife area of Osaka since the mid-17th century, when the area became the city’s designated entertainment district. Of the once-numerous traditional theaters, however, only one, Shochikuza, has survived to the present day.

The area is a riot of neon and blaring music, each eatery aiming to outdo its neighbors, with giant 3D signs projecting out over the street. More dragons, giant wagyu cattle, a scowling giant and a grinning demon, disembodied hands holding outsize sushi or onigiri. They’re certainly impressive but they don’t spell comfort food for me. Nor does the animatronic crab with its moving legs and pincers over the entrance to Kanidoraku, the restaurant that launched this garish parade.

Instead, I find welcome sanctuary inside Tako-ume Honten. The specialty here is kanto-daki, the Osaka take on oden, the popular winter hotpot. The tray of simmering ingredients holds kamaboko fishcakes, deep-fried tofu, hardboiled eggs, thick slices of daikon radish so tender you can slide a chopstick through them, and more.

Tako-ume was founded in 1844, and five generations down the line it’s become a local classic. Just slide open the wooden door and slip into a seat at the well-worn, patinated counter. I start with a beer or two to quench my thirst, then progress to atsukan (heated) sake. It’s the perfect cold-weather foil for the signature soft-cooked octopus, skewers of saezuri (whale tongue) and sticks of oysters from the Seto Inland Sea.

ONLY HALF OF THE 12 seats at this convivial counter are available to walk-in customers. The others are kept for those who book ahead of time. It’s just as well they impose a 90-minute time limit as this is just the sort of place I’d be tempted to spend all evening.

One last stop before I call it a day. On the other side of the canal lies Acchichi Honpo, serving takoyaki, another Osaka classic, to the late-night shoppers and carousers making their way along the waterside.

The name over the entrance is onomatopoeic—something along the lines of "Damn that’s hot!"—but it’s also a warning. The golden takoyaki octopus balls may look irresistibly tasty with their waving tentacles of bonito flakes but the batter inside is molten hot. A pro tip: pierce each with a chopstick or toothpick as soon as you get your order and allow plenty of time for the steam to waft out. Many a tongue has been scalded here, so it makes sense of have a cold beer on hand. A perfect nightcap to end the evening.

Morning set and pancake lunch

SOME EIGHT HOURS LATER I am back in the same neighborhood, this time in search of breakfast. The stately brick facade of Marufuku Kohiten beckons. This classic old-school coffee shop dates from 1934. Inside, it brims with retro atmosphere, all dark-wood furnishings, chefs in white toques, and prim waitresses in uniform.

The coffee is dark and strong. The "morning set" choices include thick wedges of white toast topped with cheese. They also serve an excellent egg sandwich. In fact they claim to have invented this genre, which has now become a kombini (convenience store) standard. Just the ticket to fortify me while I wait in line for lunch.

Just around the corner on the busy Sennichimae shopping street lies Mizuno, one of the city’s best purveyors of the savory pancakes known as okonomiyaki. The word has long been out, even in the Michelin guide where it held bib-gourmand status for a number of years. And that means the queue starts to form well ahead of its 11a.m. opening time.

Half an hour before opening, those at the front of the line are handed laminated menus (English and Chinese versions available) and asked to place our orders. There’s a catch: you’re not allowed to order anything more once you’re inside.

How do you gauge how hungry you’ll be by the time you sit down? There’s no knowing, but one pancake is never enough. My personal favorites are the negi-yaki (pork and oysters plus plenty of Welsh onion greens); and the Mizuno-yaki, which seems to include just about every ingredient on the menu. You can also order yakisoba noodles, modan-yaki (okonomiyaki with noodles), side dishes, and rice. There are even vegetarian and gluten-free options.

One more thing: be sure to ask for a seat on the first floor, even if it means waiting a bit longer. That way you can watch your order being cooked right in front of you, and eat it directly from the griddle. First, the basic pancake mix is poured onto the grill with the extra ingredients placed on top. Once the bottom has turned a delectable golden-brown, it will be flipped over and finished with seasonings to order: thick, brown (Worcestershire-style) sauce, mayonnaise, and maybe sprinkles of sesame or tangy, deep-green ao-nori seaweed.

It’s hard to find a bad okonomiyaki in Osaka, as long as it’s made to order. But Mizuno’s are definitely a cut above; each time I’ve eaten here I’ve vowed to return soon. The problem is there’s so much else to eat in this city and it’s just too far from Tokyo to visit often enough.

The guerilla approach to dining in Namba

I REPAIR TO THE MARVELOUS old (since 1951) Arabiya, to rest up and ponder my next moves over coffee and a purin (egg custard pudding). Then, before dinner, I lubricate my appetite on the other side of the canal at Umineko, a narrow standing bar with nine taps of local craft beer, most from the excellent Derailleur brewery.

Having quenched my thirst, I head to Harijyu, another surviving post-WW2-Osaka mainstay, best known for its black wagyu sukiyaki and shabushabu served in private rooms by kimono’d matrons. This evening, I install myself in the more casual, affordable yoshoku Harijyu Grill on the ground floor where they serve omu-raisu (omelette stuffed with savory beef and rice) cooked so perfectly you’d think it was a plastic food sample taken from the showcase outside.

I consider my options, while rounding the evening off with a few postprandials at the elegant counter of the venerable but never snooty Masuda. Founded in 1958, it is one of the oldest bars in the city.

I may have just enough time to stop by the wonderful but austere takoyaki stand Ganso Ajiho, where they glare if you even think about taking photos of them. But will I also have stomach space for kushi-age (skewered morsels of meat, fish or vegetable, breaded and deep-fried)? Or be able to track down other signature Osaka foods such as tanuki udon (wheat noodles with deep-fried tofu)?

Sadly I won’t. A century or so ago, it became fashionable to use the term kui-daore—"eating till you collapse"—to describe Osaka citizens’ unquenchable love of eating. Originally it was said in the sense of "dining out till you bankrupt yourself," but it could equally mean "till you collapse with exhaustion." Today I am dropping out not due to overeating—and certainly not from overspending—but simply due to lack of time. I have to get back to Tokyo first thing the next morning. And that’s not a bad thing, really.

One lesson I have learned from this trip is that Namba—and Dotenbori in particular—is best tackled in short, sharp doses, a pin-point guerrilla raid followed by an equally quick retreat. As long as you have done your homework ahead of time, the eating possibilities are not just comforting: they’re second to none.