Why Kushikatsu Should Be on Your Osaka Eating Bucket List

If you couldn’t already tell by my name ‘Big Body’, there are several types of foods that took me from just a slightly plump little boy to the hulking, bipedal Sasquatch-lookalike (but more like that one from the famous blurry Sasquatch video), the main culprit being fried food. While I’ve dialed my fried food consumption back over the years, I’ve still been known to crush a KFC family bucket in a dark corner of my apartment similar to Gollum in Lord of the Rings when he savagely tears into a fish after catching it. My precious….11 herbs and spices.

So you can imagine my excitement when I learned of a popular deep-fried dish called ‘Kushikatsu’ that was said to be at the heart of Osakan identity, having first originated as an affordable, filling, and quick meal for Osaka’s blue-collar workers in the early 1900s. During my three months living in Japan, kushikatsu became somewhat of a regular occurrence and/or stop on a big night out to fuel up (in both liquid and solid form), without breaking the bank.

Forget tempura. You’re in the world of kushikatsu now.  

Below, I’ll walk you through what exactly kushikatsu is, a little history behind it and why it’s beloved in the Kansai region, the one faux pas you shouldn’t commit while eating it, and a bit about an unforgettable kushikatsu omakase experience that I booked several weeks in advance along with a must-try kushikatsu staple and chain in Osaka. 

I Narrowly Escaped Death at a Fugu Restaurant in Osaka

I kind of feel like Blake Lively in her opening monologue of that underwhelming 2012 action-thriller, Savages, when she stonerishly says, “Just because I’m telling you this story doesn’t mean I’m alive at the end of it. This could all be pre-recorded written and I could be talking writing to you from the bottom of the ocean.” You know, minus the Mexican Cartel, Salma Hayek (and Benicio del Toro), and strange (and steamy) sexual throuple with a Navy Seal and marijuana grower.  

Fugu (aka pufferfish) is one of those foods that you hear nonchalantly condescendingly tossed around in conversation, by the likes of that one couple friend who always seems to fly Cathay business to Japan, Bali, or whatever nearby Asian destination needs to be ticked off their gastronomic checklist. It’s a delicacy. It’s divisive. It’s (allegedly) deadly.  

I had to find out for myself whether a “dance with the devil” (Immortal Technique-style) was in my immediate future and decided to tempt fate. So, I threw my finest Orix Buffaloes baseball jersey and stretch-fit jeans on and headed to a fugu restaurant just 15 minutes to the west of Osaka Castle (in Osaka Japan, of course) to check it out for myself. 

Read on to find out if I survived or if I’m writing this from the bottom of the ocean with Blake and Amelia Earhart. I’ll also explain what fugu actually is and why it should be on your radar should you make a trip over to Japan. 

An Ode to Tonkatsu: Getting Gastronomically Biblical With Porky in Osaka

Oh, Tonkatsu. Eating. Hungry. Dipping my pork in Worcestershire. Golden brown, comfort, so many cutlets. Served by the Ton-katsu. Love it more than my third pet who lived to be 19 years old, a ton-Cat-su. Crunchy, refreshing cabbage, offsets the sweet fibrous meat and sour, tangy sauce. My mother’s name. Ton-kat-Sue. Fin. [Snap, snap, snap, snap – bow].

Alright. Now that we’ve got that nonsensical idiocy out of the way. Let’s talk about “the other, other beef.” Pork. Tonkatsu is a slept-on Japanese dish that doesn’t get the love it deserves when traveling to Japan. I mean, what’s not to love? 

It’s a deep-fried pork cutlet liberally coated in breadcrumbs and cooked to a medium rare, pinkish hue (but don’t worry – it’s high-quality pork) that retains more moisture than what’s expelled by an exasperated Daffy Duck quacking “suffering succotash” at Porky Pig. Unfortunately, in this scenario, Daffy and the Looney Tunes all end up slicing and dicing poor Porky, deep frying him, and serving him up for the Warner Bros lot with a side of chopped cabbage.

During my three months in Japan, I ate a lot of tonkatsu. All of it was great. However, there were two tonkatsu restaurants that won me over during my time in Osaka. Here is a bit about the institution of tonkatsu and why I’ve compiled this dedicated mixtape of late-90s and early-2000s bangers in written form, expressing my admiration, respect, and love for this Japanese dish.

Running the Gyoza Gauntlet in Osaka at 3 of My Favorite Dumpling Restaurants

Dumplings are a top three food for me…ever. I think it all stems from one Chinese New Year back in Beijing where I was invited over to a local buddy’s home to celebrate with just him and his mother. His mother apparently “took it light on us” and only prepared 150 dumplings – this isn’t hyperbole. Over the course of ten hours, we drank (Maotai for days), karaoked, and most importantly, devoured these little pillows of heaven. By the end, there wasn’t a single dumpling in sight. 

However, devouring 150, thick Chinese dumplings in one sitting will take a toll on your waistline and I swore to myself from that day forward, that if I ate 150 dumplings again, they would need to be lighter. So you can imagine how close I was to breaking down in hysterics like a 1940s couple at a train station after the husband returns from war after my first official gyoza in Japan (I had eaten gyozas thousands of times outside of Japan but it hits differently when in the gyoza motherland). 

I knew my dream to eat 150 dumplings once again was no longer a dream – it was a reality at the tips of my fingers (chopsticks?). Leading this gyoza gastronomic revolution were three gyoza-specific restaurants in Osaka.

Kirinya Honmachihonten: the Inspiration Behind the Greatest Udon Noodle Commercial of All Time

Picture this. A family of five sitting around their dining room table after a long day of work and school. The oldest, texting. The father, stoic in demeanor, like Kevin Arnold’s father in The Wonder Years. The mother, probing her youngest about the school day. It’s dimly lit. A slight tapping of the piano can be heard as an incandescent bulb casts an ever-so-slight golden glow over five ceramic bowls of thick white noodles. A voice, smoother than Siri, begins… ‘I don…’ The pregnant pause ends. ‘You don’. A piano begins to crescendo, joined in triumph by a thundering timpani. ‘We don’, ‘Everybody don’. The climax cuts to dead silence as the screen fades to black. ‘Udon’.

That’s my million billion-dollar commercial that I am yet to direct for the entirety of udon (commissioned by the Japanese government) – not even on behalf of one specific brand, restaurant, style, or region. But on behalf of the existence of udon as a noodle. This is also what plays in my twisted brain every single time I sit down for a bowl of udon. 

So you can imagine the horror and utter confusion of customers and staff at every single udon joint I ate at in Japan as eyes closed, cuing in imaginary actors and musicians like a deranged maestro, I directed this preposterous commercial. My magnum opus, you ask? Performed at 11:30 AM on the most unexpected of days, a Friday at Kirinya Honmachihonten.