A KAISEKI KALEIDOSCOPE

Noritake is a small Torrance restaurant that specializes in kappo done in the kansai style of western Japan. These are little dishes meant to accompany sake or beer. The restaurant also serves spectacular kaiseki, the kaleidoscopic dinners which so typify Japanese creativity and aesthetic tradition.

Kaiseki must be ordered in advance. It consists of many courses, all of which involve a different method of preparation, and all of which follow one another in a specified fashion. Deviations from the order of service do not exist, so as the dinner progresses it takes on an almost ceremonial quality. Done well, kaiseki is unforgettable.

Nothing immediate about Noritake suggests that the chef has the ability to prepare a first-rate kaiseki ; the restaurant’s design offers no subtle inferences that an artistic presence lurks behind the kitchen curtains. The all-white dining room is draped in strips of white canvas, tables are draped in white cloth, and the combined look is distinctly un-Japanese. The only visual sense of being in a Japanese restaurant emanates from a large marble sushi bar anchored against the back wall. This is usually filled with well-heeled Japanese businessmen. In fact, you have to strain to hear any English in Noritake.

Fortunately owner-chef Iwao Noritake speaks serviceable English, so I was able to call ahead and order a meal. “How much is kaiseki ?” I asked him in a way which would be much too direct in his own language. “How much you want to spend per person?” he replied. “You want to spend $25, we make $25 kaiseki. You want to spend $200, we make $200 kaiseki. “ A man of action is rarely a man of words. “Make it 50,” said I.

The day of the dinner I called to reconfirm, and got more positive information. “Any chance of changing the price?” I asked for the record. “Too late,” replied Noritake with finality, “already shop.” The idea of a chef going to market just for you is certainly seductive. We weren’t disappointed.

The first course was brought almost immediately after my companion and I were seated, and it was the most unfamiliar thing we were to eat that night. Japanese call this course aemono , “things mixed together.” Served in a long-stemmed glass, this course offered tororo, a pulpy, grated yam, mixed with sliced squid and raw quail egg. My companion gave up on her chopsticks toward the bottom of the glass, and tried to drink it. I gave up halfway.

The most impressive course was zensai , a marble slab with an array of jewel-like appetizers atop it. Five intricately sculpted treats lay waiting to be sampled; “tiger eye,” a stuffed squid with smoked salmon and avocado; wonderfully fresh prawns in the shell; roulades of vinegared mackerel and jagaimo, a soft potato; fresh cubed salmon roe resting in a tiny basket of carved lemon peel; and a two-colored fish cake. Labor on this course must have been arduous.

Then came mushimono , “steamed things,” here a broth of shimeji mushrooms, chicken, and cooked shrimp served in a dobin, or iron pot with spout. First you eat the morsels inside, then you pour portions of the broth into a glazed ceramic dish no bigger than an eyecup. You’ll fill the dish 15 times before finishing.

Next is sashimi; it was served in an igloo of shaved ice. Deftly cut yellowtail, giant clam, and halibut arrived in an iceblock so big the waitress could hardly carry it. We contrasted the frosty sashimi with flagons of Hakutsuru sake, brought red hot to the table. Fire and ice, Japanese style.

Soon after, too soon really, came nimono , “stewed things,” a stunning covered dish of sea eel and burdock root. We had begun to languish, but fortunately the covered dish held the heat and we could eat the eel slowly.

That was not the case with yakimono , “broiled things,” a chunk of stuffed salmon brought sizzling on a foil-covered stone. If you pause before eating this dish, as we did, it dries out. The dish was garnished with a delightful shiso wrapped marinated plum. Even the plum couldn’t prevent us from slowing to a crawl by then, however, and there were still three courses to go.

So we merely nibbled on the next course, agemono , “fried things.” These were seaweed-wrapped rolls of shrimp and sea urchin beautifully served in an oval bamboo cradle. We both bemoaned the fact that we couldn’t do them justice.

The last two courses, sunomono , “marinated things,” cucumber and crab, and battera, Osaka-style cubed sushi, were boxed (carefully) and brought home. A cut orange and cups of green tea signaled the end of the service. It was only then that we realized that more than three hours had elapsed.

I can’t imagine what the $200 version of kaiseki must be like.

Noritake, 2732 Sepulveda Blvd., Torrance, (213) 539-3227. All major cards. Parking in lot. Open , Mon.-Sat. for lunch and dinner. Dinner for 2 (food only) $25-40. Kaiseki by arrangement.