Udon King

Consider the single-item restaurant, the dedicated hamburger stand, the famous steakhouse, the palace that was built on French dip. And consider the unlovely udon noodle, that squirmy Japanese pasta, thick as a pencil and white as a grub, poor sister to the elegant buckwheat soba noodle. Udon is generally pasty and lifeless, taking up space at the bottom of a bowl that might better be occupied by ramen, or possibly by another few slices of fish cake. Many people eat udon ; relatively few would mourn overly much were udon to vanish from the earth. It’s a good noodle for carbo-loaders.

Yet in the hands of an artist, there can be poetry even in udon --its slick paleness more reminiscent of shimmering moonlight than of cave-born newts, its flavor described as delicate, its texture described as firm. And when owned by such an artist, there can be poetry even in an udon restaurant, the kind of place where you can get anything you want, as long as what you want is udon .

Kotohira Restaurant sits in a hidden corner of the bustling Tozai Plaza, a big Gardena shopping mall that is also home to Japanese travel agents, a Japanese video store and at least half a dozen other restaurants, including a branch of Yoro No Taki (which is sort of the Japanese equivalent of Denny’s), the superb modern-Japanese joint Hananoya and a pub where Japanese go to snack on crisply fried chicken wings and beer. The brand-new Kotohira Restaurant might be to udon what Lawry’s is to prime rib.

Tadashi Takahashi, Kotohira’s udon master, is one of the few people in the United States who still makes udon by hand, udon that are thick, white and long, diminishing to squiggles at the ends, clean in flavor, with the bouncy resiliency of elastic ropes. The small town of Kotohira, hard by the Inland Sea, is famous within Japan for the chewiness of its local udon . Takahashi comes from a well-known Kotohira noodle family--he spent many years cooking in his uncle’s restaurant--and his noodle shop is fast becoming famous among the Gardena Japanese.

In a dim Gardena karaoke bar the other day, over soda wari , after the bartender had wearied of trying to persuade one of us to sing “House of the Rising Sun” along with his laser-disc machine, talk turned, as it so often does, to restaurants. And after a brief discussion of the local grazing cuisine and the Torrance place that may or may not serve fugu in season, the bartender mentioned that Kotohira was his favorite noodle shop, though the restaurant hadn’t yet been open a month.

Kotohira’s combination dinners might include scrambled chicken and eggs over rice; oversweet sushi rice stuffed inside chilly cocoons of fried tofu, inari ; fried shrimp served on seasoned hot rice ( ten don ). The vegetable and shrimp tempura , offered in about half the combinations, is decent: crisp, light and hot, the best non-noodle dish in the joint.

What you eat at a udon restaurant is, of course, udon , and at Kotohira you can eat udon in many ways, dunked in fish soup or anointed with curry, though it sometimes seems as if Mr. Takahashi would prefer that you not besmirch the pure flavor of his noodles with anything so common as hot broth. Udon are served cold, on a mat, ready to be briefly dipped into a bowl of soy sauce seasoned with wasabi and chopped green onion; udon are served hot, immersed in a tall bowl of plain hot water, also to be drained, dipped and eaten, maybe the best of all ways to eat udon , austere as a woodcut.

Warm udon are served dry in a bowl, garnished with ginger, green onion and wisps of freshly shaved bonito, with a tiny pitcher of soy alongside. Before you have a chance to dribble some soy onto your noodles, Mr. Takahashi is at your side. “A few drops only,” he barks. “You can always put on more if you like, but you can not take it out again.” You do not argue. The wheaty sweetness of the noodles, set off by the clean smoky smack of the dried bonito, is among the most delicious things you have ever eaten.

But come hungry: Each noodle in your bowl seems as precious as a child to Mr. Takahashi, and his face will surely fall if you leave so much as a strand.

Kotohira

1747 W. Redondo Beach Blvd., Gardena, (310) 323-3966. Open daily 11 a.m. to 9 p.m. Lot parking. No alcohol. Cash only. Dinner for two, food only, $10-$16.