Yuu and I

The most intimidating menus in Los Angeles might be those found at pub-like Japanese restaurants known as izaka-ya : long lists, often untranslated, of custards, vinegared sea creatures and a dozen variations on spiced cod roe. Portions are tiny; people seem to order as many courses as they might at a dim sum breakfast. I’ve been to about a dozen local izaka-ya and had spectacular individual dishes, but after most of the meals I felt as if I had seen a lengthy subtitled film that I didn’t really comprehend: “Ummm . . . good cinematography, I guess.”

Yuu, a small izaka-ya tucked into the corner of a Westwood strip mall, is sort of an elegant place--blond wood, exposed beams and tablecloths whose lime-green color suggests less a leisure suit than the hue of freshly grated wasabi . Half the people seem to cluster around the long sushi bar in one corner, nibbling on the usual slivers of red clam and yellowtail. Groups of business-suited Japanese, ties loosened halfway to their belts, sit around tables and toast one another with thumb-size vials of cold sake. There are always a few hairy music-industry guys, which is a predictable indicator of great Japanese food in this town, and a wide-eyed college student who is facing down raw fish for the first time.

At Yuu, the “secret” of izaka-ya cuisine reveals itself more or less at once: You order a hit of sake, and then some snacks to go with it. Then you order some more sake (or beer) and repeat the process as often as you can afford. (Individual dishes are relatively inexpensive, but the bill can add up fast.) Yuu has about a dozen sakes to try, including Onigoroshi, which smells like fresh-cut melons--try it cold.

You might start with the tart seaweed salad mozuko ; grilled Japanese eggplant, nasu dengaku , smeared with a dark bean paste nearly as pungent as hoisin; fried soft-shell crab; a grilled tofu steak in spicy sauce; a vegetable casserole, yasai no takiwase , in which poached slices of carrot, snow pea, lotus root and Japanese pumpkin are arranged as carefully as if it were a Jennifer Bartlett painting. A shiitake-clam consomme, of clear, smoky flavor, is served in a teapot and poured into a tiny, flat cup. A piece of whitefish is wrapped with seaweed into a sort of sushi-roll configuration with a chunk of avocado and a strip of salmon, then deep-fried and served with a tart dipping sauce. Bits of shrimp and vegetables are mixed into a batter and fried into delicious little balls: ebi shinzo . Of dishes, Yuu has no end.

The menu here is divided into three parts: a regular menu; a photocopied specials sheet written in Japanese and slipped into a water glass; and a shorter seasonal menu, which appears as a Japanese-only sheet at the back of the main menu and in English translation tucked into a thin folder.

On the seasonal menu, you’ll find tender, salty abalone sauteed with asparagus tips, or juicy salt-grilled mackerel, or the sweetest possible shrimp tempura. A whole flounder is served two ways, like the double-pleasure flounder at Monterey Park Chinese seafood joints: fried fillets that melt from crispness to nothingness on your tongue; a fried fish frame that’s about 95% crunch. On the regular menu there’s wonderful grilled cod, marinated in sake lees and good enough to make you realize why half the fancy restaurants in Seattle serve the dish; conch diced, cooked in broth, and served simmering in its own shell, a small flame lit beneath it; cold tofu with soy and writhing bonito shavings.

If you’re lucky, the waiter won’t get too testy when you ask him to translate some of the Japanese menu in the water glass, and you might end up with rich, expertly cut toro sashimi, or the shiitake consomme, or a crisply fried roll of sweet shrimp and pumpkin, though you will probably never figure out how to order them again.

Yuu: 11043 Santa Monica Blvd., Westwood, (310) 478-7931. Open daily 6 to 11 p.m. American Express, MasterCard, Visa. Beer and wine. Valet parking. Dinner for two, food only, $24-$50.