Is takoyaki the perfect snack? The little golden-griddled orbs of savory batter with a bit of octopus at the center are everywhere in Japan. Narrow streets lined with holes-in-the-wall serving lowbrow, tasty stuff like tempura and ramen have takoyaki spots. It goes ideally with after-work beers at the drinking-and-snacking bars called izakaya. Stands sell it at subway stations, cooked to order, ready (and probably all eaten up) in the few minutes before your train comes.
Shota Nakajima, the chef of rarefied Seattle Japanese restaurant Naka, effuses, “I love takoyaki!” He says it’s one of the main street foods in Osaka, where he trained and takoyaki originated—meaning, he notes, “They have more of them than Starbucks in Seattle.”
I first had takoyaki stateside and loved it. Then, a few years ago on a trip to Thailand, I was disallowed by my travel companion from stopping at a takoyaki stand set up near the escalator inside a Bangkok mall. I hadn’t been able to let that disappointment rest.
Even those who find the idea of octopus off-putting will probably love takoyaki. The amount of meat is small, just enough to provide a little chewy center at the middle of a fluffy, waffle-like little sphere.
Takoyaki done right has so much going for it: a crispy outer shell, a light-and-squishy savory interior, an instant of contrasting octopus texture, toppings that not only hit the creamy and the umami spots but also actually put on a show.
Of course, if you’re ambitious, you can make your own takoyaki. The Internet’s rife with recipes. I haven’t gone this route yet. It seems akin to making your own french fries — something you could master with time, trouble and expense, while right out there in the food court, they’re being made perfectly, in a matter of minutes, with expertise. Tako Kyuuban Takoyaki Seattle’s takoyaki-makers told me they never get bored with making them, it’s just boring waiting for people to come order them.
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