From Japadillas to monkfish karaage, the Long Beach izakaya doing it differently

"Japanese people, we do not eat too much sushi and ramen, actually. We eat so many different things," says chef Yoya Takahashi.

You've probably noticed that Japanese food in the U.S. has a tendency to fall into certain lanes — sushi, ramen and the like. For Takahashi, after years working in Japanese restaurants across L.A., the repetitive nature of doing the same fish, the same sequence, every day, was driving him almost to his wits' end.

That's when his izakaya concept started to take shape. A drinking and dining experience that was personal and, more importantly, a truer vision of the diverse offerings of Japanese cooking back home. No set menu, a more seasonal approach, Japanese food on its own terms. Basically, whatever the hell he wanted.

The result is Homareya, his izakaya in downtown Long Beach.

What to order

The menu moves with the improvisational ease of a Jerry Garcia guitar solo — unhurried, searching, funky and cool, following the thread wherever it leads, and always landing somewhere that feels inevitable.

It spans the raw, the grilled, the fried, the fermented — Japanese and Californian in equal measure, almost autobiographical in its range. It began with saba nigiri — lightly torched, iridescent skin, 15-year-old vinegar rice, a quiet nod to his sushi roots. Then he moves on to a couple of yakitori skewers — simple and satisfying, approachable and adventurous between the same few bites of chicken thigh and liver. The monkfish karaage arrives looking like chicken and tastes like something better — his non-conforming nature in a single bite.

The Japadilla — a Sonoratown tortilla filled with soy-simmered beef, Jidori egg, konnyaku, mozzarella, sansho pepper and ichimi — is the dish that says everything about Takahashi's cooking.

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Gab Chabrán

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LAist

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Then there's the Japadilla — a Sonoratown tortilla charred over binchotan and filled with soy-simmered beef, Jidori egg, konnyaku (a starchy Japanese root vegetable), mozzarella, sansho pepper and ichimi. Unapologetically Long Beach. Completely his own.

Takahashi regularly visits farmers markets in Long Beach and Cerritos — no further — along with tending a small plot at a community garden a few miles north of the restaurant. His wife Yoshiko Nishibe is the Bob Weir to his Garcia, bringing her own creative spirit to an in-house fermentation program — koji, miso, mirin, fermented soy, all from scratch — and not afraid to experiment with unexpected bases like chickpea and mustard miso, the latter showing up in the firefly squid special, a dish that rewards the curious diner who orders off the menu.

Why Long Beach

Moving to Long Beach 15 years ago, Takahashi fell in love with the bar scene — a city long known for its old-school haunts. It was the individual free spirits he identified with that made it feel like home.

Homareya, on Linden Ave. in downtown Long Beach.

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Courtesy Homareya

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At Homareya, the menu includes sake, wine, and Japanese craft beer, all hand-selected. The wine list itself is a partnership with local bottle shop Buvons, where he sometimes pops up. Then there's the shochu — a Japanese spirit distilled from ingredients like barley, sweet potato, or rice, lighter than most Western spirits and endlessly versatile — which is perhaps the most personal part of the program.

Five selections anchored by the Beni Otome, a sesame shochu that Takahashi serves poured directly over hojicha, a roasted green tea, nutty, herbaceous, and exactly right for a Long Beach summer.

His background

Takahashi grew up in Kyoto, before immigrating to the U.S. in 2000 with only a backpack and a dream of becoming an actor. It makes perfect sense once you look at him — his long grey ponytail, tattooed arms, and unmistakable gruff voice would make him a shoo-in for a bit part in an independent film with the likes of Jim Jarmusch or Wes Anderson.

He ended up washing dishes to pay rent until someone suggested he try making sushi instead — eventually landing in Little Tokyo, where he trained at Hamakawa, a now-closed institution, and later in Gardena at Kanpachi. Learning directly from older Japanese mentors, watching and doing, no internet to fall back on.

The open kitchen at Homareya puts every move in full view of the room.

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Courtesy Homareya

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His grandfather was a stage actor back in Kyoto, and one of those mentors once told him the sushi counter works the same way. Same instincts, different medium — you see it in the quiet, calculated way Takahashi moves before setting a plate down in front of you.

For Takahashi, Homareya represents a reclamation of something: his voice, his cooking, his terms. The name says it plainly — Homare, an alternate reading of the chef's own name, paired with ya, the Japanese word for home. At Homareya, that's not a concept. It's a promise.