Poron Poron
http://www.whynotjapan.com/guide/poronporon/en.htm

I love it when a mental map comes together. On the hunt for a Spanish lunch in Shinsaibashi, I followed my map into Kita-Horie, a trendy unzoned maze of side streets with bohemian boutiques and nouveau cuisine cafes interspersed between dilapidated houses, dingy corner stores, an old hospital and ultra-modern apartment complexes. and incongruently Hey this street looked familiar. Wow, there's Futuro on the left, the record store/bar where I had my first live show in Osaka. And just around the corner, wow, it's Absinthe! Never realized how close they were. Just around the corner from that, and you've got Poron Poron.

The signboard on the wooden porch has the lunch options: two pasta (bacon + onion vs. mushroom), one steak and a paella set. It's past one, late for lunch, and there's only two tables filled. On the left is a bar and behind that, an open kitchen. Leg o' pork on the bar signals this place is the real deal. My hostess (yes it's offensive, but I categorically refuse “server”) Azusa explains the lunch menu in English, and I order the paella set and an Estrella Gallicia – whoops, the paella's only for two. No sweat, the chef says he can make it for one in a pinch. I pull out my notebook and take a sip of my ice cold Spanish brew before staring out at the end street.

The café across the way seems popular, at least amongst the waifly Emily Dickinson bookworm crowd. The sign says, “Charkha – Tea and coffee, flower, stationery”. The chef notices and tells me it's a high class Eastern European junk boutique. “You know, the kind of place where they sell broken scissors for 3000 yen, but they look nice, so people buy them.” Yeah, I knew a Russian one like it a few blocks from Ryoanji, but the food looked better here. The smell of garlic filled the air and fire leapt around the chef's wok as he shook it.

The soup was here. Clear broth vegetable, big chunks of cauliflower, onion, carrots, celery – a mellow minestrone cousin. I start chatting with the chef, Bunny (yeah, I know…). Hard to pin down national affiliation; he talks in flawless English of times in India, Switzerland and Thailand. We go through the whole “how's business?” conversation. “We're doing okay,” he says somewhat stoically. Just okay? I thought Kita-Horie was the Greenwich Village of Osaka?

“Yeah, but we're a little bit off the beaten path here. It's only a few minutes walk, but if you don't we're here…And when it rains, nobody (Midosuji way) wants to take a stroll down here.” I ask him if he gets much customer overlap with the nearby Absinthe, as I'm handed a little bowl of olives, cheese and other goodies. He shakes his head, “In a way, but we're not really competing. We're strictly dining and wine; Absinthe's more famous as a chillout bar. We often get people who come here for dinner and then head there for after dinner conversation.”

Paella's on, and I've let the bottom of my soup get cold. I stifle the impulse to slurp it down sans spoon. The paella's about what you'd expect from a ‘real' Spanish restaurant, hot iron plate ala bibimba with that tasty caked on crust on the bottom. I order a glass of their house white. Bunny's extraordinarily friendly, and I'm a bit worried that our spirited conversation is bothering the Japanese patrons, but nobody seems to mind.

The topics range far and wide. I mention that nearby pizza place Slices reminds me of the kind of relaxed home-shop you might find in Thailand, and he agrees that it's one of the best casual cafes in town. Tyson vs. Lennox is referenced, along with the dangers of ordering vegetarian on international flights. Shoot, shouldn't be taking notes or something? I ask to see the dinner menu.

Holy crap, there's a lot to choose from. The usual tappas, yes, but then some rather unique appetizers: fried pork loin with paprika, fried cheese poppers, hmmm. Pil Pil? Bunny is somewhat surprised at my bemused look. “One of the more well-known Spanish dishes after paella. Prawns, mushrooms and garlic sort of baked in oil in an iron pan.” Wow, that doesn't sound half bad.

Then on to pasta and the big stuff. Penne arabiata, amatriciana, Genovese, porcini cream (drool…). Then main courses: bouillabaisse, beef rump, prime pork “Imobuta” steak with port sauce. Throw in a respectable wine list (Spain, Italy and France all represented – don't ask me how well, I drink the 500 yen Gotto d'oro I get from Liquor Mountain because I'm too lazy to buy corked bottles). Full cocktail menu of course.

My stomach bulging, I consider the strawberry ice cream with homemade “coulis” for dessert, but my self-control gets the best of me. Just as well, it's 2 PM, the place is deserted and I've got to head home to do some homework. I bid adieu to Bunny and Azusa, throw on the old oversized pack and make my way back to Shinsaibashi Station, secure in the knowledge that I now have a starting point for a night of dining and debaucher in Kita-Horie.

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