Where would a journalist be without his or her contacts? Most likely not in Mantenya, a pocket-sized tempura restaurant near Tenma in Osaka. I am based in Kyoto, so Osaka is a bit of a known unknown. Luckily I have two contacts who have yet to set me wrong.

Mantenya might possibly be the weirdest ¡ª and it could turn out to be the most memorable ¡ª restaurant I¡¯ve ever set foot in. When I say pocket-sized, I¡¯m not exaggerating by much. There are three tables, two of which practically spill out the door. The other one is hidden behind a fridge. It¡¯s hard to get a sense of how small and claustrophobic Mantenya is because a) it¡¯s kitted out in gothic black, and b) it¡¯s so stuffed full of kitsch and crap that you can hardly see your plate, never mind your companions. Imagine the boudoir of a bat-crazy fortune-teller and you might get some idea of where I was.

It being autumn, the master had stuffed a beautiful arrangement of fake maple leaves into an ornate plastic vase that was propping up a web of beads floating down from the ceiling. Despite the eccentricity of his lair, he was as friendly and hospitable as they come. I was so busy drinking in the details ¡ª plastic chairs, CDs that were actually menus, a crown-shaped chandelier ¡ª that I more or less missed the ordering process.