Sushi Chitose - Redondo Beach

You can't go just anywhere for sushi. One wrong turn, one placement of trust in the wrong ungloved hands and you may go everywhere for days.

Cue Sushi Chitose. Cute little restaurant next to a liquor store in a too-small-to-be-a-strip-mall, with an inevitable fight for a spot in a lot that holds no more than ten people who know how to park...how's that for perilous?

Except it wasn't really. I was the only Asian eating there, and I should have know that a restaurant occupying prime real estate on PCH had to be onto something. The food is special, alright. The good kind of special, the "how does this much quality omekase only cost $45?!" kind of special.

We started with the special Monkfish Liver. Creamy, bile-acious slice, as light and fatty as any force-fed fowl.

Judging by the gigantic Hama Oyster that kick-started a long line of omakase, the appetizer is just too much. Now THIS is an OYSTER. Giant and surprisingly light, this one is all brine, like taking a bite of the high-tide surf when a wave pulls you under. It slides down slick and makes the tongue tingle for fish and flesh.

A stark contrast to the oyster, a lean-and-mean Tuna is tender but confident, exerting its solid sophistication.

You don't fully appreciate this fat-fringed Yellowtail without first having the tuna lean and mean. I've had a ton of hamachi but I've never had such a spread of fatty and buttery segments that cover every last nook and cranny with sticky, savory micro-grains flavor.

Salmon isn't really a thing in Japan, it seems, but I'll have it any and every way. This slice is so smooth it slips down and so soft it feels like floating.

The Halibut with shiso is a refreshing break. The snapper is standard, and the shiso gives it a kick, a waxy cross between basil and mint.

Saba is not my thing and this one does it no favors. This chopped boat of sour Mackerel is vinegared much more delicately than the abruptly sour sting to which I have become accustomed. Less abrasive but a bit more forgettable.

I think this one was another hamachi . It's smooth and safe but not a standout in this lineup.

The halibut may not be memorable, but the Amberjack is unforgettable. The fatty flavor is sticky and gooey and coats every micromillimeter of the mouth, pasting the tongue with so much umami, it blows the mind.

The Scallop is tender and sweet, a safe dollop that doesn't disappoint.

It's hard to get excited about a regular shrimp over rice, but the Sweet Shrimp is of the ooey-gooey variety, a sweeter spread.

Fluke with Uni is a texture-clash. Grainy, briny roe bursts over a strip of solids-and-stripes, a crash with an explosion of flavor.

The roe gets bigger with Ikura, busting bubbles of frothy, salty sea.

The Blue Crab Hand Roll turns the ride from salty and savory to sweet. The sweet crab cleanses the palate, a resent button for a rapid re-route to dessert.

The Sea Eel is smooth, so soft it crumbles on the plate. It alights, barely touching down on the tongue, sweeps it up in a flurry of fleeting sweet sauce.

The Tamago is dense yet slightly fluffy, solid and reliable.

You can't take another bite, but you'll make room for some Black Sesame Ice Cream.

The ice cream is a standard scoop, but it's probably the only thing I would describe as standard. The sushi snobs say otherwise, but screw the snobs, Sushi Chitose is truly special. The chefs are clearly skilled, the nigiri makes a subtle splash, and the memory of a meal from this intimate PCH pearl will linger.

IShabu Shabu - Redondo Beach

They were having their soft opening so the service doesn't count. The servers tell me they were thrown into the fire, and my, what a hot mess it made. Everyone was scrambling; the servers, the slicer, and undoubtedly all 15 people sitting at that impossibly large table in the back.

I love the open set-up, consisting mostly of bars and countertops with strategically-placed shabu pots. Unfortunately, the placing of the seats needs work. There was a lot of awkward, hope-you-wore-deodorant reaching-over-your-neighbor to get to your pot. Seeing your meat sliced in front you is a perk, but with so many people eating and only one person slicing, you also see how slowly they move.

No sukiyaki broth at the soft opening, but the traditional slice of seaweed stews suitably in a soon-to-be soup.

Appetizers are for other places, but the veggies are plenty to tempt the palate. You get a little bit of everything and just enough of anything. Napa cabbage stews up nicely, as do all the different mushrooms. Kabocha is a nice touch, the tofu is a classic, and there's even a sweet little fishcake and a lobster bouncy-ball to round it out.

All three dipping sauces go with everything, and you can amuse yourself with dipping different ends of each vegetable in different sauces while you wait for the meat. All permutations of salty and bitter House Barbecue; toasty, nutty Sesame, and light soy n' sour Seafood Sauce taste surprisingly good.

The seafood features quite the selection of giant mussels, sizable shrimp, and these medium Scallops. A little on the rubbery, slippery side but at worst the quality is standard. It's prime time with paper-thin slices of Angus Prime Ribeye. You can see through the slices, but the flavor is solid and full.

It's game on with the Lamb. Tougher but just as thin. The US Kobe is lighter and less in-your-face, but all of them add a lot of savor as they stew.

When I went to IShabu Shabu, it was so brand-spanking-new, like shoes that need to be broken in. It was expectedly rough around the edges and had a lot kinks to iron out, but this friendly, family-owned shabu shack is a welcome alternative to King Shabu, and I think their potential will bubble as every pot boils.

Jolly Oyster Market - Torrance

A good oyster never comes at a good price in the South Bay. Gone are my juicy, buttery Boston Wellfleets from Marliave, slurped down for a dollar between the hours of 5 and 6. A good oyster will cost you nearly $4 on this side of the Pacific.

And to be honest, the Pacific oysters aren't very good. The brine hits with a thunk, making a mouthful of dull wash that ends a little bit bitter, but it's nothing a splash of the beet or Thai chili mignonette can't fix.

But it's hard to complain when Jolly makes them so affordable. At $1.25 per oyster, with a little extra if you want them shucked, it's hard to say no to a dozen or two of the Kumamoto. The flavors are more concentrated when they're smaller. These start salty and finish slightly sweet.

Inexpensive and fresh is best of both worlds, and the Jolly oyster also blends the best. A cross of Kumamoto and Pacific, the Pacific dulls the briny tinge, and the Kumamoto shrinks the size and adds the sweet. The flavor-burst will put a pretty big smile on your face after you slurp n' slide them down.

You either love oysters or you hate them, but you can't love them too often without going bankrupt. Jolly's lets you get your jollies at a price that won't put you into the poorhouse. You may wish for more variety or a fancier place with tables to eat on, but believe me, you don't need the frills for oysters so good and fresh.

Dia de Campo - Hermosa Beach

I never thought I'd say this, but ix-nay on the outdoor dining-ay. Stifling Hermosa heat, brunching to the beat of every douchy, honking car along a densely-populated portion of PCH is the most literal hot mess by the beach. There seems to be no cool-down in sight..until you enter Dia de Campo.

Bottomless mimosas would be their biggest draw except the Guacamole steals the show. The guac is just a great guac, especially on crunchy, deep-fried tortillas sprinkled with their special spice mix, which I suspect is colorful crack.

It's always a good day with the Dia Bene. A standard eggs Benedict is anything but boring with slow-cooked carnitas simmering in Hollandaise, seeping into fragrant focaccia.

If you're hungry, the Ancho Braised Lamb Shoulder is heavy-heavy-heavy with dark n' almost-bitter notes of salsa verde sizzling in a skillet. The perfect stomach-liner if you want your money's worth in mimosas.

Dia de Campo may not look like much from the outside, but you'll be dashing for their doors when the never-ending pedestrian traffic threatens to trample everything in its path. And believe me, when that time comes, Dia de Campo's bottomless brunch is the best kind of shelter from a beach-bum storm, an airy little pillbox under an Aztec sun.

Boiling Point - Gardena

I love all forms of hot pot but I really have to want it. Hot pot makes you WORK for it, and picking through the endless array can be a pretty daunting task.

Boiling Point takes the work out of it for you. Hot pot for the lazy or not-too-particular, everything comes in a pre-portioned pot with a soup of your choice. Most things are fully cooked by the time they arrive so once the pot boils (and it magically NEVER boils over!), they spare you the periodic poking to make sure things are cooked through before you take a bite.

The "House Special" is a great choice but not for the faint of nose. Stinky tofu makes this soup special, and it's a smell you can taste. Fermenting soy beans break down into broth, permeating, saturating the back of your mouth and refluxing through your nose. The broth soaks into crisp Napa cabbage, and surrounds the enoki mushroom, while the Japanese fish cake stays fishy but sweet. The pork meat balls play with alternating savor and stink, and the clams add their brine.

The Taiwanese Spicy Hot Soup is not for the faint of heart. Red-hot with only one option for spice level, it stings and burns, coating the cabbage, clinging to every string of instant noodle, and soaking the slices of Angus beef. Even the cuttlefish rings become rings of fire. The pork blood rice cake is grainy with jello, and the inside remains rather impermeable, unlike the frozen tofu sponge.

Whether it's hit-you-in-the-face hot or mild-to-moderate comfort, Boiling Point delivers both. AYCE can be highly overrated, and their prix-fixe pots dole out perfect portions. Add-ons are optional, but believe me, you get ample options here.