People call it a savoury pancake. That's technically accurate and completely inadequate. Nothing about a pancake involves watching bonito flakes move above a griddle.

The name, roughly translated, means "cook what you like." The base is a batter of flour, egg, dashi, and shredded cabbage — more cabbage than you'd expect, to the point where you wonder if it's mostly cabbage — and then you add things. Pork belly is the classic. Prawns, mochi, cheese, squid. The Osaka style keeps everything mixed in together. The Hiroshima style layers it, with noodles underneath. Both are correct. Both are good.

We were in Osaka, which has the kind of proprietary relationship with okonomiyaki that you don't argue with. Restaurants usually have teppan griddles built into the tables. Your food arrives partly cooked, still sizzling, and you let it finish in front of you.

The Whole Thing

Ours came out covered in bonito flakes — katsuobushi — which wave in the heat above the griddle like they're trying to get your attention. Under them: okonomiyaki sauce, which is dark and sweet and slightly reminiscent of HP sauce but better; and a grid of Japanese mayonnaise, which is richer and slightly tangier than the British stuff and goes on everything here.

A portion of okonomiyaki cut and served, showing the layered interior with pork
Once it's cut, you can see what's inside. The answer is: more than expected.

Underneath all of that: the pancake itself, which has a crisp outside and a soft, yielding inside that holds the whole thing together. You cut pieces with a little spatula they give you. There's no pretension to it. You sit, you eat, you stop when you're done.

The place was full and noisy and slightly smoky from all the teppan and nobody was rushing us. We ordered two between us and ate them slowly because the griddle keeps them warm throughout.

I've had okonomiyaki at places that aren't in Osaka and it's always fine, sometimes very good. But there's something about eating it where it comes from, in a small room with a griddle at every table and a menu that's basically just variations on the same dish, that makes it the right version of itself.

Go to Osaka. Eat this. If you only have one food you do there, make it this. Or the kushikatsu. Or both — there's time.