Hiroshi's

2501 Eastlake Ave E, 726-4966.

Lunch Mon-Fri 11 am-2 pm; dinner Mon-Sat 5-9 pm.

I had heard that Hiroshi's was a real Japanese-style lunch place--and I was hoping it was, because I had no idea what that meant. I mean, if a lunch place is run by Japanese people, isn't it a real Japanese place? Whose Japanese style is the real Japanese style? Well, here I go again, down that road of how we determine what is and isn't authentic, a road that never leads you anywhere but hungry.

The distinction "real" was probably meant in opposition to the gazillions of teriyaki joints that have sprung up to address our large American appetite for big piles of meat and rice. Lunch at Hiroshi's is not about huge piles, but about balance, and everything I tasted was so delicious--thoughtful, fresh, beautifully prepared--that I wanted to jump up and down in my chair. Never mind that the background music was Sade; when I lived in Italy in the late '80s, every trattoria was playing not Luca Carboni, not even Louis Prima, but Michael Jackson. Shall we just accept a modicum of cultural dislocation and move on?

My una jyu--broiled eel with what's called barbecue sauce, but is more like a sweet glaze ($9.95 at lunch, $13.95 at dinner)--was a modest portion served over rice in a beautiful, square, lacquerlike box, with strands of red ginger and a few coins of pickled, mustard-yellow daikon radish. These, like the accompanying miso soup with shreds of fried tofu, are intended as contrasts: Alternating bites of the tenderest, meltingest eel and sharp, back-to-reality daikon makes you more aware of the flavors of each. Even the katsudon--fried breaded pork cutlet served with broth and egg over rice ($7.95 at lunch, $9.95 at dinner), real Japanese home food, as I understand it, with pickles and miso--reflected Hiroshi's attention to detail: tender pork, meaty broth, egg only just poached.

In the spirit of flouting authenticity (or rather, admitting we had no idea what it might entail) we ordered a spicy, creamy scallop roll ($6) and a Dynamite Roll (yellowtail with chili oil and green onion, market price). They were both so hot you definitely didn't need wasabi, so fresh and fine that you didn't really need soy sauce--hot enough to showcase the fish without canceling it out. Each bite left me sort of stunned--awake, appreciative, glad to be eating in a Japanese-style lunch place in an Eastlake mini-mall on a rainy afternoon.