Raku

You might think crispy fried shrimp and asparagus crispy tempura, on the same menu at the same restaurant, would be much the same. You might think it's impossible (or at least improbable) that tofu could be lightly crispy on the outside and almost creamy (and most definitely not rubbery) on the inside. But if you were eating at Raku, you'd be mistaken on all counts.

That's in large part because Raku is the kind of place about which you don't want to make many suppositions. Its subtext is "Japanese Charcoal Grill," and indeed its menu does offer a decent-sized list of robata-grill items, but that's just part of the picture.

I first learned of Raku from a trusted source in the foodie world, who told me it had become a late-night chefs' hangout. There's an old truism that restaurants that attract lots of truckers are good places to eat, but it's the rare truism that's not true; usually, those places that draw large numbers of truckers are those that offer truck parking or are at least convenient to trucking routes.

It's not the same case when it comes to chefs. For one thing, they don't drive trucks or follow trucking routes. More to the point, they know good food, are willing to go out of their way if necessary to get it and have a lively little grapevine, so the news spreads quickly. Therefore, the buzz tends to be pretty reliable.

The buzz on Raku? The focus is on tofu -- specifically agedashi tofu ($9), or fried tofu to you and me. It's not the only tofu on the menu, and it's not even on the regular menu, although as a special it seems to appear almost nightly. And it is as good as the grapevine would have it. It's homemade, for one, formed into a round cake, fried until crispy, floated in a particularly smoky miso broth and served topped with shreds of dried seaweed, teeny mushroom caps and glistening salmon roe, which you can call caviar if it'll make you feel better. So you've got hot, smoky, crisp, creamy, woodsy, resilient and salty -- a lot of things going on in your mouth, and I mean that in the most positive way.

But back to the asparagus and shrimp. Asparagus crispy tempura ($4) was crisp-tender spears coated in particularly crisp panko for a decided crunch after the snap.

The crispy fried shrimp ($6) were served in the shell, with head on. Our server and the hostess both pointed out that we could eat the shells. I remember my grandmother doing that, but I tend to resist, maybe a cultural aversion, maybe related to the texture. But even peeled -- a messy process ameliorated by the damp hot towels our server brought -- they had an interesting surface texture, somewhat akin to the crunch of a very soft soft-shell crab.

Another special was beef tataki ($18), which our server described as a "sashimi-style beef," and indeed it was. The slices of Kobe were served to advantage, simply spread out on a plate (all the better to see its marbling) with a little dab of a mild wasabi at one end and a sprinkling of sliced scallions. Simple -- and simply perfect.

Wine flights are a big deal these days, but Raku kicks it up a notch with a sake flight ($14), which in our case included two cloudy and two clear, all correlated to the sake list by our server and brought to the table in raku-style (the pottery, not the restaurant) cups on a wooden tray for a very attractive service.

Actually, there's a lot that's attractive about Raku. It's an extremely tiny place (in a back corner of a crowded shopping center) -- just seven tables, plus some bar seating in the rear -- and tastefully decorated with muted burgundy walls and wooden tables. There's a lot of attention to detail; even the soy sauce is served in a decorative glass bottle with wooden stopper.

We finished with the brown sugar bubbly pudding ($4.50), basically a base of brown-sugar custard topped with foamed milk. It was delicious, and offbeat -- but in the very best way.

Just like everything else we encountered at Raku.

Las Vegas Review-Journal reviews are done anonymously at Review-Journal expense. Contact Heidi Knapp Rinella at 383-0474 or e-mail her at hrinella@reviewjournal.com.