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 — and it could turn out to be the most memorable — 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 — plastic chairs, CDs that were actually menus, a crown-shaped chandelier — that I more or less missed the ordering process.