One such chain is Wako, and it has a few locations in Los Angeles. The katsu is excellent, but the reason we're writing about it is because if you like, you can get curry sauce poured on top of your fried pork. Although Wako's curry sauce isn't amazing in and of itself, the whole dish was put together so well that I can't help but give it high marks.

Serving curry sauce at the proper temperature is key to the experience; lukewarm curry is gross. Wako's was warm and satisfying, poured liberally over the large katsu and big portion of rice. While many places are stingy with their curry (regardless of its quality), there was more than enough to go around at Wako.

Fresh shredded cabbage is typically served alongside katsu, and sometimes with curry (cf. Go Go). That Wako's curry is accompanied by a big pile of cabbage is not lost on the traditionalist in me, although I was disappointed that it was coated in lots of sticky sweet yellow-colored dressing. (If I go back, I'll ask them to leave it off.)

But what really makes Wako's curry shine is, of course, the katsu. It's giant. It's breaded with excellent panko. It makes up for any other deficiencies. If your favorite part of katsu curry is the katsu, Wako's might be exactly what you need.

And then there's this absurdity above. In addition to a whole variety of your typical fried objects, Wako also features "cheese katsu." It's a thin slice of pork wrapped around a mound of gooey orange and white cheeses, which is all breaded, fried, and sliced so that the cheese runs out and begins to congeal. It is remarkably delicious; it is also remarkable that I and my dining companions are still alive to tell you of its glory.

The menu doesn't feature cheese katsu curry, although you might try special-ordering it and see what happens.

Like all restaurants that have curry on the menu but don't specialize in it, customization options are thin on the ground at Wako. You can't pick a spiciness level, and I found that their curry is actually quite spicy. My aforementioned dining companions pointed out that Wako's locations are in Koreatown, and that Korea in general likes things much spicier than Japan. Fair enough. (Indeed, the menu is written in Korean and English but not Japanese.)

Slightly harder to wrap my head around: The only spoons that they gave us were those oddly-shaped lacquerware spoons that are used for miso soup.

Regardless, if you live in Los Angeles, are a curry addict, and are getting a little tired of going to Curry House or Hurry Curry every time you need a fix, you might try Wako's take.

Imagine my shock and dismay when I finally made it back there the other day and found out that Rai Rai Ken had taken curry off the menu. Thankfully, my shock turned to pleasant surprise when I was directed next door to its new sister restaurant: Curry-Ya.

I love Curry-Ya's ambience. Countless noodle shops try to look like the stereotypical rustic ramen shack out of Tampopo, but I think this approach appeals mostly to NYU students looking to get a "traditional" Japanese lunch. It's a breath of fresh air to see a Japanese joint in the U.S. that looks and feels contemporary -- similar to the numerous 24-hour fast food curry shops that crowd around Tokyo's train stations. There's just one long counter plus a small space behind the front window for eating. During the day, it's a great place to have a nice, quiet meal, but at night, when the college kids fill the joint, it can become quite maddening and downright annoying.

But let's get down to business: How's the curry? The sauce is pretty damn delicious. It's no-frills and no-nonsense, an excellent textbook example of why Japanese curry is amazing. It's of perfect thickness, never watery. Each spice is distinct and complimentary to the others. Unfortunately, near-perfection comes at a somewhat hefty price: The original plain curry will cost you $7, which is not too bad, but the toppings add between $6-8 per plate. Yikes.

The Berkshire pork cutlet (pictured) is fairly fantastic, with some of the best breading I've tasted on this side of the Pacific. But it is it worth eight extra dollars? It's worth a try at least once, at the very least. For me, though, the cheapest topping is the best: the simple hamburger steak, a nice thick meat patty that's fried over a flame and finished in an oven, to avoid drying it out. (For $5, it had better be perfect.)

The curry isn't put directly on your plate: It's served on the side, in a small hot bowl, so it's piping hot when you pour it into the volcano-shaped lump of rice on your plate. When your plate is served to you, it's just the rice and whatever topping you ordered, along with a few green beans and plums on the side as garnish. The amount of rice I was given on two subsequent trips was inconsistent: It seems to range between "just enough" and "too little." If you enjoy drinking curry by itself, as if it was some kind of extremely rich soup, then this might be the place for you.

There's not much else to speak of regarding the rest of the menu -- there are a few side salads, the usual assortment of American soft drinks, one token Japanese soda, and Japanese booze. Like most eating establishments in New York City, Curry-Ya gets right to the point. It's no Go Go Curry, but what really is? If you find yourself in the Village, Curry-Ya is a solid alternative.

For readers of Americurry, it is not enough to take as given Ōtisu's First Axiom ("Curry is the best of all possible foods.") Our stomachs might be full and content, but our heads will be dull and empty. No, to find true curry happiness, we must look beyond the perfection of Japanese curry, past even the glory of the Threefold Toppings¹, to that oft-overlooked foundation stone of the curry plate: the starches.

Far more than the mere "glue" holding the curry together on your spoon, the right rice or bread can make or break a curry dish. One only has to visualize Japanese curry over a long-grained basmati or Uncle Ben's Instant to realize how much rice can add or detract from the enjoyment of curry. For the curry aficionado willing to venture slightly further afield, the popular Curry House restaurant chain offers two unique presentations.

The first, Grilled-Stone Curry (pictured top), takes its name from the searingly hot stone bowl in which it's served. A bed of rice is covered in various vegetables: corn, green beans, mushrooms, carrots, and sprouts, plus your choice of pork katsu, eel, seafood, or rib eye steak. Once the stone bowl is brought to your table, the curry sauce is poured on and the contents mixed. After a few minutes of cooking right there at your table, it's ready to enjoy.

Given the just-in-time grilling, Grilled-Stone Curry is incredibly hot -- and incredibly delicious. When lukewarm rice and tepid curry mar so many American curry plates, it's great to experience a piping hot platter. Even better is the way the stone bowl chars the bottom layer of rice, creating a crispy, crunchy shell that perfectly offsets the curry's sweet spiciness.

So what's the downside? Curry House's somewhat stingy rice-to-curry ratio can result in a dish that resembles a curried rice pilaf than, well, curry rice. Upsize your curry and maximize your enjoyment.

Another delicious option is Curry-Pan: curry-filled bread. It's a staple in Japanese school lunchrooms, and this is an excellent example. The bread has a crispy, fried exterior and doughy, spongy inside: thick enough to support the curry inside, but not so thick that all you get is a mouthful of bread. The curry filling is actual curry, a major step up from the paste-like "astronaut curry" most often used as filling. A bit more filling would be perfection, but then again, what empty space wouldn't be improved by filling it with curry?

Curry-Pan takes 20 minutes to make, so order as soon as you arrive.

Are either of these dishes superior to traditional curry? Probably not. But with two more ways to enjoy this best of all possible foods, why not stop by a nearby Curry House and judge for yourself?

¹Pork katsu, sausage, and cheese.

As you might imagine for a 25-year-old chain that specializes in one dish, Curry House's curry sauce is very good: deep brown in color, sweet, and warm. It's not the very best in the Bay -- truth be told, in a NorCal roux showdown, I'd give the edge to Muracci's. Curry House, though, would be running a close second.

What makes Curry House stand out from the rest is its staggering array of toppings and other customization options. Customization is one of the best things about Japanese curry places, and it's something that American restaurants that offer only one topping and one spiciness level simply can't deliver. At Curry House, you can pick from three spice levels, then add a wide variety of toppings to your curry. There's the usual pork katsu and fried shrimp, yes. But there's also beef katsu. Onion rings. Or menchi katsu, a fried hamburger steak.

Since we had three people on our excursion to Cupertino, we tried a wide variety of toppings. The pork katsu turned out to be the best -- a little tough, but tasty. The chicken katsu was on the thin side and had kind of a cheap, off taste. The menchi katsu was somewhere in the middle: nothing to write home about, but how many complaints can you really make about a fried hamburger?

Although the food was laid out on our plates very nicely, Curry House doesn't really balance its sauce and rice well -- we ran out of curry while there was still a big pile of white rice left on our plates. If you hate when this happens, too, the best thing to do is to make your plate a Large size. For $1.50 more you get some more rice and an extra bowl of curry on the side.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention several of Curry House's other curry-related menu items, none of which we tried. There's "stone bowl curry," only available at dinner, served in a sizzling ceramic dish. "Curry soup udon" is a curry-flavored broth served over noodles. Also, you can get your curry served over brown rice, pilaf, or spaghetti if you want.

Curry House definitely has its share of minor issues, but if you're a Japanese curry junkie looking for a fix, it'll get you through the day. Cupertino is a long, long haul from San Francisco, however, so don't expect to be able to stop in if you're vacationing here without renting a car and blocking off the whole afternoon.

Muracci's says it simmers its curry for two days. I have no way of proving that, but I believe it: Their sauce is rich and light brown, with a taste reminiscent of Japan's CoCo Ichibanya. There's only one size, but it's pretty substantial -- and you can order more rice and curry sauce if you want to. A little bit of fukujinzuke and pickled cabbage sit on the side of the plate. There are three spice levels, which might not be enough for adventure-seekers, although Medium was plenty for me.

The tonkatsu was fantastic. It was surprisingly large, a juicy and thick slab of fried pork that was a welcome change from the tough, thin slices I'd gotten used to at too many Japanese restaurants in America.

Muracci's doesn't offer cheese on its curry, which is a bit disappointing, although it does feature a pretty substantial variety of toppings from the usual (fried shrimp) to the downright strange (fried salmon).

Muracci's also offers "Hot Curry Soup", with curry sauce poured over ramen or udon noodles. The menu is rounded out with items like oyakodon, katsudon, and a small handful of plain sushi rolls.

It's a tiny little place, with one (1) table for two and about seven counter seats. I'm guessing it does most of its business in take-out. If you go at about 5 PM for an early dinner, it'll be pretty empty.

Pity it's not open past 6 PM, or on the weekends at all. If you don't work in the Financial District, you'll likely have trouble finding time to go to Muracci's.