For several generations now, Hawai'i people have thought they knew what Japanese food was. We loved our okazuya. We perfected our shoyu chicken. We made tsukemono and namasu and takuwan and nishime. We bought sushi trays. We loved tempura and hekka and misoyaki butterfish and curry stew. And, of course, saimin.

What many of us didn't realize for a long time was that the Japanese food we knew wasn't really ... well ... Japanese. It was an Island version of the Japanese food evolved through the skills, resources and tastes of our plantation-era ancestors.

And then, a decade or more ago, restaurants began popping up in the Islands, especially on O'ahu, that showed us a whole new world: the world of izakaya (tavern food, small plates that pair well with beer, sake and other beverages) and the world of ramen noodle houses in which both the noodles and the broth were so far from saimin that they were almost unrecognizable (although the two dishes are cousins), regional specialties about which we previously knew nothing. (Or at least those of us who had never been to Japan knew nothing.)

Such a place is Ojiya Japanese Cuisine, which a couple of months ago took over the site of short-lived XO on Kapi'olani Boulevard, right about where it meets Atkinson (mauka side, next to Quiksilver). Ojiya specializes in the food of Niigata prefecture (Ojiya is a city in that region on Honshu island). A signature Niigata dish is seaweed-flavored soba (buckwheat noodles — more on this shortly). But the restaurant, which describes its food as "bistro dining," also presents more-contemporary cuisine as well.

My advice: Don't play it safe. Don't just order your usual donburi bowl; ask a lot of questions and learn something about this interesting regional cuisine. Try something new.

My girlfriend and I began our meal with something I'm told has become a hot item in Tokyo: fried gobo strips ($4), potato chips but Nihon no aji ("the taste of Japan"). These are made with the long, narrow burdock root popular in homey nishime vegetable stew. Gobo is known as something of a pain to prepare because it's got to be peeled, immersed in acidulated water to prevent discoloration, and then parboiled.

I've never known much about gobo or thought much of it, to be frank. But the tall, golden-brown mountain of hot and crisp gobo shavings, which resembled nothing so much as a pile of writhing eels, was a revelation.

"Who knew gobo could be this good?" my girlfriend asked as we stuffed our faces. Even without a sauce, they were dangerously addictive. The stack of chips could comfortably have satisfied the deep-fried needs of at least four people.

The next course was one of those dishes that you order because you can't imagine what the chef could have been thinking ... and then you're glad he or she did.

It was small squares of fine-textured, silky fishcake draped with mozzarella cheese, broiled and lightly garnished with shaved green onion and umeboshi (pickled plum; $8). We love 'em. You get four. We wanted to eat them all. (There's an extensive nightly special menu plus a multipage standard menu — lots of choices here; take friends.)

A food-savvy Tiserite who had recommended Ojiya, and who went there with a pal from Japan, told me that you would automatically be asked, "When do you want the soba served?" — the assumption being that you will, of course, be having soba (like rice being inevitable here). They didn't ask us, probably because it was clear we were newbies to the Niigata experience. But we were primed and made sure to order the noodles for which Ojiya is famous.

Our waiter, whose English was more than adequate but not quite always up to the detailed food questions I tend to ask, told us that the soba they're serving now is the light, refreshing summertime version ($13); in winter, they may be served in a hot broth. The noodles, imported from Niigata, are artfully piled on a straw tray called a zaru and they're room temperature; topped with a chiffonade of glistening toasted nori (seaweed).

You can choose from a number of accompaniments, but it routinely comes with a dipping sauce and spicy wasabi (Japanese-style horseradish). We ordered assorted tempura (shrimp and vegetables) with our noodles; presented separately, on another zaru tray. Again, we were very satisfied. The serving was more than adequate for two.

With this, we added an order of Oshinku Moriwase (the chef's nightly presentation of assorted pickled vegetables, including, in this case, a crunchy-sweet daikon pickle and salty cabbage tsukemono; $5). These helped keep the taste buds hopping as we scooped noodles into the dipping sauce and dug into the crisp tempura. And if that wasn't enough, we ordered jyagaage, quartered and fried, garlic-dusted potatoes garnished with crisp nori ($4). These were just deep-fried heaven, as if the gobo hadn't already been enough fat for one meal. (Although the deep-frying is done so skillfully here that nothing tastes greasy.)

In keeping with our determination to alternate tradition with innovation, we also chose one of the specials: fresh halibut carpaccio with citron pepper ($10). It was a beautiful presentation of thinly sliced velvety fish drizzled with citrus (possibly yuzu), scattered with tobiko (flying-fish roe) and some kind of shoyu or kabayaki (eel/shoyu) sauce.

I wouldn't have been surprised to see a dish like this in a high-end Hawai'i Regional Cuisine restaurant (and to pay a lot more for it). As with most Japanese food, the flavors were subdued and beautifully balanced. Said my friend, "It was all the sweetness and freshness of the ocean." But there was also a slight pepperiness, too.

We ended, although how we managed to eat one more thing I don't know, with an intriguing dessert special offered that night: broiled mochi cakes with vanilla ice cream and a garnish of sweet bean paste. The cakes were not the little round dango-type pillows with which most Islanders are familiar, but freeform mounds of delicately browned mochi meringue, only slightly sweet ($5).

The decor at Ojiya is nothing special — Hawaiian-patterned tablecloths and dividers, linen-like noren curtains. But one thing we liked about it A LOT is that, for a restaurant where most of the tables were occupied, the noise level was just what it should have been. You can comfortably converse both with each other and the server. And the servers are polite, attentive and try very hard to work with those of us who don't — alas! — speak Japanese. And it's got none of the over-chic, over-designed self-consciousness of some of the other new contemporary Japanese restaurants.

Add to that the fact that two of us, stuffed to the point of giddiness, got out of there for less than $55 (we drank tea; liquor, of course, would have added to the bill).

I recommend Ojiya highly.