The first hint that this growing Portland-area chain might be something more than the usual effort at to be vaguely Japanese is the mathematical LaTeX font used in the menu layout: it’s a questionable move from the graphic design/aesthetic point of view, but a sign of total Japanese legitimacy. The second good sign is the geographical distribution of Koji Osakaya branches: with the exception of downtown Portland, they seem to plop down in the Asian neighborhoods of the fringes and suburbs, clearly not catering to a white-only clientele.

The atmosphere varies from branch to branch; the downtown location is a total dive, like a diner with the sort of open kitchen that predates the charming kind. Elsewhere, the furnishings are more modern and the décor more refined, but that’s not necessarily a good thing. The space often feels generic and perfunctory, like the service.

Although there’s a fair bit of raw fish on the menu and at the sushi bar, that doesn’t seem to be the focus of Koji. But if you can overlook the proliferation of weirdo maki, you can enjoy some really excellent fish, here, especially in nigiri form. Albacore and hirame (halibut) have been consistently silky and delicious; sushi chefs will let you know what’s freshest. This is worlds above the quality of your local sushi joint.

Shishamo (capelin, or smelt) broiled to a deep char come four whole fish to a plate, the approximate size of steak fries; they need a few squeezes of lemon to come into their own with an interesting, challenging fish flavor. Cold zaru soba (buckwheat noodles), served with a subtly sweet soy-based dipping sauce along with shredded radish, scallion, and nori, always hit the spot; it’s a dish that’s not as easy to find around town as it should be. We like the noodles a bit less cooked than they are here, but Koji’s still have a happy resilience and a refreshing sodium kick from the sauce.

One of the more popular orders here is one of the many versions of the combination dinner, often with broiled fish or meat or a well-executed tonkatsu (breaded, fried pork fillet). It’s all well executed, convenient, cheap, and, in general, just the kind of comfort food that’s actually aimed at—and appeals to—the local Japanese population. That difference can hardly be overstated.

There’s exactly one great sake; beer is scarcely better, but you can have a nice Erath Pinot Gris, enjoy the low prices and the good food, and feel a bit more Japanese than usual.