Sushi places in Philly are a bit like those "guess how many" jellybean jars—the appeal seems to rest less in the quality, and more in the quantity. Goji (2001 Hamilton St., 215-569-1667), a relative newcomer to Philadelphia's dining scene, is focused on an as-yet-untapped facet of Japanese cuisine: time-honored dishes from the country's historic Edo period. The upscale-but-affordable sit-down's "Tokyo cuisine" has enjoyed huge success in Japan, and it's a hit here, too—the West Philly branch is the very first Goji in the United States, and more are on the way. Japana-fest destiny!

That maki you heart is but a blip on the radar of Japanese cuisine. "In the States, a lot of people have the idea that Japanese cuisine is just sushi and tempura," says Goji owner Jake Takahashi. Sure, sushi's far from a bit player on their menus (Goji's offerings are delish), but Edo cuisine is more about keeping tradition than anything else—Takahashi descends from the Minoyabunemon clan, who served powerful samurai lords back in the day. The flavors here are soft, focused and delicate, from the miso-marinated black cod to the crisp fried tonkatsu (black hog), the undisputed "prime rib" of pig. Aside from the white rice staple, main courses are almost always accompanied by side dishes, which range from pickled veggies to small-portion soups.

At the center of the traditional Japanese meal is soba, a rather nondescript buckwheat noodle. Don't let its modest appearance fool you—not too starchy but not too light, its flavor is a perfect complement to Goji's various tempura dishes. Soba is prepared both hot and cold; Goji serves theirs raw with a secret family-recipe Otsuyu sauce, housed in an attractive three-tiered tower that the owners patented.

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While it's quite authentic, Goji's food seems tailored to more conservative American dining habits. Still, most of us Yanks are probably unfamiliar with eel, which they serve in three different rolls.

It's customary to utter itadakimasu (ee-TAH-da-kee-masu), which roughly translates to "thank you for this food," before eating. It's an expression of both appreciation and humility, and it's far more eloquent than "rub a dub dub, thanks for the grub."

A typical Japanese breakfast features a multitude of small-plated delights, running the gamut from various pickles to fish to eggs.

Let's lighten the mood a bit and give you something you can do—slurp your noodles like a champ. Sure, your grandmother probably knocked you in the head when you sucked up your 'sghetti, but don't be shy; the louder, the better. "It's a compliment to the chef," says Takahashi. "It means the soba is really good."

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