• Eat lunch, which generally offers lower-priced meals. Look for fixed-price meals.
• If you can't read the menu, be sure to communicate your "budget" when ordering.
• Eat where office workers eat. Stay away from sushi unless you want to splurge.
• Favor vegetables, tofu and noodles over shrimp, meat or poultry.

If you don't read Japanese, even getting to a restaurant can squelch the most solemn of gastronomic intentions. But there exists a series of visual symbols to help you. Some restaurants display colored curtains, or noren, in the doorway to announce that the restaurant is open. Others display symbols reflecting their style of cooking or type of ingredients. Here are some code-cracking tips:

General Restaurants
Kyodo-ryori: Regional specialty.
Nihon-ryori: A variety of specialties.

Seasonal Restaurants
Kaiseki: Japanese haute cuisine.
Kappo: Cordon Bleu restaurants.

Beef
Shabu-shabu: Thinly sliced parboiled beef.
Sukiyaki: Pan-simmered beef and vegetables.
Teppanyaki: Tableside grill.

Seafood
Sashimi: Raw fish, masterfully sliced and served plain; look for fish symbol.
Sushi: Raw fish on specially prepared rice; look for fish symbol.

Grilled Specialties
Yakitori: Skewered, grilled chicken and other specialties; look for red paper lanterns.
Unagi: Eel cuisine; look for eel symbol.

Casseroles and Stews
Kamameshi: Rice casserole specialties.
Oden: Fishcakes and vegetables in broth.
Nabemono: One-pot cauldron specialties.

Deep-Fried Specialties
Tempura: Batter-coated, deep-fried seafood and vegetables.
Tonkatsu: Breaded, deep-fired pork cutlets; black and white noren.

Noodles and Do-It-Yourself
Soba and Udon: Buckwheat-and wheat-noodle specialties.
Okonomiyaki: Filled griddlecakes.

No.1: Shabusen, Chuo-ku, Ginza 5-8-2, Ginza Koah Building (B1 basement and second floor), tel: 3571-1717.

No.2: Nanbantei, Minato-ku, Roppongi 4-5-6, tel: 3402-0606.

No.3: Otafuku, Taito-ku, Senzoku 1-6-2, tel: 3871-2521.

No.4: Toricho, Minato-ku, Roppongi 7-14-1, Hosho Building (first floor), tel: 3401- 1827.

No.5: Meguro-Issaan, Shinagawa-ku, Kami-Osaki 2-14-3, tel: 3444-0875.

THE Japanese have perfected the art of participatory dining, and nothing defines that better than shabu-shabu. This bona fide feast consists of paper-thin folds of marbled beef or lean pork, cubes of fish, whole shellfish or vegetables cooked in individual copper vessels. Participants swirl the components in a delicate kelp-seasoned broth, then dip them into a sauce seasoned to taste with diced green onions and droplets of fiery-red sesame oil.

One of Tokyo's best and most reasonably priced places for shabu-shabu is the Ginza's Shabusen, a large, cheery, efficient, restaurant that offers counter dining as well as table service. Although we sampled both the succulent beef and lean pork variations, I could live happily with the purely vegetarian variation: fresh slices of shredded cabbage, Japanese cabbage, soft pillows of tofu, fresh seaweed, straw mushrooms and bean vermicelli in the bubbling broth.

Shabusen, Chuo-ku, Ginza 5-8-2, Ginza Koah Building (B1 basement and second floor), tel: 3571-1717.
Daily, 11 A.M. to 10 P.M. Lunch menu, 900 to 2,200 yen (about $8.50 to $20.50); dinner menu, 3,600 to 5,500 yen.

Japanese cuisine favors the natural flavors imparted by foods grilled over oak coals. And yakitori - grilling over charcoal (yaki) cubes of soy-basted, skewered chicken (tori) - offers something rare in modern-day Tokyo: real value for money. Yakitori selections also include varied seasonal vegetables; beef, pork and fish; balls of meat or poultry, alone or in combination.

Of several spots sampled, Roppongi's popular Nanbantei offered the most substantial fare, including slender wands of asparagus wrapped in bacon sliced so thinly that the fat virtually vanished in the grilling, and well-seasoned cubes of pork wrapped in fresh green shisho leaves, a pungent Japanese herb with overtones of mint and lemon. And I loved the huge bowls of crispy, raw cabbage, carrots, zucchini and scallions, for dipping in a "house" sauce that blends white sesame seeds, soy sauce, spices and miso.

Nanbantei, Minato-ku, Roppongi 4-5-6, tel: 3402-0606.
Daily, 5 to 11 P.M. A la carte items from 380 to 780 yen. Menus at 3,500 to 3,900 yen.

In a city where polish, newness, hustle and bustle are the name of the game, the well-aged patina, the poised and graceful glow of Otafuku stand in welcome contrast. At this warm family restaurant devoted to oden - a long-simmered mixture of tofu, fishcakes, potatoes, yams, ginkgo nuts, hard-boiled eggs, cabbage rolls and cuttlefish - the rich, buttery sweet broth is the star. A serious oden broth is guarded like a well-tended sourdough starter, nurtured for years and constantly replenished with water and soy.

Seated at the cozy bar with its glazed luster, diners witness the ritual unfurling, as moist hard-cooked eggs, juicy wands of celery, chewy sardine balls, starchy Japanese yams and tofu in many guises are ladled from an oversized copper vessel to individual bowls.

Otafuku, Taito-ku, Senzoku 1-6-2, tel: 3871-2521. Dinner only, 5 to 11 P.M. Closed second and third Sunday of each month, and Monday. A la carte, 3,000 to 4,000 yen.

The sounds of good times in any language need no translation, and you needn't speak Japanese to be instantly uplifted by the shouts of welcome greeting diners as they step down into the crowded, boisterous Toricho. Here, only counter-style dining is available in the two cozy dining rooms. While the food here has less depth of flavor and less finesse than Nanbantei's, the atmosphere is terrific.

Enveloped in a rhapsody of gaiety, we downed hot and sizzling chicken balls, precision-cut stacks of baby asparagus, cubes of chicken livers sprinkled with sansho, tangy ground pepper, and loved the smooth, soothing crunch of the whole roasted ginkgo nuts.

Toricho, Minato-ku, Roppongi 7-14-1, Hosho Building (first floor), tel: 3401- 1827.
Monday to Saturday, 5 to 11 P.M.; Sunday, 5 to 10 P.M. About 5,600 yen per person.

Fresh noodles - long and thin, wide and flat, slender or round, made with wheat flour, with buckwheat flour, served hot or served cold - are treasures of Japan's varied cuisine. One of the best-buy sit-down soba restaurants is in the middle-class district of Meguro. At Meguro-Issaan, in a simple wooden house down a lane, guests sit on blue-and-white checked cushions around low tables, relishing the simple, sublime fare that is so satisfying and digestible. I opted for sanshoku, a trio of cold green, gray and white soba stacked in shiny square lacquered boxes. It is delivered ready for transferring to a bowl filled with a season-to-taste blend of broth, grated wasabi (horseradish) and thinly sliced leeks. Slurp to your heart's content.

Meguro-Issaan, Shinagawa-ku, Kami-Osaki 2-14-3, tel: 3444-0875.
Open 11:30 A.M. to 4 P.M. (11:30 A.M. to 7 P.M. Sundays and holidays.) Closed Wednesday and third Tuesday of each month. A la carte, 1,000 to 2,000 yen.

No.1: Ki-Cho (Kitcho), Chuo-ku, Ginza 1-11-2, Hotel Seiyo (B1, basement), tel: 3535-1177.

No.2: Jiro, Chuo-ku, Ginza 4-2-15, Tsukamoto Sozan Building (B1, basement), tel: 3535-3600.

No.3: Nodaiwa, Minato-ku, Higashi-H Azabu 1-5-4, tel: 3583-7852.

To many Western plates, the greatest cooking of Japan- kaiseki - remains rarefied, an illusive bundle of contradictions. At once boldly aesthetic and curiously ascetic, kaiseki cuisine might better be understood as the world's original menu dégustation. For here, with its procession of small tastes faithful to the season, the palate is presented with a dazzling spectrum of flavors, textures, sensations, as the chef accords equal significance to preparation and presentation.

In theory the cuisine is part of the Zen-inspired tea ceremony. In practice, kaiseki (meaning "warm stone," from the stone that Zen monks put on their stomachs to distract them from hunger) long ago became a distinct cuisine in its own right.

A superb kaiseki feast can be found at Kitcho, a simple, spartan, contemporary dining room in the Ginza's Hotel Seiyo. Here - in one of several Kitcho branches run by Toshiji Yuki and his family - the bare wooden tables, simple straight-back chairs and Japanese screens serve as an unembroidered backdrop for the drama on the plate.

Amidst all this ceremony, subtle and ritual, the food itself packs a wallop: Flavors are bold, intense and forthright, from the first sip of chilled plum wine served from minuscule handcrafted cups, to the final drop of roasted, caffeine-light tea that closes the meal.

Kaiseki cuisine embodies everything we look for today in a great meal: balance, minimal quantities of fat, extraordinary variety, impeccable freshness, knowledgeable execution, attentive presentation.

Japanese cuisine intuitively pays homage to health and diet, and so throughout the meal you are aware of the foods' unself-conscious health-giving properties: the sake that burns the fat; the pickles that stimulate digestion; the vast quantities of liquids, both hot and cold, that serve to satisfy.

We weave through eight varied courses, each dish arriving in a brilliant lacquered box or a stoneware bowl. Hot and cold dishes alternate. The seasonal theme is chrysanthemums, and so fresh chrysanthemums, chrysanthemum-flower sake, fruits and desserts carved or shaped to resemble the showy autumn blossom appear as a leitmotiv throughout the meal.

The assortment includes Kitcho's signature lacquered box filled with an arrangement of six lemons - hollowed out and carved to resemble the seasonal flower - filled with rich and fatty salmon and salmon eggs that pop on the roof of the mouth; wild mushrooms known as "forest caviar" paired with sliced sautéed mushrooms; a dreamy, creamy coupling of fresh figs and sesame sauce.

The star of the evening comes early in the performance, a delicate, ethereal broth laden with fresh hamo, a sea eel, and rare matsutak wild mushrooms. Served in individual hammered metal bowls, each arrives in its own brazier, fiery hot with cubes of charcoal. Diners pluck the chunks of delicate fish and earthy mushrooms from the broth, each morsel smooth and soothing. The broth is drunk at the end, a clear, pure liquid, lightly fishy, lightly woodsy, pure. The dish brought to mind a perfect black dress, one that requires neither adornment nor embellishment.

From fiery hot to icy cold, the palate marches on, to a platter of festive red and white sashimi, paper-thin slices of rosy-red tuna, rectangles of fresh ivory-pale porgy, all on a perfect bed of shaved ice. As foils, fresh golden chrysanthemum blossoms are there for dipping in soy sauce, along with a touch of wasabi (Japanese horseradish), seaweed and freshly grated radish. A cool and refreshing contrast to the heat of the soup, the sashimi is ceremonial, filling, bursting with flavor and infused with lean protein.

Later, a stunning departure turns heads once again, with a luscious, rich shrimp paste sandwiched between slices of parchment-thin slices of lotus root, all deep fried and served on a leaf atop a sizzling hot brazier. The procession weaves on, with steamed rice, baby shrimp and little tastes of pickled vegetables, a dose of acid to stimulate digestion. Then refreshing slices of dewy green muskmelon, dripping with juice, as though they'd been injected with the juice of 1,000 ripe melons. And sweet bean desserts, frothy bitter green tea; seaweed tea; and roasted tea, a trace of caffeine that rinses the palate and take us into the warm night air. Open daily 11:30 A.M. to 1:30 P.M. and 5 to 8:30 P.M. 12,000-yen ($112) lunch menu. A la carte, 30,000 to 50,000 yen.

There's no absolute formula for perfection, but the Japanese sure give themselves a fighting chance. Specialization is their secret weapon: Repeat a procedure day after day, year after year, and you just might occasionally make it perfect.

Once you've sampled Jiro Ono's luxurious sushi - virtually flawless down to the last grain of rice - you know you tasted greatness. He's now 60, and I realize he's been perfecting the art of sushi longer than I've been alive. Sitting at the counter at Jiro watching him is like watching any master at his art: There is no wasted motion, his fish sparkles like glittering jewels. The striated shrimp stand in military readiness, the silvery mackerel are mounded one atop the other, like furled pages of a book.

Exemplary sushi, say the experts, should be exactly half rice and half fish. Jiro once counted the number of grains of rice that make up the ideal base and determined it was 250. So each time he dips his studied hand into the rice bucket, that's what he aims for.

And you really can taste each single grain, not too starchy, not too much vinegar. His fish isn't simply stacked atop the rice, it's molded and fits like a custom-made glove. So when you grasp a portion of sushi, topped with lush, light, semi-fatty tuna (marinated in soy sauce for 15 minutes), you set it in on your tongue and resist the inevitable - at some point soon you will have to swallow. Such frustrating, transient, pleasure.

The symphony continues - slippery turbot the color of a pearl; gently steamed squid that's turned buttery and makes you want to chew, deliberate, ponder; alabaster abalone, steamed and brushed with concentrated soy sauce, with a haunting hint of bitter almond. The brilliance continues with rice wrapped in soft seaweed and topped with sea urchin. You're ordered to down it instantly - don't blink or take a second breath - or the seaweed will dry out and perfection will be lost. There's coral-fleshed, silver-skinned aji (horse mackerel) direct from Tokyo Bay; striated shrimp so large they must be halved; salmon roe wrapped in more of that pliable jade seaweed. Food so fragile you fear it will break.

Open 11:30 A.M. to 1:30 P.M. and 5 to 8 P.M. (Saturday, 11:30 A.M. to 2 P.M.) Closed Sundays and holidays. A la carte, 10,000 to 150,000 yen.

Sweet, delicate, buttery-brown and grilled ever so simply over hardwood charcoal, eels - or unagi - make up one of Japan's most-treasured specialties. For more than five generations Nodaiwa, a rustic country-house transported to the center of Tokyo, has been the city's top eel restaurant. With a small cozy dining room on the main floor and several small private rooms upstairs, Nodaiwa prepares more than 500 eels daily, catering to everyday diners as well as office workers who call in orders and dine at their desks.

Here, as in the best unagi restaurants, the eels are kept in holding tanks and killed only seconds before preparation begins. Only wild eel (less coarse and less fatty than farmed eel) are served, some of Japanese origin and others, only slightly less prized, from France. A starter course includes Tokyo-style eel that's been grilled, then steamed to rid it of excess fat, then grilled on skewers with a constant bathing of a molasses-rich brown sauce, called tare. Served with a dusting of tangy ground Japanese pepper, or sansho, the tiny, fragrant morsels take on elegance, visually mimicking the glistening lacquer of the boxes in which they are served. They're protein-rich, luxuriously fat but not at all greasy, filling but not a bit heavy.

I admit to a preference for the simplest (and richest) preparation: the tiniest of eels (weighing less than 8 ounces) are sliced and stacked on frail skewers and grilled over hardwood charcoal. You barely need to chew, for they melt in your mouth, enlivened by a dash of horseradish and a light dipping in soy sauce. And it's all washed down with sips of cooling sake.

It's no surprise to find that eels are called the spare ribs of the sea, rich and restorative.

Open 11:30 A.M. to 1:30 P.M. and 5 P.M. to 7:30 P.M. Closed Sunday. A la carte, from 3,000 to 8,000 yen.