When New York public health inspectors shut down "K-Paul's Louisiana Kitchen" last spring, the hungry followers of gastronome Paul Prudhomme howled: their cry was so vociferous that Mayor Edward I. Koch intervened to lift the restaurant's suspension. And, the next day, the story appeared on the front page of The New York Times.

Clearly, Cajun cooking had become a full-fledged culinary rage.

The eclectic cuisine Prudhomme perfected in his native New Orleans--and later promoted nationwide--is gaining popularity here, at Inman Square's "The Cajun Yankee." The novelty of the place may lure neophytes in for a trial run, but the food will bring them back.

Cajun cooking, the bayou fare of Louisiana's transplanted French-Canadians, draws on spicy herbs, fish, shellfish, poultry, and pork to create an unusual array of funkadelic flavors. Most of The Yankee's offerings fall under the heading "Hot and Hearty."

An attentive waitress presents the evening's menu on a small chalkboard, but the several choices don't appear to vary much from night to night.

Our favorite appetizer is the popular Cajun popcorn, bits of shellfish cooked in batter and dipped in a tangy onion sauce. To our disappointment, however, crabmeat was substituted for the traditional crawfish tails. The fish gumbo, a soup thick with seafood and orzo, also satisfies. The shrimp remoulade--cold shrimp in an unconventional hot mustard sauce--would pass muster if it included more shrimp and less lettuce.

The Yankee's entrees run the full thermal spectrum, from fuming chicken-sausage jamalaya to mellow blackened redfish, originally a Prudhomme creation. The jambalaya, a variant of Spanish paella, consists mostly of seasoned orzo (overweight rice); it clears the sinuses thoroughly. The redfish, cooked quickly in a searing-hot pan, could be addictive.

Another choice, the garlic shrimp and oyster pasta, properly merits a Surgeon General's warning. We could not palate a full serving of this pungent and powerful dish; the few who do probably regret it afterwards.

The piquant panee veal with fetuccini definitely deserves a sampling, but the shrimp etouffee is excessively soupy.

Dinner at The Yankee ends on a high note with an irresistable sweet potato pecan pie or the slightly less stellar bread pudding. Service is prompt, if sometimes hurried, and the portions are more than adequate.

A full meal, from gumbo to pecans, runs just under $25, cash only. The quality should be quite consistent, because chef John Silberman, a former Prudhomme apprentice, personally prepares every dish, six nights a week.

Cajun's decor is authentic neohodgepodge, from the flag-colored storefront to the playroom panelling, rapidly rotating ceiling fans, and heavy wood tables. Since the small dining room is invariably crowded, reservations are a must and should be made several days in advance.

Arrive on time, because the curt hostess means it when she says that they don't hold tables. If you don't grab your seat, somebody else will--which brings us to The Yankee's most annoying idiosyncrasy. If there's an empty seat at your table, you could find yourself in the company of a fortunate stranger who walked in off the street searching for an opening.

Then again, if you're the impatient but gregarious type, you just might drop in unannounced sometime yourself.

Overall rating (on a ten-point scale): 7.53.