Ramen. For most westerners, the word conjures up images of shrink-wrapped, dried noodles accompanied by a packet of salty dust and, if you’re lucky, some freeze-dried vegetables or a dollop of sesame oil. The real gourmet might drop an egg into the boiling broth a couple minutes before switching off the heat. As a kid, this was the food of choice when there were no adults around to cook something that required more preparation than boiling water. Basically, ramen was never anything to get excited about.
The problem was that I wasn’t actually eating ramen, but instead instant noodles, a product invented by Momofuku Andō of Nissin Foods in 1958 that caught on with such tenacity as to reshape the meaning of the word “ramen” itself in the West. Now that I’ve had a chance to sample the real thing, I look back at all those wasted, ramen-less years with self-pity. Don’t get me wrong, instant noodles were an important part of my childhood and college years, and if it weren’t for this easy-to-swallow introduction, I may never have sought out the real thing. But, I see now that I was eating Kraft Mac ‘n Cheese when what I really wanted was a Roman carbonara.
Thankfully – at least in my experience – ramen just keeps getting better and better. The variety alone that this seemingly simple food represents is enough to ensure that there’s something for every taste, and always a better bowl around the corner. Deeper than a Hakata-style tonkotsu broth, more richly varied than opinions on ideal noodle hardness, the variety of Japanese ramen never ceases to amaze me. Every time I think I’ve found the dish’s pinnacle achievement, I’m soon proven wrong by an even more daring, rich, or complex preparation.
From humble pre-packaged beginnings, I’ve gone from $0.25 Maruchan Beef, Chicken, or “Oriental” to more exotic, spicy Korean stovetop varieties to ramen shops in San Francisco and, finally to Tokyo’s unlimited expanse. At every step, I’ve been content with my experience, and pleasantly satisfied with what I thought was the final chapter in a tasty little book of broth and noodles. Only now that I’m in Japan do I understand that it’s no book in front of me, but rather an encyclopedia of endless volumes.
My first real ramen experience came on my second day in Tokyo. Jet-lagged, heat-exhausted, disoriented and dazed, I stumbled into a friendly looking shop on a small street behind Hatagaya station. I was hungry and knew I needed something substantive to hold me over until I could work up the courage to walk into another restaurant. I can’t remember how I ended up ordering the chāshū-men (チャーシューメン) – standard soy-based ramen with plenty of fatty pork slices on top – but it was exactly what I’d been craving, without even knowing it. With true Japanese care for food presentation, the thin, delicate pork slices were hung over the bowl, glistening and waving me in. The broth was rich and wholesome, serving up plenty of umami goodness. And the toppings were simple, standard, and well-balanced: sliced green onions and menma (soft bamboo shoot slices) added just enough fresh energy to complement the pork.
The little ramen shop couldn’t hold more than ten people, and the tiny space held a cacophony of slurping sounds. Slurping is something I still hadn’t gotten the hang of: I was always afraid I was going to somehow inhale my noodles. Would I have to go to the doctor, complaining of noodles in the lungs? I was sure he’d have some cheesy quip ready for me: “You really just inhale your food, don’t you, noodlebrain?” I gave it a try anyway, and after one successful slurp, was unable to reproduce it. What I didn’t slurp ended up in other places, and I was forced to walk much of the rest of the day with grease spots speckling my shirt. Seeing as I only paid 700 yen for the best ramen of my life, I was still able to wear a smile along with the broth.
Ruined by ramen. The phrase acts not only as a tribute to all those ties and shirts I’ve lost in pursuit of the perfect bowl, but to the dish’s spoiling effect on my own taste buds. Call me simple, picky, or set in my ways, but these days, sitting down to beautiful meals or everyday fare, I often think to myself: I’d rather it was ramen.
