ramen

by

Vegetarian Ramen

Vegetarianism is a tricky concept in Japan. The words vegetable and vegetarian get mixed up, and you’ll order a vegetarian something and it will arrive with shrimp on it. The recommended meal for many veg visitors to Tokyo is … Indian food. It is not impossible to be a vegetarian here, it is just more work. Vegetarians who are able or willing to eat dashi, a broth made from dried, fermented and smoked skipjack tuna (also known as bonito and katsuobushi) have a much easier time. As a visiting-vegetarian friend said, she didn’t realize that dishes made with dashi would be so heavy. You mean flavorful? That, my friend, would be the animal.

I eat meat but trend vegetarian, so when I find a great vegetarian anything I get excited (like this shojin ryori). This week I found vegetarian ramen.

VegeRamen Nana8

Real deal vegetarian ramen. That’s lotus root, okra, mushrooms, radish, grated daikon, tomato, onions and greens in a flavorful vegetable broth. Even the noodles are green.

VegeRamen Nana

They are made from spirulina. I don’t actually know what that is, but I trust my man James. Every year the ramen chain Kagetsu Arashi offers a vegetarian ramen as a healthy alternative to the fat-packed kind. A vegetarian friend here admitted to eating it every day for a week straight, and I assume he is still going strong. Keep it up man! They’re offering it until May!

Since it’s healthy, why not get the veggie gyoza? Vegetarians need junk food, too.

Vege gyoza

by

Noodles Mess With My Head

A ramen shop destroyed a dream today.

Ramen Jiro is one of Tokyo’s more famous ramen chains. The original shop is just a few minutes away from my apartment, but I have never gone in the year and half we’ve lived here.

I never wanted to wait in the shop’s long line, so I did the only sensible thing and talked about the shop like a grandmother watching the squirrels outside of her window:

“Oh, pretty good line today. That’s at least an hour and half wait.”

“Oh, it looks like they ran out of noodles today. Did they get a new cook?”

Ang normally nods, and says something sweet like, “You know, you could just go there sometime, dum dum.”

What Ang failed to understand was that I had turned Ramen Jiro into Holy Mount Ramen. I was never hungry enough to appreciate the notoriously large portions or didn’t have enough time in the afternoon to relax in a ramen-infused daze. It had to be right, which sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud, but so does any word if you say it out loud long enough. Shark. Shark. Shark. Shark.

Yesterday, everything lined up perfectly. I woke up at noon, hungover and starving – living the dream! – and decided to call it a day right there. I cleared my non-existent calendar and to-do list. “If I can put on pants, leave my apartment, and stumble to Ramen Jiro, I can count this day as a success,” I thought.

I waited in line at Ramen Jiro for over an hour. I’m pretty sure the smirks of passersby were smirks of respect and not smirks that said, “Look at those grown men standing in line for a bowl of noodles.” Still, I was feeling good about my plan, because I was having a memorable experience, and then at the end I’d get to eat delicious ramen.

The line wrapped around the tiny, triangular building. Lots of teenagers in school uniforms coming from Saturday class, and lots of adults taking full advantage of the time they are given on this earth. I was starting to get hungry by the time I got to the front of the line and I didn’t like the way the guy in front glanced back at me. To be fair to him, I don’t think he was actually looking at me, but point-counterpoint, I was ready to hunt down his family and eat all of their faces off. Maybe that was just the low blood sugar talking. Jesus, I hope it was just the low blood sugar talking.

No matter, I was finally getting to try this ramen that dominates every English language article about ramen in Tokyo. Go on, try to find an article that doesn’t mention Ramen Jiro. I’ll wait.

Let’s draw this out some more. I’ve loved ramen since my Oriental-flavored Maruchen days…Oriental-flavored! I looked past dated, possibly racist phrases for packs of dried ramen. And now I live in Tokyo, the best ramen in the world (Sorry, China). And now I’m getting to eat at the famous Ramen Jiro. I was still hungover – living the dream! – but was a happy man when I sat down.

Ramen Jiro is a tiny shop, and you have to politely shove your neighbor’s face into his soup to get to your seat. They have a reputation for big portions, garlic, and a broth that’s practically gravy. People go nuts over it.

But when I sat down, all I saw was a giant vat of gurgling gray pork mess. The ramen chef had a tub of pork meat, and would occasionally pull out a hacked-off piece of cooked pig. The fat slid down his arms. All of his fingers were heavily bandaged. I took a sip of water to stop thinking about what his fingers looked like under those grease-trapping bandages.

I love Tokyo’s ramen shops, and I’m familiar with boiling vats and grease, but Ramen Jiro looks more like a dare than a beloved shop.

Is it possible for food to be ragged? The chef set a massive bowl on the counter in front of me. Torn cabbage, torn bean sprouts and slabs of meat still clinging to other parts of the pig spilled over the sides of the bowl.

It tasted like pig. Not pork, or chashu, but the essence of pig. It was gross, and I felt gross for being there. And goddamn it, why did that guy keep looking back at me?! Uh oh, might not be low blood sugar.

I shuffled home defeated and with a cholesterol level a few points higher. The sun was starting to go down, and the night’s chill was setting in. The fat from the broth that I had gotten on my fingers started to congeal. The ramen was taking me to a dark place. Am I wrong about all the things I thought I loved? How many times have I convinced myself I liked something that was actually awful? God, my haircut is stupid.

“Is ramen stupid?” I asked myself. Just then, in the window of the convenience store I saw the newest edition of a ramen magazine I like. It was a sign. Just because one ramen shop was disappointing, it doesn’t mean I have to stop seeking out new places. Also, I have really, really small goals.

Then I had to quicken my shuffle to a stride to get home, because of pork fat physics.

Ramen Jiro: Mita 2-16-4, Minato-ku

by

Kyoto is for Eaters, Again

As Dan reported, our recent trip to Kyoto was livelier than expected. While wriggling fish haunt his dreams, all I can think about is this:

Parfait perfection.

Maybe we need to look at that again…

This was lunch. I’m not ashamed. I also wasn’t alone — this is what my father-in-law ordered:

We’re like two peas in a pod sweet beans in a parfait.

But let’s back up. After we arrived at Kyoto station, Dan and I used our keen instincts — we found the only restaurant with a line and stood in it — to track down some seasonal soba.

Clockwise from the top left — pickles, tempura mushrooms and green peppers, warabi (a soybean-powder-covered mochi dessert), soba noodle soup with mushrooms, tempura dipping sauce, yuba (tofu skin, a Kyoto specialty), mushroom rice (kinoko takikomi gohan), and more pickles (another Kyoto specialty).

Nishin soba, another Kyoto specialty.

After lunch we went for a hike. At the peak there was a restaurant serving beer and ice cream, of course. What do you think this shop owner’s commute is like?

When you climb a mountain and meet a guy wanting to sell you ice cream, you can’t refuse. This one was kinako.

Our weekend wasn’t all about food, I swear. We did some sightsighing, and a little more sightseeing. And then after an especially rainy afternoon, we found a charming little omurice restaurant. Maybe not the haute Kyoto cuisine my in-laws were expecting, but it was perfectly placed comfort food for a chilly evening.

And, to round out the weekend (and our waistlines), we ended with a trip to Kyoto Ramen Street.

With a belly full of noodles and a cold beer in-hand, we hopped on the shinkansen for a sleepy trip back to Tokyo. Ah, how I love Japan in the fall.

by

An Afternoon Stroll

On Saturday Dan and I took a stroll to Nippori in search of Yanaka Ginza.  We recently purchased a new camera and thought the quaint shopping street would be perfect for some practice shots.

But first, no afternoon stroll through Tokyo can begin without ramen:

We didn’t even make it to the train station before this stop, since this ramen-ya is in our neighborhood.  Dangerous, I know.  B1F, 1-7-9 Azabu Juban, Minato-ku  博多チムそば 麻布十番店、〒106-0045 東京都港区麻布十番１丁目７−９

On to Yanaka Ginza.  Well, almost.  To reach Yanaka Ginza we had to take the train to the JR Nippori station, which is also the home of Fabric Town:

Does anyone remember Cheapo in Minneapolis?  Oh, the hours I spent trying to look interested in used CDs while Dan click-clicked his way through new arrivals.  Apparently it’s payback time.  (You can find more info on Textile Heaven here.)  Only one hour was lost, and then it was back to our mission…

We got a little turned around, and eventually found our way across the train tracks via tunnel.  I sort of love/hate it when I’m in one of these tunnels and the train passes overhead.  Popping out the other side, we noticed people were gathering:

We’d stumbled upon Fujimizaka (meaning Fuji view slope), and joined just in time to watch the sun set over the city.  Everyone was gathered along a road that climbed up a steep hill (apparently some with better cameras than us).  If you are like me and need a little help, Fuji-san was just about here:

Finally, on with our quest.  We were looking for Yanaka Ginza, a small shopping street in northeastern Tokyo that is famous for maintaining the feel of Shitamachi, the traditional and lower class part of Edo which housed merchants and artisans in the marshy (read: humid and stinky) low part of the city.  Most of Shitamachi is gone, due to fires and wars over the years, but a few areas of Tokyo still do it right.  After some iPhone-led zig-zagging through neighborhoods, we finally arrived… and forgot to take photos.

Believe me though, it’s great.  We bought sencha 煎茶, stood in line for grilled meats, and wandered from shop window to cafe menu.  On our way home, we passed a small shrine tucked along the road:

A nice end to a lovely winter day.

by

Mmmm.

In the aftermath of my musings on cold-weather warmer-uppers, I found this recipe for nabe.  I haven’t tried it yet myself (only because I don’t have a suitable pot).  Anyone else willing to try it out and tell me how it goes?

If I were to make this, I think I’d chose potatoes from Group A, fish chunks, shrimp and mussels for meat, leeks (if I could find them) or a yellow onion from Group B, and all sorts of mushrooms, though especially shiitake and enoki.  Then some tofu.  From Group C I’d pick cabbage and top it off with spinach.  And I’d definitely add ramen noodles at the end.  Duh.

Can’t wait to hear what you try!

by

A Day of Eating

I’d like to invite you along on a day of gluttonous behavior.

Last weekend Dan and I explored Kichijoji, hip place for living 15 minutes west of Shinjuku on the Chūō line.  Our plan was to take a walk, find some lunch, and perhaps do a little window shopping.  We really didn’t get too far before the first snack attack.

Round 1 landed us in a vegetarian restaurant, which can be hard to find in Japan.  A nod to its hipness factor, Kichijoji has a few, and the result was lunch at Deva Deva Cafe.  Dan went for one of the six veggie burgers on the menu and I, predictable as always, chose curry rice.

Next we found Bakery Café Linde and picked up some fresh pretzels.  Showing a little bit of self restraint (the last of the day), we put these in our pockets for later.

Our walk through Kichijoji ended at Cafe Zenon, a manga cafe where, rumor had it, some amazing lattes could be found.

And a mid-afternoon coffee in Tokyo just wouldn’t be complete without an accompanying dessert set.

That’s one beautiful pudding you’re looking at (Dan’s feelings about pudding are summarized here).  I had the Autumn Special — waffle, chips, and cream made with sweet potato together with fresh pears and fig, all dusted with fresh chestnut.  Mmmm.

On our way back to the train station:

That is one scenic 7-11.  On the train home Dan said to me, “We have to transfer at Shinjuku station?  How convenient!”  The exclamation point in that sentence doesn’t do justice to the creepy weird look on his face.  I knew this meant only one thing — ramen.

Is this round 3 or 4?  I’ve lost track.  One of the most famous ramen shops in the city, Men-ya Musashi is located just outside of Shinjuku station.  It has awesome samurai decor and is packed.  Since it was Sunday evening, the line stretched the length of the restaurant but hadn’t yet gone out the door, a lucky break for us.  Here is my bowl of ramen before:

And the sad scene after:

I just couldn’t finish, and left a lone soldier behind.  Sorry, you beautiful piece of pork, there just wasn’t room for you in there with all your friends.

by

Quarter Pounder With Noodles

What’s your million dollar idea? You know the one. The thing that occupies your mind when you’re scraping mangled receipts and Post-it note reminders out of a washing machine lint trap. (By the way, the inventors of Post-it notes worked at 3M until retirement…I find something awfully depressing about that).

Anyway, what I was getting at was this:

I can barely wrap my head around this. I can definitely wrap my stomach around it, but my head, not so much. That beauty is a Ramen Burger, and I call dibs. I’m bringing this back to the States, and I’m going to make a sensible, not-outlandish living as a Carnie, hopping from town to town, county fair to farm show, introducing America to something they didn’t know they loved.  I’ll make enough money to throw slices of fresh bread to the ducks, not that week-old stuff. That stuff is for the birds.

This past weekend our neighborhood was overtaken by food vendors, a lot of them, for the Azabu-Juban Noryo Festival. The streets filled up with Tokyo folk (Tokyoites? Tokyojin? Tolkeins?), creating a thick wall of people on every street, and picking up groceries meant redefining my personal comfort zone. But on the positive side, picking up groceries also meant stopping for grill pit fish, giant scallops swimming in a shell full of butter (or mayo, it’s hard to say, my eyeballs were salivating), potato chips on a stick (dibs again), and draft beer. Lovely stuff.

The Ramen burger can’t be that hard to make. It’s cooked ramen noodles, griddled into the shape of a bun. Then you throw in some roast pork, spring onion, bamboo shoots, cabbage, and a broth-inspired sauce (soy, miso, or tonkotsu – heavenly pork bone). Brilliant.

Oh, and that thing on the right is just some delicious potato topped with butter, mayo, salt, kimchi and corn. Whatever.

by

Food Porn

In preparation for the Azabu Juban Noryo festival happening in our neighborhood this weekend, where I plan to eat my way from street-to-street for 3 straight days, I thought I’d clear some space on my camera and share a few food pics I’ve had in the vault.  I’m not sure our hurry-and-take-the-photo-so-I-can-shove-this-in-my-mouth photography really deserves the label “food porn,” but in any case, I thought these few photos were worth sharing.  Itadakimasu! *

A few weeks back, I was wandering the streets of Kappabashi (the kitchenware district, this site does a great job of describing it) and it was sooo hot and I was sooo hungry.  I stepped into the only restaurant I could find, where, alas, there was no English to be had, so I ordered the daily special, which was a gigantic plate of tempura.  Luck be a fried shrimp! (Two actually, along with mushrooms, okra, eggplant, and shiso.  This meal was also served with rice, soup, pickles and tea.  Oofdah.)

Dan and I discovered this place while wandering the streets of Shimokitazawa, a hip neighborhood of Tokyo that has been compared to Williamsburg in NYC.  May I present a ball of rice wrapped in bacon (!), sort of like a meat version of onigiri.  I may have put mayonnaise on mine.

Last weekend we found the ramen shop Gogyo, where the ramen is served black!  I had the kogashi shoyu, Dan went for the kogashi miso.  Both were “burnt” ramen, and I’m not sure how they got it that way, but the open kitchen had big flames and the ramen had that delicious almost-burnt, grilled-meat flavor.  We’re definitely going back for the black (alliteration is irresistible!).

Tokyo summers — the bad part is that it’s hot, the good part is that there is kakigori, a shaved-ice mound of sweet deliciousness much like the slushie I wrote about a few weeks ago. Kakigori is seasonal, so I plan to eat as much as I can in the next month.

I went for red bean and green tea, and Dan had fresh strawberry with a sweetened condensed milk glaze. These poor guys really didn’t stand a chance.

There you have it.  Don’t get me wrong, we eat a lot of weird and perhaps not-so-good things too (including the random mystery vegetables I try to cook at home), but those aren’t as fun to share.  Or are they?

* Your language lesson for the day: Itadakimasu いただきます roughly means “I humbly receive,” and is a traditional greeting before a meal.