Time to respect the ramen

April 15, 2010|By Kevin Pang, The Cheap Eater Not too long ago, I stared longingly out the window of a Tokyo hotel, my eyes laser-focused on a ramen noodle cart by the train station. A half-dozen people stood in line, mostly men in dark business suits. They waited and waited, then plopped themselves onto stools outside when summoned by the ramen chef. Sufficiently intrigued, I found myself in line among the suits. Ten minutes later, the cook presented a perfectly composed bowl, primary colors popping, a half-dozen ingredients resting in their respective nooks atop a steam-billowing tangle of noodles.

The bowl satisfied every taste sense man is blessed to experience. The soy-sauced broth was savory and pure. The noodles: smooth on the intake with an appealing chew. Alternating bites of bean sprouts, braised pork, seaweed and hard-boiled egg ensured every bite highlighted a different flavor. My brows beaded with sweat, my heart rate rose, my virginal experience of real Japanese ramen shook me to the core. Ramen was the first food I learned to cook at age 10 drop noodle brick in boiling water, empty sodium packet and here it was, in the middle of Tokyo's Shinagawa neighborhood, a dish redefined. This following statement I shall defend to the death: When ramen is good, it's in the top three of most extraordinary, soul-satisfying foods in the world. Admittedly, ramen gets a bad rap stateside. It conjures images of college dorms and food-drive donation bins. When you can get Sapporo Ichiban noodles 10 for a dollar at Walgreens, there's a whiff of cheapness ramen can't escape. But the last decade has seen ramen's street cred rise in cities such as New York, Los Angeles and Seattle. It's a mystery why Chicago isn't a ramen hotbed. Two theories as to Chicago's underwhelming ramen representation: Among Asians in Illinois, there are more Indians, Chinese, Koreans and Filipinos than Japanese. A bigger reason is that ramen is a laborious, time-consuming dish that, to prepare well, a restaurant has to pretty much make the dish its singular focus. There's this terrible movie called "The Ramen Girl," in which Brittany Murphy's character apprentices at a Tokyo ramen shop. There was one memorable line from the ramen chef, though: "A bowl of ramen is a self-contained universe with life from the sea, the mountain and the earth, all existing in perfect harmony. What holds it all together is the broth. The broth gives life to the ramen."

As great broths go, three in our area are worth noting. Takashi Yagihashi's cooking can be described as white-tablecloth Japanese through a French prism, but the Sunday brunch menu at his Bucktown restaurant, Takashi, is closest to his native roots. It's the one day of the week he serves ramen. For Takashi, growing up in Mito, a town outside Tokyo known for its abundant pink plum blossoms, ramen was omnipresent. "My house was on the same block as a ramen shop. We'd get so hungry after baseball practice we'd go there for a snack, then I'd eat dinner again," Takashi said. "I wanted to introduce what you can eat in Japan if you traveled there." The number of regional ramen styles in Japan number in the dozens, but the most prevalent is Tokyo-style shoyu, the Japanese word for soy sauce. Like a Chicago hot dog, you'll always find the same six ingredients atop a shoyu ramen: bamboo shoots, scallions, seaweed, hard-boiled egg sliced lengthwise, braised pork and Naruto-style fish cake (characterized by its pink swirl design).

The day I visited, it so happened that Rick Bayless and his wife, Deann, were also dining at Takashi, sharing a bowl of the shoyu ramen ($13). I could hear him from a few tables away raving about the noodles. We compared notes after the meal. "There's something so elementally true about getting and understanding what role broth plays and how incredibly satisfying that is," Bayless said. "I like the very gentle spicing in it, that hint of star anise. It's gentle, doesn't hit you over the head. That to me is the perfect Sunday morning: that Tokyo ramen." Takashi's name is attached to the noodle bar on the seventh-floor food court inside Macy's Loop store. The ramen at his Bucktown restaurant, though, is miles better, because he's overseeing the broth's 24-hour cooking process. Chicken and pork bones are boiled for hours. Bonito flakes (classic Japanese flavoring agent of dried shaved tuna), kombu (kelp) and dried sardines are added, giving the stock that savory taste sensation of umami. From there, the stock base goes in any number of directions the popular shoyu, or the version I ordered, miso ramen. (True miso is a thick paste made from fermented soybeans, not the gunky powder turned soup.) The miso ramen ($13) arrived studded with sweet corn, bean sprouts and wakame, sweet strips of seaweed. I slurped louder than culturally appropriate. This is, in fact, acceptable behavior. Slurping accomplishes two duties: It cools the noodle, and the extra intake of oxygen supposedly amplifies flavor, the same way it would with wine.

A sure sign of unadulterated slurping was the dots of broth that soon splattered on the table and my shirt. The broth had a nutty, earthy flavor that soothed on that chilly day (miso ramen is indigenous to Hokkaido, Japan's northernmost island, known for its long, frigid winters). Therein lies the difference between 10-cent instant ramen and Takashi's broth: One is just salty, the other a deep, resonant flavor made possible by a secret ingredient called Father Time.

Bill Kim's most excellent Urban Belly offers a lighter take on ramen ($13). Authenticity is not a concern for Kim, a Korean-American who can deftly meld far-off Asian flavors. His dashi-based pork broth (bonito flakes and kombu) features Vietnamese pho spices, lime juice and fish sauce. Kim's ramen tilts more refreshing, though the richness from the pork belly tips it back the other way. Kim tipped his hand: "We all go to Santouka. A good Asian will know to go to Santouka in Mitsuwa." Santouka is the chain ramen franchise from Japan, inside the food court at Arlington Heights' Mitsuwa Marketplace. Its special toroniku shio ramen was so spectacular I asked the Santouka manager its secrets. I was hit with a big, fat "no, thanks." The manager is a young Japanese fellow who allegedly speaks no English. Even with the lure of positive press, the manager's English-speaking subordinates claimed that he was under no authority to divulge proprietary company secrets and, therefore, get off my lawn! This much I could derive: Their special toroniku shio ramen ($8.99) has buttery, luscious slices of pork cheeks that fell apart with no teeth resistance. The broth is wintry white, as if the noodles were soaked in buttermilk, then flecked with sesame seeds. It's reminiscent of tonkotsu ramen, the Southern Japan-style broth made by boiling pork bones for a long time (not to be confused with tonkatsu, the panko-breaded fried pork cutlets). Don't let anyone tell you otherwise: In the ramen world, tonkotsu is king among kings. The top of the broth glistened; an emulsified pork fat spillage that would put Greenpeace volunteers on high alert. The toppings came separately on a side plate wood-ear mushrooms, scallions, bamboo shoots, fish cake and the fatty pork to be dumped into the ramen by the diner. It was profoundly delicious. The broth's porkiness was so rich and intense I inhaled every last sip. The toothsome noodles were made using alkaline salt, which gives them an eggy-yellow hue. Beneath the savoriness, there's a gentle sweetness to it all. In all my visits to Santouka, it accessed the same lobe and cortex that flooded back memories of ramen carts outside Tokyo train stations.

After I slurped the last of the noodles, a residue of slick, porky balm had formed around my lips. That was my favorite part.