Ivan Ramen: Love, Obsession, and Recipes From Tokyo's Most Unlikely Noodle Joint by Ivan Orkin

Author:Ivan Orkin [Orkin, Ivan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Cooking
ISBN: 9781607744474
Amazon: B00CNQ9SFW
Publisher: Ten Speed Press
Published: 2013-10-29T05:00:00+00:00

Ivan Ramen’s Shio Ramen

A diner walks in from the cold and puts his money into the ordering machine. He punches the button for shio ramen, and the machine spits out his ticket. He grabs a seat, and places his ticket on the counter. I give him a smile, say hello, and set to work.

I grab a bowl and saucer from the shelf. The bowl is stark white and sloped on one side. It’s not exactly traditional, but it looks and feels like a bowl that’s meant to hold noodles. In front of me are square stainless steel containers filled with shio tare (salty seasoning), chicken and pork fat, katsuobushi (shaved dried bonito) powder, menma (bamboo shoots), negi (shredded Japanese green onions), chashu (pork), and soft-boiled eggs. Ladles jut out from the containers, each one sized to deliver the exact amount needed of each ingredient.

On the burner is a roasting pan holding a thin soup in which I’ll warm slices of pork. Next to that is a large stainless steel pot with simmering chicken soup and dashi; in the rear is an extra gallon of soup waiting to replenish the stainless steel pot. Next to the range is the yudemenki, or noodle cooker, which is set for a low boil. A few wooden handles are barely visible through plumes of rising steam. On a wire rack next to the cooker are lidded rectangular aluminum containers holding coils of fresh noodles.

The first things that go into the bowl are the building blocks of flavor: thirty grams of shio tare, ten grams each of freshly rendered chicken and pork fat, then smoky fish powder and salt. I peel back the lid from the container of noodles, and the aroma of fresh wheat rises into the humid air (the shop is small and perpetually steeped in noodle steam). I set a timer—even after all these bowls, I still time every order—and slip the noodles into the boiling water.

Fifty seconds to go. Chashu goes into the roasting pan. I dip a large ladle into the soup and pour it over the seasoning components. As the soup swirls into the bowl, the fat melts and glistens, and the fish powder rises in dots to the top of the liquid. The moment the timer goes off, I lift the basket of noodles from the boiler and vigorously shake it, sending drops of boiling water flying. Then, using long wooden chopsticks, I lay the noodles into the bowl, lifting and folding them over themselves to separate and evenly distribute them.

To finish, I slice an egg with a piece of fishing line tautly rigged across two pushpins, then gingerly separate it and place the two halves on top of the waiting soup. Cured bamboo shoots go next, before I pluck the chashu from its bath and lay it across the top of the noodles. To finish, a mound of bright white threads of negi.

I wipe errant splashes of soup from the side of the bowl, set a renge spoon on the saucer, and swivel the dish so that the egg is facing the customer.

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