Noodles and Friends

The time 12:20pm.

The place, Ippudo NY.

Outside, fall has officially set in, with grey overcast skies, and a biting wind that makes summer feel like a long forgotten memory. The chill in the air brings a bit of sad nostalgia that is strangely comforting. And when the cold sets in like it did today, few things soothe the soul like a steaming bowl of beautiful broth filled with noodles and assorted accouterments. In fact, when it is hot as sin outside, I still sometimes seek the refuge of this sort of meal. It is one of the single most satisfying things to eat on the planet. I feel supremely justified in my love of these dishes because something tells me that millions of people simply can't be wrong. In Southeast Asia they eat it for breakfast, and I tend to think that they are onto something.

Today, the subject at hand is japanese ramen, and Ippudo NY does it incredibly well. Now I've never had the opportunity to eat ramen in one of the famous Tokyo shops. To be honest with you, I've never traveled outside of North America so I don't know that I have that much to compare it to. Is it the best in the City? I don't know, and to be frank, I don't particularly care. I simply don't have the willingness or the fortitude to be one of those guys who spends years eating one type of food at hundreds of spots in and around the city in order to proclaim their own personal "top five" list. Ippudo is my current ramen spot and that's that. Is it authentic? That's a really stupid question. I'm not in Japan, so of course it's not authentic japanese ramen. Authentic is the most overused word in food commentary today. If something tastes truly amazing, why would I ever care about whether it is authentic or not? Now tradition, that is a word I can get behind. Why you may ask, do I scoff at authenticity and yet embrace tradition? Because tradition implies a set of principles that really make sense. Where as authenticity has become a sad marketing gimmick, tradition springs from decades, centuries, even millennium of shared experience passed down from one generation to the next, usually falling in line with two key ideas, it tastes good and it will keep you alive and kicking. I think that sometimes we overlook the fact that it wasn't too long ago that many food decisions were rooted in survival. This is a point that I don not take for granted. For the vast majority of the world, food is a daily battle, so I try to stay immensely grateful for the fact that I never go hungry. With that in mind I can officially report to you that Ippudo's Akamaru Modern will most definitely provide the sustenance that you need to tackle your day. Oh, did I mention it has the ability to make your eyes roll into the back of your head from pleasure? It's that good.

If there is one thing that can never be questioned about food, it is that it is better enjoyed with company. We aren't talking about late night face stuffing escapades while curled up on the couch. No pints of ice cream to the dome. I'm talking about nourishing, soul lifting sustenance that makes you happy to be alive. These are the experiences that are translated through the lens of good company. I have taken many people to Ippudo, and almost all of them have had the same experience. It went something like this. The bowls of ramen are brought to the table. Silence falls. After a couple of spoonfuls of broth and a single mouthful of noodles, they look at me and say, "this is really good." And then it happens. A few more sips of broth, followed by a much less demure slurp of noodles, and they lean back as a smirk takes over their face. We look at each other, and without a single word being exchanged, we both confirm that this is one of the satisfying things that a person could eat. That flood of joy is unmistakable. If you look around the restaurant you can always spot it happening, as if the shouts of the waitstaff, and the buzz of the open kitchen are somewhere off in the distance. When someone is fully present for a great bowl of ramen, time seems to slow down, the worries of the world fade, and the tension in the shoulders that has become a byproduct of modern life melts away. I will say again, it is that good. Two of my best friends, Ben and Dustin, have both experienced it on separate trips to New York. And they didn't have to tell me what was going on in their head because it was clearly displayed all over their face. Ashley got it too, taking pictures of the mysterious bowls of goodness for posterity's sake.

As I now sit here alone with my bowl of ramen, I am struck by the overwhelming desire to share the experience with someone else. Believe me, I am fully enjoying my bowl, so much so that it is empty in under ten minutes. But the enjoyment seems fleeting because I never have the chance to glance up, mid slurp, and silently convey to someone else that yes, life really is good.