My scifi addled childhood has left me with romantic notions about ramen. Some part of me wants to stand on a rain soaked, nighttime street, neon light reflecting in the puddles on the asphalt, slurping noodles while the runoff from the awning above drips into my bowl. It’s an image that has become inescapable – from the Bebop to the Straylight, I dream of electric sheep.
In truth, the grey, intermittent as it’s been, has started to get to me. Which doesn’t bode well for actual winter. The steady drizzle drove us along the sidewalk, looking for a warm hole to climb into. Enter Biwa.
It was nearly empty when we went in for lunch – one guy sitting at the bar, a couple chatting quietly in a corner. The steady bass thump from the stereo. The clatter of pans from the kitchen. It’s a friendly, warm spot – comfortable in it’s clutter.
My dining companion went for the bento box. The resounding silence from opposite the table likely representative of appreciation. I went for the gyoza and a bowl of ramen. The dumplings are excellent – full of pork and shrimp, savory and delicious.
The ramen isn’t fancy. Other folks talk about spending days on their shoyu or tonkotsu broths, layering and chilling and clarifying. Which is not to deny the competence of this dish – someone had clearly put some thought into the process. But it was simple – broth and noodles, pork belly, soft boiled egg, green onions. Simple and entirely satisfying.
I’d bet there’s better soup our there somewhere. You should have this too. Apparently it’s super cheap sometimes.