Today was a great day for ramen. Gray and brisk, but not too frigid. Atmosphere tingly, ready to burst with precipitation. What could be better than coming in from the cold and slurping up a big bowl of hot, savory, satisfying noodles? Ippudo, on 4th Ave. between 9th and 10th Sts, showed up at the top of most of the “best ramen in New York” lists I could find, so I figured I’d give it a shot. From what I could gather on the web, Ippudo is a respected chain in Japan, founded by the “Ramen King” Shigemi Kawahara. The New York outpost opened earlier this year, the first Ippudo outside of Japan.
After a 10-minute wait, the hostess led me back to the dining room. She announced me in Japanese (which was a bit of a surprise, as she was Caucasian) and the line cooks called back loudly, also in Japanese. I was seated at a round communal table, under a handmade tree made of bamboo. I ordered steamed pork buns (the folks on yelp were adamant this) and the classic pork ramen (Shiomaru).
The pork buns were unbelievably good. Sliced roasted Berkshire pork belly in a chili sauce, with lettuce and mayo, wrapped in a doughy steamed bun. The fatty pork worked well with the sauce, which tasted of barbeque, soy sauce, and chili; there was just enough heat to keep it interesting, but not so much as to overwhelm the pork. I’d rate them just behind the pork buns at Momofuku Noodle Bar, which were a religious experience for me. Then came the ramen, served in a large white bowl, hot as hell. Picture thin gold noodles, swimming in steaming milky broth, with slices of pork, half a hard-boiled egg, cabbage, scallions, and sesame seeds to round out the meal. The first bite explodes with pork essence and ginger. The perfectly-cooked noodles are chewy and fresh. The warmth, flavor, and carby satisfaction spreads through every cell of my body. And then, sadly, it was over, probably not more than 30 minutes after I sat down. It’s extremely difficult to eat ramen in a considered, thoughtful way – somehow I always end up employing a distinct shoveling motion.
As I left the restaurant and headed towards Union Square, snow started falling. Not the usual kind we see around here this time of year. Huge clusters of snowflakes the size of silver dollars rained down, hitting with a dusty splat. Like movie snow. The people I passed all looked up at the sky, smiled, started calling their friends. Many whipped out cameras and cellphones and took pictures. The troubles of the year were forgotten as we all inhabited a classic New York moment.
