Ramen Destiny

Blah. Just BLAH. I've called in sick today, which is a lot of suck, considering the sun has just come out and I mean, hey, I need to work, but I can't do it when I'm sick. Here I am, then, being generally useless and just typing away at Scott's clickity-clackity keyboard. Apparently, being sick means I have a lot of time to review all those ramen places I've gone to for the past six months or so.

I mean, in one fell swoop I have reviewed four ramen places, conveniently located on my Yelp. OH YEAH. In, like, an hour, and in and out of chills and coughs and half-consciousness. I believe this was a bad idea because now I just want to eat ramen. I have felt this way since about 9:47 this morning, which would be okay if ramen was an accepted breakfast thing, but it is not. Unless I make my OWN ramen, which is something I should definitely do when I'm not sick and addled.

Fun fact: a long, foolish time ago, I didn't like ramen that much. I'm not all that partial to noodle soups. It's messy and it gets everywhere and I burn my face with noodle-soup-induced whiplash. Clearly, I was in the wrong. Apparently, every guy I've dated enjoys ramen, so it was in my best interests to start enjoying it, too, or else I'd be like, "Oh, another ramen place, yay..." which is not an appropriate reaction. In truth, I started liking ramen when I realized that my obaa-chan really could not pronounce my name.

Now, I don't really know how I am related to my obaa-chan. I was told to call her grandmother, but I don't know if we're actually related, per se, or if it's another Asian thing where everyone's an auntie and an uncle until further notice. When I was casually eating my lunch back in Kyoto, some of my classmates came up to me and said, "Robbin, Robbin, did your grandmother find you??" And that's when obaa-chan went up the stairs in that way that only little old Asian ladies can do. With that sweet smile on her face, she exclaimed, "Ah, Ramen! There you are!"

I believe this is where the turning point began. By realizing that my name could sound very similar to a beloved dish when a nice elderly figure says it, I figured, well, okay, yeah, I guess I SHOULD like ramen, because my name sounds like it, and obaa-chan said so. (When she sends me cards and stuff, she writes "To Ra-ben", but for some reason she still SAYS "ra-men".) To me, this had to be some form of destiny. Ramen destiny.

The good thing is, ramen is now on my spectrum of deliciousness. The bad thing is, there are many ramen places to tackle in the bay area. It's not like I'm a connoisseur or anything. I just like eating things. But I can tell you what goes on my checklist of ramen-that-makes-Robbin-happy.

• If the ramen already includes bamboo shoots, oh yes.
• If the restaurant doesn't already include bamboo shoots but offers it, okay, sure, maybe I'll give it a try.
• The presence of kakuni. If I can add it, I will do this thing. (Another fault [?] of Scott's is that he made me try kakuni, and then I loved it. Damn it.)
• The main thing I ponder about during ramen time is, "How good are these noodles?" I like texture. Texture is good. My favorite noodles are perfectly al dente, tender, chewy, and should carry the flavor of the broth with no problems.
• I don't usually partake of ramen broth. If I start slurping the soup down, then I think that must be some damn good ramen.
• I can't have eggs that aren't fully boiled. It's a shame, because I know that boiled egg must taste REALLY good, but for me, I need it to be fully cooked. Otherwise, it goes to whoever my table mate is, assuming they're not a stranger or germophobic.
• I don't like green onions. It's very nice when the server actually remembers to say, "No green onions on this one [because what a weirdo]", and my ramen is delivered as such.
• I try to keep in mind the type of ramen broth I'm about to ingest. It makes no sense to compare ramen places when one place only serves tonkotsu and the other only serves miso, etc.

The last ramen place I went to was Ramen Yamadaya, which just opened up in Japantown. Now that was a happy place. It was the night of Super Bowl Sunday, so it wasn't busy. The folks there were super friendly, and I had to add that green onions part to my list because our server came and informed us that he'd forgotten about the green onion thing, and that they were remaking it. He sounded genuinely sorry about it, and didn't question my dislike of green onions! That is a good day, and a good server. The best part about this place was the kakuni, and even though the noodles weren't quite my style, they were delicious, and I actually wanted to eat the broth, and...oh, jeez. Seriously, I need to stop talking about food. I need to get my delirious butt to bed so I can rest up. Til next time, y'all.