Just so we're clear, I did not write "hellish ramen" or "ramen from hell." Hell ramen is a type of ramen available in Ofunato up in Tohoku. I'd heard the rumors, something about the tongues of those who eat this burning off, or some hell-like analogy of hotness and pain and fire. One night last week I ended up at the restaurant serving this boiling, steaming, red broth of noodles. The gang I am with was determined to eat this famed dish.
There are rankings. The hotness starts at one and goes to fifty. Yuji has tried the fifty, and because he is drunk tells us, pointing to his crotch and bottom, "It's worse coming out." This is, of course, way too much information, except I completely believe him. "Only three people have tried the fifty," he says. He is one of those three and his pride in this accomplishment in ludicrousness defies me.
For the record, I did not order the hell ramen. We had already eaten dinner together previously. Ramen was an add-on, a second dinner and a large one at that. I do not need more carbs right before bed, and I certainly don't need carbs on fire in my stomach taking me into a dream world of burning spice. Conjuring up Sean Connery to rescue me would do no good on nights like this.
Hiro orders a five. We all chide, cajole, tease, and throw mock-insults at him. When the bowl arrives, the broth indeed a deep red (never a good sign), he quickly breaks his chopsticks and heads straight for what will surely be a night he will later regret. Other bowls of ramen arrive and soon those eating are busy with their own milder versions of Japanese comfort food. Hiro is forgotten for a few minutes.
Someone looks up and starts laughing. Heads rise to see what's funny, and soon it's obvious. Hiro's head is completely wet with sweat. I can only see the back of his head but I see small streams of water pouring down his neck and back.
"How are you doing there, Hiro?" Yuji asks.
No answer.
Another question is thrown out which I don't hear because I'm marveling at the amount of sweat on Hiro's head. I hear Hiro reply, "Leave me alone," and we all laugh again.
Even after 25 years with my husband and quite a few years of dating before that I have decided I will never understand what it is about men who must one-up. I bring this up because I hear Yuji say, "I'm ordering a twenty." Everyone stops talking. This is crazy. "I ate the fifty," he says. "I can do twenty." Then we all start talking at once. "You won't sleep," and "You're already having stomach problems," and "I thought you were hung over," and "Won't it interfere with your meds?" During all this I look back at Hiro whose shirt is now wet, the streams having turned into a river which is soaked.
"You okay?" I ask him.
"Leave me alone. I'm concentrating."
We all laugh again.
The server who took Yuji's order is still standing in the same spot, pen and pad in hand. "Are you sure about the twenty?" he asks. This upsets Yuji who even when not drunk is already temperamental and prone to speaking his mind. "Just do it," he snaps, and the man shuffles back into the kitchen. Very soon another bowl comes out and I now alternate between watching the back of Hiro's head and Yuji's profile. Hiro finally puts down his chopsticks and holds up his bowl, a trophy of triumph. We all cheer and continue to laugh at him. When he finally stands I see his crotch is wet, but he says right away, "This is from the sweat pouring down my face. I didn't pee my pants."
Yuji does not finish the broth. As we all stand outside in the cold night air Yuji sucks air through his teeth and tells us it's like dry ice on his tongue. Whatever.
All this focus on Japanese food reminds me of the conversation I had recently with a couple who run one of the largest an producing companies in Japan. An is the sweet bean paste made from azuki (aduki) beans--something so full of nutrients that it should be the new staple in all diets--or so the president tells me. They both tell me anko is the chocolate of the east, sweet and delicate, potent and mild, nutritious but still a candy. Having grown up eating this fine food product, I do agree. If I had to choose between chocolate and anko I would spend a good deal of time on the decision.
The president likes to talk about umami, the fifth flavor ingredient in Japanese cooking. The five are: sweet, salty, bitter, sour, and umami. Often translated as savory, it's essentially what MSG does to food: it tastes better with it. With the campaign touting the evils of MSG there's been a push to find a non-chemical and more holistic method of creating this distinct taste (the way it was originally). All I can say about umami is that while I like the other four and find myself craving chocolate, french fries, salt-and-vinegar potato chips and the like, there comes a point where I've had enough of any of these tastes. I would never eat an entire chocolate cake no matter how good it was. Umami, however, is a flavor I will not tire of. It's like my taste buds are doing a slow tango. I don't want it to end, but when it does I'm entirely satisfied.
I have to wonder about the hell ramen, if umami is some how a part of this broth that makes men do crazy things. I will never try this dish, umami or not. If I die with this regret so be it. I'll find my excitement elsewhere, thank you.
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