For the uninitiated, tsukemen is a different way of serving ramen. The noodles are separated from the broth, which, as a dip, is usually thicker than the typical ramen soup. This entails a more concentrated flavor, designed to captivate palates and minds of the young and the old. At the end of the meal, one can request for hot soup to be added to the remaining dip, which transforms it into a comfortable and refreshing finish.
At the heart of Tokyo, a particular tsukemen restaurant took the liberty of substituting the broth with pixie dust. This simple, yet ingenious, gesture makes its humble bowl of ramen magical. In Rokurinsha, there are no chefs; magicians take the stage to conjure bowls of tsukemen for their audience.
Are these the best noodles ever brought into existence? I’ve been told to avoid superlatives, but I can’t help it that Rokurinsha is magical. Highly recommended by a deluge of TV hosts and celebrity chefs, the initial anticipation weighed me down (never trust the media). Yet with each slurp, the skepticism dissipated and my feet lightened. In the last sips from the bowl, I could hardly hang on to my seat. In the following hour, I felt like Peter Pan – floating in the air.
In Japan, ramen makes a casual meal, but serving it is a serious affair. It isn’t difficult to stumble upon a random place and have your ‘life-changing’ bowl of noodles. I remember how, on my first trip to Tokyo, I had the ‘best ramen ever’ in a nameless restaurant. I swore then that I would not have any more ramen back home, but those were the days when dreams were as distant as the stars. A decade later, I realized with great (but readily available) miso, shoyu, or tonkotsu, you can’t really get a ‘bad’ ramen. But some of these can turn out to be really heavy – the fat, the salt, and perhaps a reckless belief in umami. There’s a reason why a spoonful of glutamate paralyzes your taste buds.
Rokurinsha’s broth came across as a bowl of depth. Long hours of simmering with pork and chicken bones, and fish flakes made it incredibly rich. It was a rare experience to have a delicate balance of meat and fish flavors, and not forgetting the restrained application of umami. Apparently, there is some sort of ‘dried fish powder’ in the broth for that. I’m skeptical about ‘using’ umami, but neglecting this aspect of taste can be dangerous. Besides that, the noodles were succulent and chewy, perfect for the intense broth. The accompaniments were indispensable too – chashu, shredded pork, bamboo shoots, and a beautiful egg. The magic is in the ‘unreal’ sense of bliss at the end of the meal, unobstructed by any food lethargy. Pixie dust, I swear.
It is possible that I am still under the psychoactive effects of the meal, so I apologize for any hint of derangement. I visited the flagship branch in Tokyo Ramen Street, and queued for 40 minutes. There’s a new branch at Tokyo Solamachi, a shopping mall adjunct the Tokyo Sky Tree. No regrets for this simple bowl of tsukemen; it’s something to remember for a long time. Bon appétit !
One thought on “You can fly! You can fly! You can fly!”
you certainly make it sound delicious. I’ve never really got ramen – it essentially seems like stodge in a bowl of salt and fat, and I admit to being slightly carb-adverse. but this dipping thing certainly sounds interesting!