Just one year ago, Tokyo Ramen Street opened in the First Avenue Tokyo Station retail center, which includes about 100 stores and restaurants….Eight of the best were invited to open at Tokyo Ramen Street, and the response has been stunning….With historic male appeal (though that’s changing), the ramen restaurants are mostly filled with salarymen (businessmen) in their ubiquitous white shirts and dark gray jackets—some wearing paper aprons to protect from oil stains. They wait patiently in the long lines, utilizing the time to message on their cellphones. Waiting times exceed eating times, as some say you should slurp your noodles and soup in seven minutes so that the ramen doesn’t get soft. And then it’s back to the hustle-and-bustle of work life.

Pictured is shio ramen from Hirugao. Many more photos in the slideshow at the Serious Eats story, here.

Dish:

In the bowl: Rice vermicelli noodles, bamboo shoots, fried shallots and peanuts, and Thai basil.

Supporting cast/What to do: Along with your soup, you get a plate of cold duck pieces (on the bone), shredded cabbage, more fried shallots and peanuts, Thai basil, and a small bowl of ginger fish sauce (nuoc mam gung). You can use the sauce as a dip, or pour it over the duck and cabbage, eating your “salad” at whatever intervals you like along with your soup.

Noodling around: Sub Sand is a friendly little restaurant, where the owner is quite happy to explain any of the dishes on the menu. When I was torn between the two duck noodle dishes, he explained that the “herbel duck egg noodle soup” is made with thick noodles in a chicken broth that includes soy sauce, with the duck fried and in the bowl. I realized that this is basically the same dish I had at Hue Ky Mi Gia at the end of last year, which is why I instead opted for the equally typo-ed “bamboo shot duck noodle soup.”

This soup has a simple and comforting chicken broth flavor to it, with the noodles soft and slurpable. The fried shallots and peanuts add crunch, and the basil boosts the broth welcome herbal notes. My favorite part, though, are the bamboo shoots. The recipe calls for dried bamboo, which have more complex flavor and a chewy texture which I enjoy.

I especially like the bamboo shoot duck noodle soup because of the salad on the side. The duck, which the owner says is steamed, is somewhat fatty, which lends flavor. And the ginger fish sauce is superb, the ginger rounding out and slightly rising above the sweet, salty, spicy, and sour aspects of the sauce. It’s perfect on both meat and vegetables.

I did notice that I was thirsty after the meal, so I suspect there’s MSG in the food. If it wasn’t in the duck soup, it might have been in my partner’s “Crab Past Noodle Soup,” which isn’t something from history, but instead made with crab paste.

If you want more: Sub Sand offers few appetizers, a number of spring rolls, and various salads, but given the name, I wanted to try a sandwich. You’ll pay considerably more for a banh mi sandwich here than at the nearby Vietnamese delis, but my BBQ pork sub ($3.99) was delicious, even if it had a few nontraditional ingredients, like lettuce.

Be aware/beware: This is a family0run restaurant, so you might see children playing in the dining area, curling up in the front window, or watching a video on the computer while sprawled in a booth.

More of a problem, though, were the utensils, or in honor of Sub Sand’s name, what I’ll shorten to “utens.” The metal chopsticks, similar to what you’ll find in many Korean restaurants, are thin, and not conducive to picking up slippery vermicelli noodles. I’m generally skilled with ’sticks, but with these had an uphill battle throughout the meal.

Even worse are the black, plastic soup spoons. One design cut enables them to stand upright against the bowl, keeping them from sliding in the soup. That’s smart. But while they’re smooth on one of the long sides, they’ve got slots on the opposite side to supposedly help catch noodles. Instead, these slots create chaos as noodles and other bits hang down off of them, slapping food into the face of unsuspecting diners. Worse, if you’re right-handed, the slots create an uncomfortable feeling on the lips when you’re trying to drink from the spoon. Distracting and disconcerting.

I won’t hesitate to say that Sub Sand has the worst utens I’ve ever used at a restaurant.

First published in Seattle Weekly’s Voracious on May 14, 2012.

Last week, they picked up my “First Look” story on Ethan Stowell’s new Ballard Pizza Company. From the Serious Eats post:

Ballard Pizza Company is the first of Stowell’s planned Grubb Brothers restaurants, which he describes as “fast food redefined.” In the works are fried chicken, fish and chips, and burger joints. For now, though, Stowell says Ballard Pizza Company has been a challenging but fun foray. It’s approachable and affordable, introducing Stowell’s sense of quality (for example, he uses ham from Zoe’s Meats instead of product from Swift Pork) to a whole new audience. Families with kids stop by for slices, while adults can linger over a beer—especially after the media room is completed out back.

Many more photos in the slideshow at the Serious Eats story, here.

When people ask about my recent trip to Japan, I’ve been joking that during my short, eight-day stay, I enjoyed four bowls of ramen and survived one earthquake.

Those four bowls of ramen are just scratching the surface of my feeding frenzy in Tokyo. In addition to some delicious home-cooking with friends and family, I enjoyed delicious Japanese pastries, a couple of izakaya meals, katsu-kar? (deep-fried breaded pork cutlet with curry sauce), katsuo donburi teishoku (skipjack tuna over rice set menu), yaki zakana teishoku (grilled fish set menu) kaiten-zushi (conveyor belt sushi), traditional sushi, and more.

My favorite meal of this trip, though, was at Sojuan—a kaiseki-style restaurant in the Keio Plaza Hotel. (Note that there’s a wide variety of restaurants inside the hotel—from French to Chinese to Italian to Korean—inside the hotel, as well a few very comfortable, scenic, and historical bars and lounges.) Kaiseki is a traditional, multi-course meal that is stunning in presentation and carefully composed in terms of looks, flavors, colors, textures, and seasonality. Dishes, bowls, and other vessels are beautiful and purposeful, with leaves and flowers connecting food to nature, and edible garnishes typically depicting fauna and flora.

The Keio Plaza Hotel is a monstrous, classical hotel (a bit institutional) with 1,435 guest rooms in the busy Shinjuku district of Tokyo. But make your way to Sojuan on the second floor, and you’ll feel like you’ve entered another world—natural and peaceful. And if you’re lucky enough, like me, to take your meal in one of the koshitsu (private dining rooms), you’ll feel further tranquility. (This is the quiet atmosphere I complain that Capitol Hill’s Momiji is lacking to allow full appreciation of kaiseki quality food.)

The nakai-san, a kimono-clad server, will be yours—attentive to your needs, including the timing of your dishes. Gently knocking before sliding open the shoji door, she’ll gracefully remove dishes, present new plates (sometimes portioning out food), pour tea, and anything else you need. In a society without tips, service is par excellence.

I had a chance after the meal to speak briefly (via translation) with chef Hiroichi Yazaki:

How long does it take to become a kaiseki chef?

I started working at the low level as an apprentice at a ryotei restaurant in Asakusa when I was 18. I worked there for two years and did everything helping the chef—like shopping, cleaning, and making a bath for him. Then I moved to a kappo restaurant in Kanda and worked there for two years, doing all the yaki (grilled) dishes. Eventually I moved a high-end Japanese restaurant in Shinbashi where I had to do everything by myself: ordering, preparing, cooking…everything. In general, it takes 20-30 years to become a top level chef in traditional Japanese cuisine, but it depends on the person. Maybe young people right now have a different experience. It used to be more strict, but it’s changing.

How often do you change the menu, and how long does it take to create it?

The menu changes every month. Mostly it takes about two weeks to create, but I’m thinking about it every day. I’m always thinking about work. Even when I’m commuting, I’m thinking.

What is your favorite season for food?

Autumn to winter, because we get many different kinds of ingredients during that period. It’s also an easy time for decorating and plating because, for example, the momiji (Japanese maple leaves) are available. Presentation at this time is fun.

When did you know you wanted to become a chef?

I’m from Kagoshima. My uncle was a chef, so I started to think of this kind of work as a high school student. I helped my uncle at his traditional Japanese restaurant.

What is your favorite food to eat when you go out?

Kyoto-ryori (the food of Kyoto), ippin-ryori (Japanese small plates), and also kaiseki to learn new things. But mostly washoku (traditional-style Japanese food).

(Pointing to his uniform) Do you wear a tie when cooking in the kitchen?

I have a tie because in the kitchen there are 40-50 people working, so wearing a tie is a symbol of the head chef.

***

I commented that it must be too hot in the kitchen for a tie, and he indicated that he’d never complain. That’s the Japanese way. Aiming to please.

At this point, the nakai-san told the chef that we had polished off all of our plates. Both were surprised, and he was quite pleased.

Part of the starter: endomame tofu (tofu texture, made from endomame peas) with crab and kabocha butterfly (along with wasabi and a sansho leaf)

The overall starter, which includes yamabudo-su (wild grape vinegar) on the right, along with a fava bean, avocado, and cream cheese mixture with chopped shrimp and fried lotus root

Clear soup with tofu and shirauo (”ice fish”)

Sashimi in an ice bowl: hirame and hirame fin, sayori, and maguro

Broiled course includes yaki amadai (grilled “tile fish”), takenoko (bamboo) with ginger, moro miso eschalot (shallot with miso paste), and Japanese beef with rock salt

Nakai-san plates the broiled course

The broiled course, plated–note the vessels, leaves, etc.

Prawn, anago, and wild plant tempura served with salt, ground daikon, and tsuyu–the plants include taranome (bud of the angelica tree), fiddlehead fern, and udo (Japanese spikenard)

Steamed awabi (abalone) with seaweed paste (thickened dashi)

Steamed rice with fava beans and sakura ebi–this course came with miso soup (akadashi) and tsukemono (Japanese pickles), along with hoji cha, signifying the end of the meal approaching

Dessert: kabocha mousse, matcha spongecake, and melon (I joke that it’s a one hundred dollar melon, as I saw such at the stores…they taste amazing!)

Matcha (green tea) and wasanbon (sugar candy,to counter the tea’s bitterness)

Entry to Sojuan

The path to the koshitsu (private dining room)

Inside a koshitsu–tranquility for the meal

As delicious as those two dishes were, I especially enjoyed my dessert: rhubarb curd tart with anise hyssop ice cream and lemon short bread. The flavors were fantastic (I love licorice and lemon–and all things tart), but what tickled my fancy was the delay in getting the plate. My server explained that the cooks had seen me taking photographs of my food. Turns out they wanted to get the quenelle of ice cream just right, so that it wouldn’t be misshapen or fall off the tart.

So what does The Coterie Room’s ice cream teach us about sex?

It’s all about the elegance and joy of spooning.

I don’t take a quenelle for granted. I’ve watched many chefs manipulate their spoons to create ovals of ice cream and other food. Like lots of things in life, it looks easy, but takes time to master. I’m still practicing. Such spooning, resulting in a smooth and elegant outcome, can be a difficult kitchen maneuver.

Far easier to master is the bedroom maneuver of spooning. This simply involves two people lying in the same direction, one person’s back against the other person’s chest, nestled like spoons. It’s cozy, cuddly, and comfortable.

And it can be stimulating.

In which case, spooning is also a sexual position. It’s a good one if you’re tired, or if the spoonee if pregnant. (If the spoonee is female, it’s also an ideal position for G-spot stimulation, or clitoral stimulation with a hand.) While there’s less visual stimulation than in other positions, spooning allows ease in kissing the neck and shoulder area, and can result in a longer sexual experience. And when you’re done, you’re already in that comfortable cuddling position for sleep–unless you’ve just had morning sex, in which case I recommend heading out to The Coterie Room for lunch, and a chance to see some professional spooning.

First published in Seattle Weekly’s Voracious on May 10, 2012.

A closer look at my lunch of three T’s (six T’s?)–tartare, trout, and tart:

Steak tartare with Dijon, fines herbs, egg yolk and grilled bread

Pan roasted trout with bloomsdale spinach, celery root and taggiasca olive vinaigrette

Rhubarb curd tart with anise hyssop ice cream and lemon short bread

Dish:

On the plate: From the menu: “Thin egg noodles with beef, garlic, and sweet chili sauce.” You’ll also notice bamboo shoots, onions, carrots, water chestnuts, celery, and green onions on the plate.

Supporting cast/What to do: You’ll find soy sauce and chili pepper sauce on your table, but you’ll likely need neither. The noodles are saucy and hearty, to the point where you might want to order something more. (See below.)

Noodling around: Lucky 8’s is a new restaurant that’s been open since the start of the year. The feel is both retro and contemporary, full of fun especially when kung fu movies play on the wall.

I tried both shrimp lo mein and chicken chow mein, but my main focus was the sweet and spicy beef noodles, which uses fresh lo mein noodles made in the International District and available at Hau Hau market. The noodles include a generous portion of tender beef, along with a good mix of vegetables. The sauce is made with Szechuan hot bean paste, vinegar, soy sauce, sesame oil, and rice wine–and is spiked with red chili flakes.

This hearty, “masculine” dish reminds me of zha jiang mian, which benefits from sliced cucumber to cut through the intensity. While celery serves that purpose in Lucky 8’s beef noodles, the dish is bold and powerful–perhaps too strong as an entrée for some diners. When my partner said she could envision a smaller portion with a bowl of rice, we learned that the chef sometimes serves just the meat and sauce over rice as a meal. I suspect the dish might be modified a bit during the warmer months ahead.

If you want more: There are some interesting options on the menu, particularly in the section of starters. My partner really liked the house-made, braised pork bao ($5.95 for 2).The relatively thin dough is not as bready as most (a good thing!), and the dip of bean sauce sports bold flavor. Meanwhile, I indulged in Szechuan spareribs ($5.95), a Flintstones-type of affair. The big ribs are slathered in a bright and spicy sauce of Szechuan hot bean paste, soy sauce, and vinegar–cashing in the chef’s North Carolina roots–and the accompanying house-made pickled vegetables bring balance to the dish.

Be aware/beware: Lucky 8’s exceeded my expectations. Critical of many of the new Asian restaurants in Capitol Hill (and beyond) that claim authenticity, I was worried that Lucky 8’s American-Chinese classics would disappoint me. But the goal seems to be to make recognizable dishes in a bold way, which I applaud. I didn’t get to try the apparently popular fried rice or General Lucky Tsao’s chicken, but aside from the spring rolls, which are never my favorite, the other items I tried were interesting and delicious.

That said, be sure to ask about what’s not on the menu.

Lucky 8’s often has some specials. If you’re lucky, you’ll find duck dumplings. Pan-fried like pot-stickers, they’re done in two different wrappers, making for a pretty presentation. The dipping sauce contains teriyaki sauce, soy sauce, and orange juice/zest.

Also not on the menu but a refreshing finale: a scoop of Bluebird chocolate ice cream dusted with matcha powder, topped with puffed rice, and boosted by a little Cointreau.

And how about this: Home delivery is available in proximity by bicycle.

First published in Seattle Weekly’s Voracious on May 7, 2012.

A closer look at Lucky 8’s China House:

Lucky’s 8’s interior

Braised pork bao

Szechuan spareribs

Sweet and spicy beef noodles

Duck dumplings

Bluebird chocolate ice cream with matcha powder, puffed rice, and Cointreau

Turning to my computer, an email enticed me. Being solo, LivingSocial sounded like something I needed at the time. For just a dollar, I could enjoy a ten dollar meal via takeout or delivery from a number of restaurants. I decided to do takeout from Chen’s Village in Queen Anne, picking up “sliced pork Hunan sauce,” with broccoli, green pepper, baby corn, and carrot. I brought home my catch and slowly enjoyed the unboxing–just me and my Chen’s.

So what does Chen’s takeout teach us about sex?

It’s all about a night without intimacy and attachment.

That Hunan pork was my call girl of the evening, my escort. Doing takeout meant that I could be discreet; I didn’t have to get dressed up or put any real effort into the evening. (For even more discreetness, I could have done home delivery.) It’s like phone sex or Internet sex: fast, easy, and compulsive–though not a complete feeling, and in fact a bit unfulfilling. Similar to a stop by one of those bikini barista places, where you get a glimpse or a taste, but not the whole package. (Last week in Japan, I saw many maid cafes, which seem to serve the same function.) You get to know the outside, but not what’s inside.

So why do men use escort services? Some say they fill an emotional or physical void, validating a man if he feels insecure, or feeding his ego. There’s no sense of rejection. Escort services offer anonymity and no “after” issues, like questions of commitment or dealings with divorce. They offer convenience, as you can order by phone or Internet (perfect for a busy lifestyle), reading reviews and picking a time with precision. Perhaps best of all, you can peruse a menu and pick what you want, getting an order custom-made for a “have-it-your-way” preference: hair color, eye color, height, dress, language, “spice” level, etc. Each experience can be unique, offering variety, spontaneity, eye candy, and guilty pleasure.

As for my night with Chen’s, I felt little pleasure. The food looked good in the box, but was lifeless once unboxed. (And, and in this case, you don’t really want to get to know the inside of Chen’s. The tables were scattered and littered, with stuffed animals strewn about some. The carpet was dirty, and the fish tank looked frightening. I didn’t dare peek into the kitchen.)

And I’m a New York Jew, or at least was born that way. As such, I love Chinese food. (There’s the old joke that you always see Jewish people in Chinese restaurants, but never Chinese people in bagel shops.) Growing up, I enjoyed crab rangoon, shrimp with lobster sauce, sweet-and-sour pork, and egg foo young, though I soon learned that most people in China wouldn’t recognize some of what we call Chinese food.

While Chinese restaurants in Seattle are better and more “authentic” than in most other parts of the country, I’m disenchanted with the Chinese food scene here. And after meeting my Japanese partner in Tokyo and spending considerable time there, I’m similarly critical of much of the Japanese food in Seattle. I’m sure my criticism would likely extend to all the Asian cuisines if I traveled to the respective countries. (Actually, I’ve been to several.) After all, I’m the type of guy who scoffs at Seattle’s bagels and pizza, saying they’re better back in New York.

And, yes, I’m the guy who answers the “Where’s the best dim sum in Seattle?” question with the obnoxious reply of “100-something miles to the north, in Richmond.” It’s where they do Cantonese food right. And Hunanese. And Shanghainese. (I can point you to several places preparing xiao long bao, a.k.a. soup dumplings, far superior to what’s available locally. Just compare the tell-tale droop of soup in the dumplings of the homey Long’s Noodle House in Vancouver, above left, versus what you get at the sleek Din Tai Fung in Bellevue, above right.) We do have some decent Sichuanese and Taiwanese restaurants, but they’re better across the border. The same for sushi, and ramen, and izakaya fare—all are better in Vancouver.

So why are Seattle’s Chinese and Japanese restaurants giving me the blues?

Much as I disdain blueberries in bagels as being inauthentic and dumbing down the cuisine, I don’t want blueberries in my sushi. At Momiji in Capitol Hill, there’s a tropical paradise roll (pictured, top of the article) described as “mango, strawberry, tobiko, cucumber & avocado topped with tuna, salmon & spicy blueberry sauce.” It’s…frightening. Given Momiji’s use of cream cheese in other rolls, I’m surprised it’s not in this one; sadly, as with a bad bagel, I can picture blueberried starch topped with cream cheese and salmon.

Momiji’s regular menu reveals forty different rolls. Turning to my food-writing colleagues, Seattle Weekly’s Hanna Raskin describes the rolls as a mayo-fest (in addition to being filled with fruit, sometimes they’re fried, or fiery from jalapenos), while The Stranger’s Bethany Jean Clement calls Momiji a “sushi circus,” adding, “If a clown went out for sushi…these rolls are what the clown would order.”

Rolls simply aren’t authentic. They’re now the new cupcake, with the quality of the base (the block of rice) ignored and the tops increasingly sparkly with swirls and sweets and sprinkles. No wonder Yelpers celebrate this sushi as “the best” and “freakin delicious,” setting the quality bar quite low.

This is not to pick exclusively on Momiji. Wasabi Bistro and Umi Sake House in Belltown, Shiku and Moshi Moshi in Ballard, and Japonessa downtown are similar—all enclaves of cocktail-clutching hipsters. (Note the recent outcry when Bastille lured bartender Erik Carlson away from Moshi Moshi.)

What saddens me is Momiji’s unrealized potential. A lot of money went into the restaurant, and it shows. Lights, furniture, and overall feel are beautiful. You imagine you’ve escaped to Kyoto once you get beyond the bar area and see the zen garden in the courtyard. I want to place a chair out there to relax and eat a kaiseki meal. Momiji’s been promising an actual coursed kaiseki menu, but that’s yet to surface. I’m pessimistic it will ever happen, though I hope they prove me wrong.

But even if they do it, I fear it won’t be the true kaiseki experience. Instead of experiencing zen and peacefully contemplating the colors, textures, and flavors of the food, diners will be distracted by the chatter of noisy neighbors drinking crazy cocktails and filling up on crazy rolls.

Make money on drinks, with food the secondary focus, often dumbed down. Maybe that’s a winning business model, a secret of success overcoming the need for critical acclaim. I fear that if food is an afterthought, there’s a risk it becomes bland, bastardized, or just plain bad.

At the other end of Capitol Hill’s commercial core, Hanna Raskin points out a similar situation at Bako, which she calls a “China doll” where “blandness is a recurring issue.” Seattle Magazine’s Allison Austin Scheff concurs, expressing her disappointment by explaining “there’s potential, but inconsistencies rule.” For her, the food was “midline,” often suffering from a lack of seasoning. But it’s a gorgeous space (see photo below, next to Bako’s Singapore noodles), a place where people afraid of the grittiness of the International District feel comfortable and pay a premium for safe Asian food to accompany their fancy drinks.

Now I know it’s fruitless to expect people to be as gung ho for authenticity as I am. But I can hope. At the same time, I can try to check my expectations. I’m forewarned that Capitol Hill’s new Regent Bakery and Cafe offers a Hong Kong-style bakery with a mix of Eastern and Westernized pastries and cakes, and meals that are American Chinese. (Think almond chicken, honey-walnut prawns, and fried wontons.) Portion sizes are good, the food tastes fresh, and prices are more affordable than the higher-end places in the area. (Yes, I can even have a cocktail if I don’t want bubble tea.)

And I can accept the fusion focus of a place like Chino’s, the new Mexican slash Chinese joint not far from Regent. The chef is self-taught, and my first bite there, pig-ear salad, made me smile. The preview menu showed promise, teasing Chinese menudo (offal stew with misua noodles) and a “Blood and Guts” concoction of pig blood cake and tripe. Unfortunately, neither materialized. The buzz has shifted to the bartender, and in defense of a Yelp attack on the food, the chef replied, “We are primarily a bar.” Still, I hope that the apparent passion of the chef will someday play out with the appearance of offal dishes.

So, where is the authentic stuff in Seattle? What do I recommend? For Japanese food, I miss the grittiness and goodness of both Koraku and Takohachi, but Tsukushinbo and Maneki remain. With history as home-style restaurants, both temporarily transport me to Japan. Kisaku and Sushi Kappo Tamura are neighborhood places where many Japanese people prefer to eat sushi. They’re my two favorites in town. And in a nod to fusion, I adore Katsu Burger for its fried pork and traditional fixings on a bun.

Recommendations for Chinese food are tougher, as my favorites tend to be on the Eastside (Bellevue’s Bamboo Garden is the first place that comes to mind, as I love the unusual dishes on the “Walk on the Wild Side” menu.) For dim sum, I maintain that one must travel north to Richmond for the finest quality. While there are many excellent options, Jade Seafood Restaurant is one of my top picks. The har gow (shrimp dumplings, the bellwether of quality dim sum) are great, the steamed mushroom dumplings are even better, and the baked BBQ pork buns are melt-in-your-mouth delicious. I can never get enough of the pickled ginger with century egg and prawn roll. And you can end your meal with an unconventional dessert: blueberry glutinous balls. Inside the soft skin of these chilled balls are fresh whipped cream and—would you believe?—blueberries.

Far (but not so far) from Seattle, I’ve found an Asian restaurant that gives me some blues I’m happy to have.

Originally published by Seattle Dining. Blueberry glutinous ball photo courtesy of Mijune Pak, Follow Me Foodie.

Dish:

In the bowl: From the menu: “Noodle soup with chicken or vegetables, peas and herbs.” Clarification coming, below.

Supporting cast/What to do: You can choose between chicken or vegetables. The latter will be one dollar less than the price above. Your server will ask your desired spice level, from one to five.

Noodling around: The Everest Kitchen serves “foods from the top of the world”–specifically India, Nepal, and Tibet. I know where those countries are, but I’m not really sure where The Everest Kitchen is located. The official address says Seattle, but some references show Shoreline. Two things are for sure: It’s on Bothell Way, north of Lake City. And it’s across from a Déjà Vu gentlemen’s club.

When the showgirls get hungry, thukpa could be a perfect meal for them. The server might not be able to describe the dish due to limited English, but I’ll try my best.

This is no ordinary soup. While I’ve heard of thukpas with clear broth, this one is red in color, and bold in flavor. I eventually spoke with the owner about the seasoning, and he said the flavor comes from onion, ginger, garlic, fenugreek, and something he called “corn pepper.” He explained that while you can find this pepper, which looks like black pepper (perhaps it’s simply peppercorn?), in the International District, it will have no flavor. Better to get it directly, harvested from the jungles of Nepal.

There are nice pieces of dark meat chicken in the soup, but none of the promised peas. That was actually okay with me. Instead, I enjoyed green and red bell peppers, red onions, cabbage, and cilantro.

No one could explain the type of noodles. Best I could determine, they are dried, spaghetti-like noodles, cooked to a soft texture in the soup.

If you want more: One can easily make the case for momos (Tibetan dumplings) to accompany the soup, and that wouldn’t be a bad choice. Same for some naan, of which Everest Kitchen serves a number of varieties. But I’m going to recommend the saag paneer ($9.95). Like the other dishes I tried, this seemed to be made to order–a nice portion of lightly steamed spinach in light cream with homemade (paneer) cheese and some assertive spices. It’s perfect with basmati rice, or some of that naan.

Be aware/beware: Lunch service is buffet style. While this makes for a fast meal and enables you to taste more items, I highly recommend ordering off the menu for the freshest food. Despite my server’s lack of English, service was appropriately attentive. When the owner learned that we ordered goat curry, he warned that it would take about 45 minutes to cook, and asked if we still wanted it. We did, and found it a little tough, whereas more time would have made it more tender. But that was the only mishap of my meal.

First published in Seattle Weekly’s Voracious on April 30, 2012.

On the heels of my return from Tokyo

And now Bo Ramen hits the scene, starting this week. At the helm is Bo Maisano, who’s been fine-tuning ramen recipes for many months. (Disclosure: I’ve been part of his test panel, seeing and tasting the evolution of his ramen, though I’ve yet to try the latest incarnations.) Ahead of his first ramen pop-up on May 1, I had a chance to talk with Bo about his newfound passion.

How might Seattleites know you from pre-ramen days?

I opened The Tin Table in Capitol Hill most recently, spent time in Madison Park Cafe doing country French, and ran 1200 Bistro back in 2007.

How did you get hooked on ramen?

I read about ramen in Lucky Peach magazine and made it. It was amazing to me. Fresh noodles, fresh broth, and new additions—and I was hooked. I then went out to Boom Noodle and Samurai Noodle to check out their bowls and it only furthered my obsession.

What draws you to cooking ramen?

The pursuit of the perfect bowl. I love each part of the bowl: noodles, broth, pork and add-ons. Each has its part in the whole, and it all has to balance.

How have you been learning the process? What resources have you tapped into?

Making many bowls and having experienced ramen friends guiding my path. I still search books, online recipes and blogs looking for a new spin or technique.

What’s the hardest challenge in preparing ramen?

Consistency as I continually perfect my method. The noodles have been a real learning experience. Learning the ingredients in the Asian markets has been a lot of fun also. This ramen path has been a real humbling experience, steering me out of my comfort zone. It’s very invigorating.

How do you see yourself putting your own spin on ramen?

I’d like to figure out how to add in some different ingredients and cooking styles (tapping into my New Orleans roots) without breaking the integrity of the bowl.

Any favorite ramen bowls/places you’ve found in Seattle? What’s your favorite type of ramen?

I am a fan of Boom and Samurai, as well as Boke Bowl in Portland. I really feel I should get around more. So far, my favorite bowl is shoyu because I like the soy saltiness, stock sweetness, noodle creaminess, and fatty mouthfeel.

How are your slurping skills?

They are okay. It’s not a skill that was ingrained in youth. It is the best way to eat/taste the broth. I’m still new and getting better at it.

What would you like a diner’s experience at Bo Ramen to be like?

A good one, hopefully. I feel I am serving up a decent ramen and want to share that with many of my friends who are new to this beautiful meal in a bowl. I am serving a traditional shoyu ramen bowl and a user-friendly miso bowl that include both a seafood version and a vegetarian version. I am working on other add-ons, like braised belly and shredded smoked shoulder. I have yam noodles for the gluten-free folks also. I have to start small so that I don’t overextend myself.

What do you see as the future of Bo Ramen?

I hope these pop-ups are a success as I would like to open a brick-and-mortar location. I have a tonkotsu bowl that I will feature later, and there are a number of summer noodle bowls that I’d like to do as well. I’ll also do gyoza, and buns filled with braised belly and pickled vegetables. Those buns are something special that I could eat everyday along with a great bowl of noodles.

Bo Ramen debuts at Skelly and the Bean on May 1 and 8 from 5:30 pm to 9:00 pm. Walk-ins are welcome as long as supply lasts, or you can pre-purchase a bowl of shoyu, miso shrimp, or miso veggie ramen. You can also try the ramen at Geraldine’s Counter on May 5 and 19 from 5:30 pm to 9:00 pm, either by walk-in or reservation via the GC website. And get the latest about Bo Ramen via Facebook or Twitter.