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The World of Ramen and the Mastery of My Craft
12 years ago
General
I apologize for the extremely long-winded post. I feel that the dark place I am in now warrants the discussion of something positive in my life. Something I love to make and indulge in. Hopefully this journal isn't too boring.
I believe it's pretty well known that my favorite hobby is cooking. Has been for years. The best way for me to calm down is to put my focus into a certain dish. It keeps me in the moment. It's very zen.
One dish that I like to specialize in is ramen. A dish that I can go on for hours about. The intricacies and details that go into the creation of my own bowl of ramen is something that allows me to live in the moment. One on one, it's just myself and my soup. No distractions, no worries. Many people in the west associate ramen with the packages of what is basically a brick of deep-fried worms with a tiny pouch of colored salty powder that is supposed to have some kind of flavor. However, the world of ramen goes much, much deeper than a 20 cent package of instant noodles.
Like many dishes associated with Japanese cuisine, it is an adaptation of a foreign dish. Like the Southeast Asian roots of sushi and the Portuguese roots of tempura before it, ramen is adapted from a Chinese dish and was altered to the point where it is now a Japanese dish in and of itself. Not at all like the dish it originated from.
There is nothing that I miss more than wandering the narrow backstreets of Japan and coming across a small mom & pop restaurant on a dark, rainy night. A cold and damp Japanese winter made the sight all the better. A wide open door with a small counter and only five or six stools to sit at, all positioned behind a noren curtain and the warm glow of a chochin lantern. The ramen shops of Kumamoto in particular had the distinctly pungent aroma of boiling pork soup with an underlying smell of roasted garlic. Behind the counter, massive vats of soup and a separate pot of boiling water for cooking the noodles, along with partitioned toppings of roast pork slices, boiled eggs and scallions. Many of these shops were open as late as 3am to cater to the drunken crowd of salarymen who wandered the streets at that hour.
Every region of the island nation has a general set of standards for their soup. One example is soy sauce-based. Clear pork and chicken stocks seasoned with soy sauce, blended with the subtle flavor of kelp and fish-based dashi stock. The most popular of them all existing on the largest island of Honshu. The lesser-known salt based soups being more common in northern honshu.
Miso ramen is cloudy, and despite the mellow properties of the little cups of miso soup offered at traditional lunch, it's actually very rich. Miso ramen from the far north island of Hokkaido is prepared with stir-fried vegetables and a thick layer of melted lard to trap the heat in. The aroma is mouth-watering, with toppings of ground pork, corn and even butter. It smells as if somebody took a whole thanksgiving dinner and put it in a bowl.
Living in southern city of Kumamoto in Kyushu, I have developed a special love for tonkotsu broth. Unlike the mellow, simmered soups of soy sauce and salt ramen, Tonkotsu is a rich soup. Boiled for 12 to 20 hours, the fat and the marrow dissolves into a smooth and milky broth. Seasoned with salt, tonkotsu soup is probably the most unique of the bunch.
Despite these regional standards, they are only generalized categories as each prefecture has a unique take on the dish. Fukuoka and Kumamoto, residing in Kyushu, both use a tonkotsu-based soup. Though each one is prepared differently. Fukuoka's soup is richer and whiter, using more pork bones. The noodles are thin and white with toppings of sesame and pickled ginger. Kumamoto's adds some chicken bones, allowing for a soup that's still rich, but slightly mellower. The noodles are yellow and thicker. The signature topping is roasted garlic. Despite the more distinct set of local standards for ramen, every shop still feels unique. One ramen shop in the same town could use pork that is smoked with dark rings around the edges, while another shop uses braised pork simmered in a concentrated sauce. In Kumamoto, where horse meat is a delicacy, I even came across a shop or two that used it in place of pork.
It's what I described above that makes ramen a universe of its own. A bowl of ramen is like a galaxy of flavors. Brought together, these flavors make an experience that one craves for again and again. From shop to shop, the creation of an enjoyable soup takes heart and dedication. The mastery of a craft. A form of alchemy in a sense.
Every day I strive to also master that craft. Whenever I find a meat shop that has available leg bones from the pigs they slaughtered, I bring home as many as I can. I throw them into a pot, add my own ingredients to round it all out. I agree that cooking is a science. A variety of chemical reactions brought together to make one's nourishment more pleasant. However, what takes this to another level is putting love and dedication into the craft. This doesn't just apply to ramen, but food in general. Trial and error coincides with instinct and affection. Food is nourishing. Food is what brings people together. Food is harmonizing. The shops that I visited, the ramen that I tasted is reflective of the people who made it. It's with that in mind that I continue the mastery of my craft.
I believe it's pretty well known that my favorite hobby is cooking. Has been for years. The best way for me to calm down is to put my focus into a certain dish. It keeps me in the moment. It's very zen.
One dish that I like to specialize in is ramen. A dish that I can go on for hours about. The intricacies and details that go into the creation of my own bowl of ramen is something that allows me to live in the moment. One on one, it's just myself and my soup. No distractions, no worries. Many people in the west associate ramen with the packages of what is basically a brick of deep-fried worms with a tiny pouch of colored salty powder that is supposed to have some kind of flavor. However, the world of ramen goes much, much deeper than a 20 cent package of instant noodles.
Like many dishes associated with Japanese cuisine, it is an adaptation of a foreign dish. Like the Southeast Asian roots of sushi and the Portuguese roots of tempura before it, ramen is adapted from a Chinese dish and was altered to the point where it is now a Japanese dish in and of itself. Not at all like the dish it originated from.
There is nothing that I miss more than wandering the narrow backstreets of Japan and coming across a small mom & pop restaurant on a dark, rainy night. A cold and damp Japanese winter made the sight all the better. A wide open door with a small counter and only five or six stools to sit at, all positioned behind a noren curtain and the warm glow of a chochin lantern. The ramen shops of Kumamoto in particular had the distinctly pungent aroma of boiling pork soup with an underlying smell of roasted garlic. Behind the counter, massive vats of soup and a separate pot of boiling water for cooking the noodles, along with partitioned toppings of roast pork slices, boiled eggs and scallions. Many of these shops were open as late as 3am to cater to the drunken crowd of salarymen who wandered the streets at that hour.
Every region of the island nation has a general set of standards for their soup. One example is soy sauce-based. Clear pork and chicken stocks seasoned with soy sauce, blended with the subtle flavor of kelp and fish-based dashi stock. The most popular of them all existing on the largest island of Honshu. The lesser-known salt based soups being more common in northern honshu.
Miso ramen is cloudy, and despite the mellow properties of the little cups of miso soup offered at traditional lunch, it's actually very rich. Miso ramen from the far north island of Hokkaido is prepared with stir-fried vegetables and a thick layer of melted lard to trap the heat in. The aroma is mouth-watering, with toppings of ground pork, corn and even butter. It smells as if somebody took a whole thanksgiving dinner and put it in a bowl.
Living in southern city of Kumamoto in Kyushu, I have developed a special love for tonkotsu broth. Unlike the mellow, simmered soups of soy sauce and salt ramen, Tonkotsu is a rich soup. Boiled for 12 to 20 hours, the fat and the marrow dissolves into a smooth and milky broth. Seasoned with salt, tonkotsu soup is probably the most unique of the bunch.
Despite these regional standards, they are only generalized categories as each prefecture has a unique take on the dish. Fukuoka and Kumamoto, residing in Kyushu, both use a tonkotsu-based soup. Though each one is prepared differently. Fukuoka's soup is richer and whiter, using more pork bones. The noodles are thin and white with toppings of sesame and pickled ginger. Kumamoto's adds some chicken bones, allowing for a soup that's still rich, but slightly mellower. The noodles are yellow and thicker. The signature topping is roasted garlic. Despite the more distinct set of local standards for ramen, every shop still feels unique. One ramen shop in the same town could use pork that is smoked with dark rings around the edges, while another shop uses braised pork simmered in a concentrated sauce. In Kumamoto, where horse meat is a delicacy, I even came across a shop or two that used it in place of pork.
It's what I described above that makes ramen a universe of its own. A bowl of ramen is like a galaxy of flavors. Brought together, these flavors make an experience that one craves for again and again. From shop to shop, the creation of an enjoyable soup takes heart and dedication. The mastery of a craft. A form of alchemy in a sense.
Every day I strive to also master that craft. Whenever I find a meat shop that has available leg bones from the pigs they slaughtered, I bring home as many as I can. I throw them into a pot, add my own ingredients to round it all out. I agree that cooking is a science. A variety of chemical reactions brought together to make one's nourishment more pleasant. However, what takes this to another level is putting love and dedication into the craft. This doesn't just apply to ramen, but food in general. Trial and error coincides with instinct and affection. Food is nourishing. Food is what brings people together. Food is harmonizing. The shops that I visited, the ramen that I tasted is reflective of the people who made it. It's with that in mind that I continue the mastery of my craft.
The greatest peace can be found in the smallest pleasures, remember that. I hope to find your way out of this dark place. Let me know if you ever need to talk.