Ippudo Tonkotsu. Ralph Lauren Models Eat Here. Under the spell of the Ginkgo. Orchids You Won't Find at Trader Joe's.

Orchid from show at Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden

First, I would like to brag a bit.  Here's why:  I successfully navigated to the Ippudo Ramen restaurant over in Ebisu on Sunday afternoon. I did this on my own, without getting lost or asking strangers and even created an internal directional compass for myself using an east-west orientation when I left the  train station.  Like I said, I've got bragging rights and now street cred.

Ippudo Ramen has 80 locations throughout Japan, not a lot when you consider there are 127 million people who live here, but evidently good enough Ramen that they have attracted the attention of foodies and travel writers.  The restaurant specializes in Tonkotsu, a creamy, pork-based Ramen, that comes with condiment options on the table so diners can personalize their bowls to suit their tastes.  I don't know about you, but I love condiments.  Give me a set of  containers on a table with stuff in them, and in all likelihood I'll sample every one of them. Doesn't matter what I've ordered.  In the USA, this is not a problem.  In Japan, I worry about making a big culinary faux pas by putting the wrong set of condiments into or on top of my food and, along with looking like the fool that I am, I will l ruin a perfectly good meal.  After all, a container of soy sauce looks very much like a container of Japanese vinegar.   A review of the Japanese' fealty for  establishing systems and  following order, it is vital to observe what others are doing before emptying the condiment containers into your bowl.  It is also good form to remind yourself that the reason the Japanese are so beautifully thin is that their portions are small and so are their condiment containers.  We're not at an Interstate 7-11 taco bar with a giant pump filled with processed melted cheese and bins of jalapeno peppers.  Try to control yourself.

Last week in Kyoto I ordered a side of kim chi with my Ramen.  When the waiter informed me that kim chi was available "free" and pointed to a table where a bowl of it sat, I made a bee line to it. Three trips later, I rested.  So it's not as though I take my own advice.  That's part of the challenge of traveling alone.  There is no one to talk you out of your own follies.  On the other hand, there's no one to watch you either.

The directions to Ippudo warned that there were no English signs on the restaurant.  I knew I had found the right place because the front of the store matched the Google street view photo I had taken on my Iphone before I left my apartment and, of course, there was a line.  Families with children in strollers, couples without children and a bunch of guys.  I queued up at the end of the line to wait. Then an odd thing happened.  The women with the kids in the front of the line turned to look at me and after some conferring amongst themselves,  sent an emissary down my way and, given confirmation that I was just by myself, indicated that I should go to the front of the line.  And so I was led to the proper position and once again, just waited.  Sometimes time is the answer.  Time and nodding and Arigato, arigato.

Shortly after assuming this #1 place in line, the door to the restaurant slid open and a group of six of the most stunning, tall, blonde, extraordinarily beautiful creatures I have ever seen in real life, emerged.  Swedes or Danes or some pure Scandinavian bloodline sporting high cheekbones and skin with no visible pores.   They were straight out of a Ralph Lauren ad.  You know, the ones you see surrounded by dogs and horses and guns, moving in slow motion on PBS right before Downton Abbey.  For a moment, I imagined that Ippudo takes people who look like me and turns them into people who look like that.   It would explain why my new Japanese Ippudo friends were so anxious for me to get on with it.  But, in the end, it seems that the bar inside the restaurant is reserved for single diners and there were stools available,  so there was no reason for me to wait it out behind the groups.  (The Lauren clan quickly disappeared into the street chaos, probably to meet up with other beautiful people from the Viking Cruise line and then off to dinner with Lord and Lady Grantham. )

The hostess ushered me in and I settled into a bar stool, which also faced directly into the kitchen.  What a treat.  The hostess scurried to my side with a small plastic clothes basket to hold my purse.  I sat it on the floor beside me.  Then she handed me the best gift of the day:  an English menu with pictures.

Three cooks--why do all Japanese restaurants that I eat at seem to have three cooks--were producing hot steamy bowls of Ramen and little meat dumpling sides with astonishing speed.

Guidebooks and common sense tell you to order the house speciality.  This time I went against such advice.  I had had Tonkotsu in Kyoto and while it was good, I had my eye on the spicy red Ramen

Condiments for sharing. Try to control yourself.

that, to me, looked more promising.  The kid sitting next to me was already well into his spicy bowl when I sat down.  I also eyed up his set up.  Three little bowls spread out before him, each with the remnants from the condiment containers, so I knew I could condiment my way up the Ramen wazoo.

Why is it that even though the menu is in English and the waitress seems to have a good command of English, I still find myself pointing to a photo and announcing what I want as though I were reading a picture book to a toddler?   One of these, hold up finger, point deliberately to spicy bowl photo.  Point to standard three spice option but think about being brave and going for the eight spice option.  Best in foreign countries to not be quite so brave in the face of escalating spice.  Then point to meat dumpling photo and show waitress four fingers, indicating the smaller side portion and not the eight piece portion. ( I'll bet those tall skinny blonde models shared a four-piece portion. )

Ippudo Spicy Ramen and side of meat dumplings

The Ramen was great.  If I missed something special by not ordering the Tonkotsu, I can live with that.  I was especially thrilled with the little dumplings.  They are best described as miniature pot stickers, but more tender and easier to eat.  The meat filling speaks of pork and ginger, not unlike a potsticker but more subtle.  I ate every noodle, every floating piece of green onion, every bean sprout and pickled something or other from the condiment containers, and then I picked up the bowl and drank it down to empty.

I felt I owed myself this little feast as a reward for having found Ippudo so easily.  Now it was time to head out to the Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden, just southwest of the Shinjuku station and not far from the Lost in Translation Hyatt hotel.  An area that I could claim some familiarity with, but wouldn't go so far as to say I knew my way around.  Because, you see, I didn't.  It's great to create a cosmic compass inside your head, but if your cosmic compass is off by, let's say 180 degrees, you are going to have a hard time finding the National Garden.

Ginkgo grove hard to capture 

One of the Ginkgo trees in grove at Shinjuku National Garden

It was later than I had anticipated when I finally arrived at the Garden and the day had lost whatever portion of sunshine was going to make an appearance, but that did not seem to deter the hundreds of people still streaming in.  I paid my 200 Yen (about $2) and followed the crowd.  It was the last day of an orchid show and I wanted to see what the Japanese orchid growers were up to.  In a moment of true arrogance, I had put away my camera for the day, thinking that I had taken enough pretty photos of trees in autumn in Kyoto and how could anything in Tokyo even come close to matching the beauty of the shrines and temple grounds from last week.

Then I saw them:  a grove of old, giant ginkgo trees, still holding on to their foliage.  Below the trees were dozens of people, photographing the leaves, posing beneath the canopy, families on blankets, bystanders just staring and taking it all in.  There was something magical about this grove of ginkgo trees, getting ready for their final shedding.  The light from above and beneath it was warm and glowed with a rich yellow hue that had me suddenly in tears for no apparent reason I could name.  I watched all those families and individuals who were, like me, drawn to this spot that demanded our attention and required us to stay.  I thought about how alone I was here in Tokyo and although I have not wanted for distractions or entertainment at any time, I wanted very much for someone, anyone, everyone I love, to be with me at that one moment, beneath these majestic trees.  I took out my camera and snapped away.


In less than four days, I will leave here.  Seems like I have no time left, yet many people pass through this city with less time and they manage to create memories that last forever.  As Bonnie Raitt has sung so often, "Life gets mighty precious when there's less of it to waste."

So I'm off to make the most of the next  precious few days.  Wish you were here.

Sample of the orchid show in the Summerhouse.  Good timing.  It was their last day on display.