Dating Myself: It's Rainin' Ramen and the Lone Un- Monk Makes another Cameo, Nov 19, 2014

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Let's get right to the food. The monk can wait. Spoiler alert: I was right about the monk.

Today's breakfast Ramen

You know that food thing that kicks in when you're on vacation and you have a really great meal someplace and instead of continuing to try out other restaurants, you keep going back to the place where you had the really great meal? For three days in a row, I have eaten at the Ramen stand I discovered on Monday. But rather than allowing this practice to narrow my options, I have redesigned my day so that I have a Ramen breakfast there, followed by whatever street food speaks to me whenever I see it. Today what spoke to me was another bowl of Ramen. But in a different location.

On the third day, I added meat dumplings to the breakfast menu

It happened, like all things happen here, by accident. Admittedly, I don't know a lot about Ramen except that everyone swoons when you say it. I'm not entirely sure that before coming to Tokyo, I had ever really had authentic Ramen, except if you call those styrofoam cups with the dried noodles that used to be 3/$1 "Ramen," then yes, I've had it. (My friend, Brian B. the very best cook I know, carries these rattle-y containers with him when we travel together for reasons I am not entirely clear.)

I spent a good part of the early morning researching Ramen on-line. I even read what Wikipedia had to say about Ramen. I learned about straight noodles, curly noodles and flat noodles; I read about oily rich, milky-looking pork broth that gets cut with chicken or fish stock and even some history of how those little floating doughy balls we think might be matzo-- but are always some off-tasting fishy mess --found their way into an otherwise perfectly good bowl of Ramen. I Googled Ramen + Tokyo and places nearby in so many iterations that I eventually clicked my way out of Ramen restaurant reviews with Google maps and ended up reading recipes on how to make it.

Here's the real truth of what I was really looking for: How do you know a Ramen restaurant if you don't read Japanese and they don't have pictures? So I studied the hiragana (Japanese alphabet) to see if I could teach myself to recognize a sign for "Ramen" that looks like this: ラーメン. Good plan. I love a plan. Excessive research could also explain why I haven't been leaving the apartment until very late in the morning.

Another Geography Challenge

Knowing I was going back to the Ueno area for the third consecutive day, I also made a deal with myself to see if I could find--also for the third day in a row-- Izuei Honten, the famous 260-year old eel restaurant that I keep reading about. Izuei Honten was recommended to me by a friend who had been there a couple years ago and it's always mentioned in every guidebook and food blog about Tokyo you care to read. Even though I had the address and a photo of the Google map on my Iphone, I tried everything I knew to locate this restaurant. I wanted to do it on my own without asking. I walked around those streets, in and out of alley ways, back to where I began, and then did it all over again. I failed to find Izuei Honten on Monday. Ditto Tuesday. There's only so much geographical defeat I can stomach each day and trying to find Izuei Honten had gobbled up all of it.

The elusive 260 year old Izuei Honten eel restaurant

Today, a new resolve fueled by a belly full of breakfast Ramen and meat dumplings, I found it! Nothing is in English and as far as I'm concerned, a Google map for me in Tokyo translates into: "It's around here somewhere. Good luck." The restaurant had not yet opened for the day, so I ventured on. Also, it's an expensive proposition and if I'm going to shell out a significant amount of money for a meal, I'd rather do it at the end of the day and then go home. It's been there for 260 years, so I am assuming it will hold on for another couple of weeks. Still, victory was mine.

Yanaka Cemetery

Today's walk found me in Tokyo's massive cemetery, a labyrinth of beautiful small gardens within gardens surrounded by marble monuments, mourners paying their respects, people riding bikes, an Orthodox memorial service with chanting priests and a robed clergyman really good at swinging an incense pot (he didn't hit anyone, though he came mighty close) and cats. Lots and lots of cats.

Evidently, the area of Tokyo where the cemetery is located is also home to a hell of a lot of cats. They are everywhere and the merchants in the area capitalize on it by featuring cats in their stores and their merchandise. If you want a cat something, go to Yanaka.

On to lunch

Just seemed like a place to go into

No tables. Just stand and slurp

There is no good explanation for why I picked the little store front restaurant to eat lunch at today, except that I happened to notice that it had no tables, only shelfs on two walls where people were eating what appeared to be hot, steamy bowls of Ramen. (In San Francisco, think Tu Lan before the remodel, only much, much smaller and not that nice.) I saw the noodles, so I was pretty certain I was on to something. In I went.

I looked at the bowls of Ramen that were given out to the three women ahead of me in line and when it came to my turn, I pointed to theirs and said, "That." One of the cooks seemed to be game for my being there so he took a bowl, deposited a big serving of noodles into the bottom of it, held it up for my inspection and declared, "Soba!" I nodded. Then he passed my bowl to the next guy who indicated that I needed to select from one of the tempura toppings in the case in front of me. They all looked pretty much the same. Delicately fried cakes of what I think were either fish or vegetables. I pointed to one that had some green on it, hoping for the best. The three cooks were clearly excited that I had wandered into their little place and there was a lot of chatting and nodding my direction and what I think were probably exaggerated moves in preparing my lunch. It arrived within a minute, steamy and delicate, with my tempura floating on top. Total cost: 300 yen, or a little less than $3.

My new best friends in Tokyo

The three women who had preceded me into the restaurant now motioned for me to set myself up next to them, as they moved in closer to each other to make room at the counter for the newbie. One of them indicated that I needed to sprinkle my soup with some red spice from a communal shaker. I sprinkled. Just about the time I was ready to dig in, two of the men from the other side of the restaurant left and, as if they were a precision drum and bugle corps, all three of the women turned in unison, picked up their bowls and moved to the now vacated spaces. I have no idea why. Still don't. It was inconceivable, evidently, that I would not follow and so when they turned to see me still in my original location, they once again indicated that I should move to their side. And so I moved.

We tried a little communication but the best I could do was turn on my Japanese translator app and played them the phrase that says, "This is really good." And then the next one that asks, "What is this called?" They told me. Slowly and repeatedly. Still don't remember and I never was able to pronounce it either. They were just as tickled as they could be with my translator. I played some of my greatest hits for them. "I'm lost. Can you help me?" "Could I have a fork?" "Do you speak English?" "What do you recommend?" "Where's the toilet?" These pre-recorded inquires really crack up the Japanese. I entertained my Nagomi family with them a couple weeks ago and I believe it was the highlight of the visit.

Today's $3 Ramen lunch

I slurped and Oiishi-ed my way through the whole delicious bowl. The tempura was, I think, shrimp and onion. It melted lovingly into the broth. One of my lunch mates brought me a glass of water and all of them waited until I had finished so they could show me what to do with my empty bowl. We all thanked each other amid bows and hand shakes and, to finish out this multi-cultural diorama, I played them my final Japanese translator app that said, "Take care of yourself." Off they went, a cacophony of giggles. World peace and understanding may be just an app away.

I knocked around the historical streets of Yananka, looking at the cat merchandise, the old wooden houses and shrines, paused to eat a chocolate mochi and then headed back towards the cemetery and then on to Ueno Park where something interesting is always happening. Who should I run into along the route but my three new lady friends who couldn't have been more pleased to see me, and I them.

We showed each other things we bought in our bags and I even pulled one of those moves that I am not proud of: I flashed them a photo of Charley on my Iphone and indicated that some of the things in my bag were for her. Such a fun day.

The un-monk comes chasing after me.
Then it was back to Ueno Park. Just as I was climbing the steps to where I had the interaction yesterday with the phoney monk, I saw him. I took a closer look at his dress. He was wearing black, un-monk leather shoes and a pair of black pants beneath his robe that was little more than what we would consider a men's bathrobe. He was concluding a transaction with a pair of tourists, so I hurried along and continued up another pair of steps to the next level of the park. Then it hit me: I should take a picture of him. So turned, pointed my camera in his direction and waited for him to move from behind a post that was blocking the shot. So that he wouldn't see me taking his photo, I aimed my camera beyond where he stood, while waiting for him to reposition himself. Lots of Japanese people walked by. He seemed to size them up fairly quickly. Nothing. He didn't move. He didn't approach them. Finally, I got tired of waiting so I gave up, turned back toward the stairs and began climbing. In about 30 seconds, I heard a voice, "Madam. Oh, Madam. A moment for peace," he was right behind me! Clearly I fit the profile he was looking for and even more obvious, he did not remember our encounter of yesterday. "No thanks," I said, as I moved on, thinking about George Bush's fool-me-once dictum in a way I had never thought possible.