my head.
The wait was almost exactly forty minutes, just like Masa had said, and when I finally got near the front of the line, I saw the owner up close. His apron was smeared with dried pig and chicken blood, and the impressive belly protruding from his modest frame kept him from getting too close to the soup vats he was tending.
“Nani?” I heard him say.
I replied as decisively as possible, and with the best accent I could muster:
“Sho!”
The other men in line began giggling. The owner giggled, too. Taking pity on me, the man behind me explained what had happened.
“Actually, he didn’t say ‘Nani.’ He was just asking if anyone could make change of a one-thousand-yen note.”
I had been so anxious about making the call that I wasn’t listening very well. Now I had made a terrible mistake. My face flushed in embarrassment. I thought that maybe I should leave. Everyone in the restaurant was giggling.
Soon the owner really did yell “Nani?” and I guess I felt the need to compensate for my mistake.
“Dai!”
The giggling stopped.
I proceeded toward the counter. It was reddish orange and had two levels, one for eating, and another, above, for bowls in transit between patrons and the staff. Behind the counter stood the chef and a younger male helper, who I deduced was Mr. Sakai. Apparently willing to forgive my earlier gaffe, Mr. Sakai motioned me to the only open seat. It was on the left side of the counter.
Inside, Ramen Jiro was a cacophony of slurping. The middle-aged man next to me was sitting on his suit jacket and had removed his tie, presumably to keep it clean. Some kids, probably students from Keio, had slung white bath towels around their necks, which they occasionally used to wipe the mixture of sweat and splattered soup from their faces. A sign on the wall just above the counter said RAMEN JIRO CORPORATE PHILOSOPHY. Below the title, there were six points:
• Live cleanly, rightly, beautifully. Take walks and read books, laugh and save money. On weekends, fish, golf, and transcribe Buddhist texts.
• Live for the world, for others, for society.
• Love & Peace & Togetherness
• Have the courage to say you’re sorry.
• Unbalanced flavors lead to unbalanced hearts. Unbalanced hearts lead to unbalanced families. Unbalanced families lead to unbalanced societies. Unbalanced societies lead to unbalanced countries. Unbalanced countries lead to an unbalanced universe.
• Would you like garlic on that?
When my bowl was filled with noodles and soup, Mr. Sakai brought it over.
“Would you like garlic on that?” he asked.
Maybe I wasn’t fast enough or maybe he figured that because of my earlier mistake, I wouldn’t know the secret calls. The ultimate Jiro disgrace. I had spent all that time studying the Web site and practicing the codes in my apartment for nothing.
I pretended not to hear Mr. Sakai and yelled, “Yasai karame nin-nin!”
Mr. Sakai looked at me and smiled as he ladled on the extra vegetables, extra soy sauce flavoring, and double-extra garlic. The Web site had said that Mr. Sakai was a nice guy and could be an important ally in difficult situations. Sure enough.
I examined the bowl in front of me. It was huge, yet looked doable. Of course, by now my judgment was unreliable. The noodles were thicker and darker than the average ramen noodle, and the broth—a combination of pork- and chicken-based stocks—was topped, as Masa had promised, with a half-inch layer of liquid lard. I picked up a pair of chopsticks in my right hand, and a soupspoon in my left.
I began slurping.
In contrast to Shota’s Sushi , which depicts happy sushi competition judges hovering over an ocean, when Fujimoto tastes a great bowl of ramen in Ramen Discovery Legend , he’s shown floating in a cloud of Nagoya chickens, dried anchovies, and the other ingredients he discerns on his tongue. And during my first five minutes of slurping at Ramen Jiro, that was how I felt. There was an
The wait was almost exactly forty minutes, just like Masa had said, and when I finally got near the front of the line, I saw the owner up close. His apron was smeared with dried pig and chicken blood, and the impressive belly protruding from his modest frame kept him from getting too close to the soup vats he was tending.
“Nani?” I heard him say.
I replied as decisively as possible, and with the best accent I could muster:
“Sho!”
The other men in line began giggling. The owner giggled, too. Taking pity on me, the man behind me explained what had happened.
“Actually, he didn’t say ‘Nani.’ He was just asking if anyone could make change of a one-thousand-yen note.”
I had been so anxious about making the call that I wasn’t listening very well. Now I had made a terrible mistake. My face flushed in embarrassment. I thought that maybe I should leave. Everyone in the restaurant was giggling.
Soon the owner really did yell “Nani?” and I guess I felt the need to compensate for my mistake.
“Dai!”
The giggling stopped.
I proceeded toward the counter. It was reddish orange and had two levels, one for eating, and another, above, for bowls in transit between patrons and the staff. Behind the counter stood the chef and a younger male helper, who I deduced was Mr. Sakai. Apparently willing to forgive my earlier gaffe, Mr. Sakai motioned me to the only open seat. It was on the left side of the counter.
Inside, Ramen Jiro was a cacophony of slurping. The middle-aged man next to me was sitting on his suit jacket and had removed his tie, presumably to keep it clean. Some kids, probably students from Keio, had slung white bath towels around their necks, which they occasionally used to wipe the mixture of sweat and splattered soup from their faces. A sign on the wall just above the counter said RAMEN JIRO CORPORATE PHILOSOPHY. Below the title, there were six points:
• Live cleanly, rightly, beautifully. Take walks and read books, laugh and save money. On weekends, fish, golf, and transcribe Buddhist texts.
• Live for the world, for others, for society.
• Love & Peace & Togetherness
• Have the courage to say you’re sorry.
• Unbalanced flavors lead to unbalanced hearts. Unbalanced hearts lead to unbalanced families. Unbalanced families lead to unbalanced societies. Unbalanced societies lead to unbalanced countries. Unbalanced countries lead to an unbalanced universe.
• Would you like garlic on that?
When my bowl was filled with noodles and soup, Mr. Sakai brought it over.
“Would you like garlic on that?” he asked.
Maybe I wasn’t fast enough or maybe he figured that because of my earlier mistake, I wouldn’t know the secret calls. The ultimate Jiro disgrace. I had spent all that time studying the Web site and practicing the codes in my apartment for nothing.
I pretended not to hear Mr. Sakai and yelled, “Yasai karame nin-nin!”
Mr. Sakai looked at me and smiled as he ladled on the extra vegetables, extra soy sauce flavoring, and double-extra garlic. The Web site had said that Mr. Sakai was a nice guy and could be an important ally in difficult situations. Sure enough.
I examined the bowl in front of me. It was huge, yet looked doable. Of course, by now my judgment was unreliable. The noodles were thicker and darker than the average ramen noodle, and the broth—a combination of pork- and chicken-based stocks—was topped, as Masa had promised, with a half-inch layer of liquid lard. I picked up a pair of chopsticks in my right hand, and a soupspoon in my left.
I began slurping.
In contrast to Shota’s Sushi , which depicts happy sushi competition judges hovering over an ocean, when Fujimoto tastes a great bowl of ramen in Ramen Discovery Legend , he’s shown floating in a cloud of Nagoya chickens, dried anchovies, and the other ingredients he discerns on his tongue. And during my first five minutes of slurping at Ramen Jiro, that was how I felt. There was an
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