Ramen and I

Even though I’m quite possibly the furthest you can get from being Japanese. There is just something about ramen that makes me feel like I’m home. It’s like a warming of the soul in a lot of ways. Nothing too overly dramatic and romantic, but simple and loving, like nostalgia. It takes me back to the smell of my grandma’s house and the warmth and care of chicken broth simmering on her stove.
Recently at Ipuddo, one of my favorite places to go for ramen, I realized the true connection that I have with it. Because even in the midst of the zoo like atmosphere, where you have hundreds of people flying past you in the blink of a two hour wait, it becomes clear that it’s really just all about the soup. It’s the heat, steam, and aromas of the broth. The texture of the noodles and from the start of the first bite all the way through to the finish of the last slurp, it’s about the feeling it gives me. It’s about how even in the middle of a cultural collision from two very opposite sides of the spectrum; I am able to find this connection. I am able to find, quite simply, the love that gets put into ramen soup that makes it great! And why every time I dip my senses into a bowl of it, I’m always left with the feeling of satisfaction and home.