In what can only be described as a culinary Marshawn Lynch move, I literally walked to the other side of Hiroshima to try their famed take on Japan's famed dish to break up how dark the two days there had become.
This post is only here so it's not all so depressing.
I'm serious.
Knowing that this was going to be a standalone issue and not knowing that day if the baseball game was going to be rained out or not, I realized there needed to be something—anything—uplifting in this edition.
So I went to find some Hiroshiman Ramen.
Was shockingly hard to find, if I'm being honest, for what seemed to be an even stranger reason, as the city itself is, well... quite hip and happening. Meaning high-end yakitori joints and Western chains dominated the center of town—pushing the local fares to the proverbial suburbs.
As was the case for the city's version of ramen, making its name by using "chukasoba" (Chinese noodles), incredibly light with a soup made by mixing two of Japan's famous varieties tonkotsu (pork) and shoyu (soy sauce). )
The place itself was right out of the 70s—walls that might have been painted that color or perhaps just years of smoke—with Carp memorabilia breaking up the occasionally laser printed color version of their offerings.
The ramen? Somewhere between "good" and "to be expected", I suppose—the lighting and decor seemingly matching the brackish stew, admittedly tasty but also-admittedly tasted in the midst of a guilty patron who just walked from memorial to memorial, and is now disturbing the wa by standing up and photographing his meal.
Think about that.
Big tall Western white guy.
Obviously in Hiroshima because it's Hiroshima.
A quiet ramen shack.
He stands up in the middle of the place to start photographing his noodles.
Obviously because he wants a good shot.
Obviously to share.
Obviously in hopes of getting a like.
In Hiroshima.
Big tall Western white guy.
See where I'm going with this.
Apologies if you thought you'd get a recipe this issue.
I'm just here so I don't get fined.
