IKEMEN in Los Angeles

I was admittedly excited when I heard about "Sean" Nakamura's latest Los Angeles experiment. I say experiment, because this guy churns out ramen concepts faster than a kaedama of barikata noodles get's cooked. There is, of course, the main shop in Ebina, some collaborations with hip cafes closer to central Tokyo, some sort of $100 a person fine-dining-ramen-themed spot called essence (closed?), a ramen-on-wheels food truck (closed?) . . . and that's just in Japan. Some time ago, the ramen master started doing business in California, and the gastronomical experiment Ramen California (closed?) was opened. The latest (not yet closed) foray is a tsukemen place right in the middle of Hollywood.

Sorry, it's not tsukemen, it's dip ramen. Because you dip it.

In a trend that seems to have hit every successful ramen shop in America, the menu offers half a dozen or so appetizers. While the standard side dish to Japanese ramen has forever been gyoza in Japan, expect American ramen to be flanked by pork buns, takoyaki, and some fried chicken.

I asked about the most popular tsukemen, sorry, dip ramen on the menu, and the mayu-laced zebra narrowly beat out the tomato-topped Johnny Dip.

Ennui.

Why, oh why did the master of subtle flavors decide on tsukemen. Tsukemen is not just noodles separate from the soup. At least it shouldn't be. All the best tsukemen shops in Japan, the ones I drag friends to, the ones with hour long waits, the soup is an intense shock to the system. Insanely thick, reeking of flavors that are sitting on the fence between "just right" and "too much". But we were talking about IKEMEN, and I digress.

Don't get me wrong, there are subtle wafu flavors, accents of niboshi and umami meats; flavors that are well suited to a refined bowl of ramen. I think Nakamura's famed yuzu citrus accented shio ramen would have found a nice home in Los Angeles. But then again, the average person might just compare it to chicken soup and move on. Judging by the general reception that IKEMEN has received in the past few months, their formula is working well.

And if a respected food lover came to me and said, "IKEMEN is in the top three of Los Angeles," I wouldn't argue, it probably is. I'm just glad to live in Tokyo.

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Asahi Ramen in Los Angeles

I was a little unsure how to approach a ramen adventure in my old home of Los Angeles. The city has an established ramen scene, with pockets of Japanese enclaves dotting the area. But time was limited. I'd rather reconnect with old friends at a leisurely craft beer bar than a hectic ramen shop. Sure, the facebook page yielded a lot of recommendations, like Yamadaya and Sinsengumi, and I wish I had more time (and a car!).

The two that I was most interested in, newly opened IKEMEN and Tsujita LA, will be mentioned in due time.

So how did I end up at Asahi Ramen? Did I consult the internet? Yelp tends to like this place. Yelp also tends to judge ramen shops solely on wait time and whether they take credit cards. Thirty minute wait and cash only! Zero stars! Did I consult the real experts? Keizo from GO RAMEN! finds that just uttering the shop's name is a waste of oxygen. The Rameniac's review isn't any better; "dry, stiff chashu, pre-boiled non-marinated eggs, and a healthy sprinkling of ugh."

The simple reason was that my cousin wanted to take me here. How bad could it be?

This is how I left the bowl after one sip of soup and one slurp of noodles. My first bowl of ramen in America wasn't just a let-down, it was a shock to the system. The lack of taste, any taste, and words escape me. How do you review a bowl of piping-hot dishwater? At least it was hot.

Yes, critically renowned Tsujita LA is less than 100 meters away from here. You should probably go there.

Apparently, this place used to be good, but they flipped ownership a few times in recent years.

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Wait, Tsujita LA? To be honest, I didn't really want to go there. I've heard nothing but positive reviews. Praise upon praise for the masterful noodles; noodles made just the way they are made at Tsujita's shop in Tokyo. And that's why I didn't go. Should I spend a precious meal just so I can confirm what everyone else already said? Not this time around. Also, I emailed Tsujita-san before the trip, asking if I could come in for an interview, but he never wrote me back.

Saimin at Ken's House of Pancakes in Hilo

I'll be honest, whenever I visit my Dad in Hilo, Hawaii, the last thing on my mind is noodles. Hawaii for me means picking a couple fruit off the tree, mixing up some fresh poke, and kicking back with Koa, the roadside-bought pit bull that runs things at our house there. Local Hawaiian comfort food, like loco-moco, kalua pork, and saimin need to wait a few days. It sounds strange coming from someone who drinks rendered pork broth on a regular basis, but I take a bit of time to adjust back to American style eating.

Ken's is a regular place for said American food. The menu is full of good eats, ono grinds in local speak, and no trip to Hilo would be complete without a breakfast here.

But this isn't Breakfast Adventures, it's Ramen Adventures. And in Hawaii, it's all about saimin.

The won ton topped saimin from Ken's.

Don't be fooled, just as Chinese lamein isn't ramen, neither is saimin. The general idea is soft noodles in a simple broth. Take this, and go crazy with the toppings. Fried egg, skewers of meats, even slabs of spam are all acceptable.

The soup, a subtle shrimp broth, reminds me of late-night bowls in Hong Kong. Other than that, I wasn't into this saimin at all. The noodles are, as wikipedia says they should be, all kinds of soft. Borderline soggy. Unacceptable by ramen standards; but we're not in ramen-land anymore, are we.

The won tons are filled with teriyaki chicken. Ah, teriyaki, because savory Asian cuisine isn't sweet enough for the American palate. The charsu pork topping was definately of Chinese descent. There were bits of fried egg, a fish cake, and a skewer of more teriyaki. At least there wasn't any spam.

Order the "sumo size" and they will signal your double-size meal's arrival with a clash of a gong. Good luck with that.

My advice? The keiki min (child-size version of the saimin) split among your party is a good place to start your saimin adventure.

Despite my off-putting first-time experience with saimin, I still love this diner. I genuinely miss American diner breakfast; omelets, hash browns, and bacon drenched in hot sauce. But this isn't Breakfast Adventures, so I'll move it on.

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