rev:text
| - I actually like winter, I feel justified getting fat and wearing saggy arsed sweatpants in public, who cares anymore, seriously. I'm a hermit by nature anyway, I deleted my Tinder so I can do other things with my fingers alone at night. Netflix and diddle the skittle. Don't have to shave anything anymore.
But more importantly, winter is noodle season, ramen is my new jam after years of pho. I'll still go there, don't get me wrong but that duck egg thing, split in half, resting on top, sweet Jesus, it's food porn isn't it? I once saw an Instagram post where the yolk was still really soft and someone broke it open with their chopsticks and all the yellow goo exploozed into the broth. It's a visual I've kept in storage of my mind when I want to hurry things along sometimes while the Netflix is loading the next episode of Mad Men, which I am currently rewatching because it never gets old.
Anyway I've been to a few ramen places downtown, all very good, haven't really met a bowl I didn't want to deep throat and sputter. When I read about this place in my own neighbourhood, I thought whoa, I need to try it.
I've been here a couple of times and ordered the Kyouka bowl both times, so this is how I know I can tell you for sure that this place is my favourite ramen in the entire city. First of all, the space is really friendly so you can be by yourself and not feel weird. In fact, ramen is best eaten alone in silence because you're supposed to slurp it up in under 8 minutes. I like to sit at the bar, that's where singles go. The chef is unnervingly handsome though and I'm a noisy sloppy eater, I feel a little self-conscious. Japanese culture is so refined and the people are so polite and elegant BUT! they want you to eat your noodles like a Bernese mountain dog. It's considered good manners. I am so needing to go to Japan, I feel like they would embrace me as some female Godzilla that they could tame with tentacle porn. It would work.
|