The Ramen King and I: How the Inventor of Instant Noodles Fixed My Love Life
Andy Raskin
Language: English
Pages: 304
ISBN: 1592404448
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
For three days in January 2007,the most e-mailed article in The New York Times was "appreciations: Mr. noodle," an editorial noting the passing, at age ninety-six, of Momofuku Ando, the inventor of instant ramen. Ando's existence came as a shock to many, but not to Andy Raskin, who had spent three years trying to meet the noodle pioneer.
The Ramen King and I is Raskin's funny and, at times, painfully honest memoir about confronting the truth of his dating life-with Ando as his spiritual guide. Can instant ramen lead one to a committed relationship? And is sushi the secret to self-acceptance?
A true tale of hunger in its many forms, The Ramen King and I is about becoming slaves to our desires and learning to break free.
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owner of the restaurant overhears. “Who are you to criticize my broth?” the owner retorts. “I simmer my pig bones and chicken carcasses for ten hours, and I serve over six hundred bowls of broth a day. Shut up, unless you think you can do better!” The episode ends with Fujimoto defeating the owner in a ramen duel. Fujimoto wins by concocting a broth from the freshest free-range Nagoya chickens and the highest-quality kurobuta pork. He simmers it for twenty-four hours, reminding the owner of an
that, Ando reportedly complained that the Mitsubishi executive should have said “from missiles to ramen,” because ramen was the more important of the two. As the plane made its final approach into Kansai International Airport, I looked out the window and saw whitecaps breaking over the Pacific Ocean. Would it be odd to say that they reminded me of drops of lard on top of a bowl of soy-sauce ramen? Well, they sort of did. A VERY BRIEF HISTORY OF MOMOFUKU ANDO, PART 5 : THE INVENTORY PROBLEM
Dejected, I said good-bye and walked to the museum’s front door alone. When I got there, a banner was hanging from the ceiling. The writing on it faced the museum’s interior, which is why I hadn’t noticed it on my way in. Four characters and one hiragana symbol were drawn several feet high in jet-black ink. The brushstrokes were bold and alive, and Ando’s signature was at the bottom. The banner said JINRUI WA MENRUI. In my mind, I translated it into English. MANKIND IS NOODLEKIND. A VERY
blade was facing in my direction, but he didn’t say anything. I was getting nowhere with him, so I switched to Japanese. “Ichinichi daitai nankai toide irun desu ka?” Roughly how many times a day do you sharpen it? The waitress was in the middle of pulling a tall bottle of Sapporo Black Label from a refrigerator next to the counter when she turned around and answered my question before the chef could. “Actually, that’s just his demo knife,” she said in Japanese. “His real knife is at home,
me the Sushi Nazi?” I had heard him called that more than once, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “Who calls you that?” “A customer came in the other day and told me that people in San Francisco call me the Sushi Nazi. Is it because Japan fought with the Germans?” I translated for Emily, who began giggling. Then I told Tetsuo that the Soup Nazi was a character from an American television show, and that he was based on a real soup chef in New York City who sometimes withholds soup from