It's getting better all the time

Some background: thanks to JazzTruth (pianist (and trumpeter!) George Colligan's excellent blog) we at home were listening to George perform with Jack Dejohnette at this year's Newport Jazz Festival.

That's Jack on the right

 The live set was posted on the npr.org website here, although I think they may only leave those streaming concerts up on the site for a week or so.  All the more reason to stay on top of reading this blog here! (I know, it's gets updated only once every year or so, I'm working on it!) They also stream(ed) another set from later the same day featuring Dejohnette with Jason Moran, Christian McBride and others.

First off, the music was great, really enjoyable. I hadn't heard Jack's working band before, but have loved his own recorded ensembles over the years. Now I must add the caveat that Jack is one of my all time heroes, having first heard him (like many (using "many" in a very loose sense, meaning more specifically "many jazz musicians" ) of my generation) (BTW I realize (like right here) that I am in love with nested parentheses today. Must be the LISP (or more specifically Scheme) programmer lurking in my soul...) on one the numerous Keith Jarrett "Standards Trio" recordings which also feature bassist Gary Peacock. I actually think the first album I heard was "Bye Bye Blackbird", recorded as a tribute to the recently deceased Miles Davis (at some point in time, each of the three trio members were under the employ of the Dark Prince of Jazz) . Upon first hearing him it immediately struck me (as a novice jazz listener) how distinct Dejohnette's sound was, specifically his tone, in that both his drums and cymbals were extremely dark and dry (Gearhead geeks will note his longtime use of Sonor drums, and his progression from Paiste (Hello 602 Dark Ride, he helped invent you!) to Istanbul (pre-split) to his own lines of Sabian Signature cymbals) As I heard more and more of his music, his own projects and collaborative efforts showcased not only his drumming but also his compositional prowess (and sometimes his piano and keyboard skills).  Recordings by his Special Edition, Directions, and New Directions stick out in my memory for their uniqueness, and musicality.

Now, the NPR pages hosting the streaming audio made it very clear that Jack turns 70 years old this week, and that he is not slowing down as he reaches that milestone. While listening to this very recent performance with my family I commented out loud that this is some great drumming, and from a 70 year old to boot.  I had to clarify that it was not "great drumming for a 70 year old" or "great drumming  considering he's 70" but strictly great playing that any jazz musician would aspire to. It was the question that I heard next which prompted me to write this rambling entry: "Well, does he sound better than he did before? Has he improved rather than declined at this age?" That had me stumped.

My generation of musicians were the ones who basically saw the tail end of surviving swing-era musicians, and throughout our developing years witnessed the passing of the majority of bebop-era players, with a (very) few notable exceptions (Roy Haynes, for example still plays, and he sounds amah-zing.) There are instances where legendary musicians play on into their twilight years, although mental and/or physical advancement (or sometimes years of (extrinsic or intrinsic) abuse) takes it's toll on their musical ability. I remember thinking, when one of these musicians would come to town to perform, "Gee I guess I really should go and see so-and-so even if I think the playing won't be stellar, just because he/she is a legend and might not be around much longer." Which I know (I know!) is a very lame attitude. (Hey, I was young and stupid. At least I'm no longer young.)

Regardless, there are counterexamples, where players can sound strong right into their 70's or 80's or beyond.  Roy Haynes, mentioned above, or Paul Motian, Kenny Wheeler, Benny Golson all exemplify this phenomenon. The question, however, was whether they actually improved/progressed in their playing, past the "prime" of their career.  Obviously the greatest improvement, development and establishment of musical voice will happen in the first (more or less) half of a person's musical path, but I would argue that many if not most musicians are drawn to music as it is a lifelong study; no one is ever "finished" studying music. And yet, for a player who has developed an instantly recognizable and totally unique voice, who has changed the way people listen to, interact with and play the drum set, and who has maintained a prolific career performing music for 50 years, how much has he "improved" in the last, say 20 years? Which coincidentally is about the same period of time I have been listening to his music. I can hear the difference between his playing up to 1969 (with Charles Lloyd, Bill Evans or Miles Davis) and his playing around 1980 and beyond (e.g. the Keith Jarrett standards trio, Special Edition) but mostly from context: the tone/ambience of the recorded drums and cymbals, the style of the music, the other players in the ensemble. But I would have a much harder time (I think) blindfold-testing between his playing in 1983 and his playing in 2002 (say if you A-B'ed Jarrett Trio records Standards Vol 1 and The Out-of-Towners, a 19-year span between them) if I didn't already know those recordings well. Dejohnette had already established his main contributions to the continuum of jazz drumming by the 80's I believe (ready for debate here) but at no point do I believe he sat complacently coasting on his achievements, letting his development (never mind his skills) stagnate. And yet I can't place what it is that has changed about his drumming in the last 30 or so years.  It certainly has changed, but I can't articulate specifically in what way yet. The closest I can get is that as musicians develop past the "developmental" stage of their career, they can proceed to clarify and distill their musical voice, maybe like pruning a tree but without the harsh "cutting branches" part of the analogy.

So the point is: how much does a 70 year old student of jazz have to improve? A 60 year old? A 45 year old? Now it's hitting a little closer to home, as I inch more toward those milestones, how much hope do I have to get my shit together? What do I actually want to improve upon in the coming years? I have no answers, only questions... (What is the sound of one hand clapping? Does the flag move or does the wind move?)

Something Old, Something New

The other night, kids are asleep (for a short time) and parents are downstairs on their respective laptops.  Hopefully I can honestly say I was doing work and not idly reading blogs.  I put some music on the stereo to work to (an actual physical Compact Disc^tm on a real stereo system!) and it was pointed out to me that I had chosen the same album to listen to maybe seven out of the last ten times.  "Why do you always choose the same music?" I wondered why also.  The album was "The Paul Motian Trio at The Village Vanguard" which was the first one by that band that I ever heard.  Since then I've managed to collect (I believe) every commercial recording they have released.  Although I'd be hard pressed to choose a favourite recording of theirs, at least one of them would have to be on any desert island disc list I could compose.  World-renowned drummer and mentor Dylan VanDerSchyff once encapsulated what they do (my paraphrase): "They take all the building blocks of music and dismantle them all to nothing, so that they can build them back up themselves." Likewise Brooklyn-based bassist and author Chris Tarry explained "their music doesn't go very wide, but it runs incredibly deep." (again, my paraphrase) Anyway, the point is, that trio has profoundly affected my view of music, both as an artist and as a listener.  But that still didn't address why I listened to that album almost exclusively in the last few weeks.  I'm not particularly unique in having a large music collection: mostly CD's, a few hundred vinyl, the rest in (compressed) digital form. Yet time and time again I find myself returning to the same few albums to listen to.  If the music is strong enough, hearing those familiar sounds again can reaffirm the effect they had on my musicianship, and inspire me all over again.

What does all this have to do with ramen?  Let's find out.

Ladies luuv it!

After many months (maybe years) of talking about it, I finally had a chance to revisit the ramen-ya that started the whole Vancouver ramen craze: Kintaro!  How that chance presented itself is another long and sorted story involving  the current Vancouver pizza craze (Pizzeria Farina, we shall meet... eventually)  What do I order when we're seated at Kintaro?  The usual!  I think I've talked before about the strange yet delicious (and polygamous) marriage of cultures that is cheese ramen; well, Kintaro was my introduction to it, and now that G-Men is closed, it is my only remaining connection to it.

Eating cheese ramen at Kintaro after a long hiatus was like coming home again!  Yum.  Just like I remembered, a light (not too salty) yet rich (thanks to the cheese) miso broth, tender (always order the fatty cut) and flavourful charsiu, and thick chewy noodles. If it ain't broke, don't fix it.  There's nothing wrong with revisiting music that you know is worth it, and there's nothing wrong with ordering another cheese ramen! Well, except maybe if you're on a diet, or lactose intolerant.

But this whole exercise reminded me that I have much more music at my disposal that I don't listen to, but is certainly worth studying and enjoying. Likewise there are many different bowls of ramen to consume! Yesterday I had another ramen opportunity, thanks to some schedule shuffling.  Ramen Jinya (in the old Ezo-giku location near the library) apparently has some lineage in Japan via a robata restaurant in Ebisu.  But the ramen component somehow arrived in Vancouver by way of Los Angeles, and is owned by the same people who run Ebi-ten down the street.  Family tree aside, I tried their shio tonkotsu ramen, which is in the Southern Hakata (Fukuoka) style that places like Santouka do so well.  

Almost forgot to take a pic before digging in!

I definitely enjoyed the fried onion topping which is not something I see often on ramen.  The charsiu was ok but a little skimpy, and with the add-on shoyu tamago (egg), the whole bowl came to over $12, so for what it was it felt a little overpriced.  It comes in a very deep bowl, so although it may contain a regular size serving, it appears to be a small portion when served.  The noodles themselves were accurately made in the Hakata style: thin, straight and al dente.

Although I'll never put away my Paul Motian Trio records (among others), I've been making myself listen to both albums I own but rarely play and to new music I've not heard before.  I'll list some of them with a few thoughts. In the former category:

• "Heartcore" Kurt Rosenwinkel.  I thought that a jazz record produced by Q-Tip would have more of the flavour of the hip-hop legend.  Instead it's just a good jazz record with really hard melodies and harmonies, and very rhythmically straight (stiff?) drum programs.  I wish that someone could treat the drums in Rosenwinkel's band the way he approaches the guitar: the long sinewy melodies, the post-post-post harmonies.  I don't know if that makes sense, but the closest I've heard so far is Eric Harland on "The Remedy" the live Rosenwinkel stuff.
• "Time Out Of Mind" Bob Dylan.  I put this on again after reading Daniel Lanois' autobiography.  Learning about the process was interesting, and attaching the sounds to the stories was fun.  Reminds me of the "Advanced" theory which uses Dylan as a poster child.
• "Which Way is East" Charles Lloyd.  A beautiful double CD of duets with Billy Higgins.  I'd love to know the whole story about this album, I believe that it is one of Higgins' last recordings.  They each play a huge assortment of instruments throughout, but there are enough sax/drum duets to keep my jazz side satisfied.
• "Notes From a Drummer" William Thomas Ensemble. One of my desert island discs is a live recording of Brad Turner playing trumpet with three Portland musicians (John Gross, Tom Wakeling and William Thomas) who came up to Vancouver for week of playing.  That week was my first introduction to Thomas' drumming, and my only opportunity to see it in person.  The recording really resonates with me, and Thomas has a unique, subtle and supportive approach to drumming that I would love to learn to emulate.  When I discovered his own solo recording (via Seattle record label Origin) I jumped at the chance to hear him lead a larger ensemble.  The album is a showcase for his interesting compositions much more so than his drumming, but I still really enjoy hearing someone play with such maturity and depth without an ounce or showiness (is that a word?)

Ok, I'll run out of time and energy for the latter category, but here are a couple of new purchases on the playlist:

• "Full Circle" Graham Haynes.  As a lifelong Roy Haynes fan, I have to admit I took the efforts of his son on trumpet and cornet a bit for granted.  As if it was somehow easier (and therefore didn't count as much) to play music when your father is a living legend of the genre.  But this was the first time I felt like the younger Haynes sounded like he's developed his own strong voice.  The album kind of reminds me of electric Miles, but with drum'n'bass beats.  I think a few other projects have tried to manage that same mix to varying degrees of success, but this one works well.  I especially liked the shameless synth bass assault (pure sine waves baby!) filling out the frequency spectrum.
• "Town Hall '62" Ornette Coleman.  Kind of cheating since I'm already an Ornette freak, but I just discovered this recording of his trio (Charles Moffett on drums, David Izenzon on bass) which preceded the notable "Live at the Golden Circle" recordings by a few years.  Interesting in that this is some of the first recordings since Ornette started adding trumpet and violin to his repertoire, and that he incorporates some strings into his pieces as well.
• "Transrapid" Alva Noto.  Glitches and beeps, but I love it.  Nothing comes close to those collaborations he did with Ryuichi Sakamoto though; those recordings are the bees knees.

Ok I gotta type less and listen more!

On food and fusion...

...not the nuclear kind, just the cultural one.  Basically I'm trying to find a way to make this post seem like it's not about ramen (although admittedly, like most of the posts on this blog, it is).  But it's soooo hard not to write about ramen!  Okay, let's just look at some first:

This one happens to be from Q Go Ramen (1443 West Broadway).  You most certainly don't need to read another online review of Q Go; about how the portions are huge, how they give you compimentary edamame, about how the broth and toppings can be hit and miss depending on which dish you order (although I've never been dissatisfied myself), as all you need to do is google a bit.  Instead please note that the featured ingredient on this particular bowl or ramen is shredded cheese.

I first learned of cheese ramen from the menu at Kintaro (which I've been meaning to revisit for many months, but oh how I hate lineups, bad for a ramen-lover) and I have repeatedly enjoyed their version, which includes (if memory serves) both finely shredded and thinly sliced white cheese.  Admittedly the cheese itself is generic enough that if we were but a few kilometres south (and saying "miles" instead of "kilometres") we'd be calling it "American cheese."  Fortunately we're not.  The menu listing at Kintaro mentions that "Ladies love it!" prompting Marie to give the nickname "Cheese Ramen" to a certain prominent Vancouver-based guitarist.  I've since enjoyed versions of the dish served at Q Go and G-Men in Richmond.

Now at first, the idea of adding cheese to a bowl of ramen may seem strange.  It definitely did to me at first, and continues to seem that way to Marie.  But it didn't take me long to warm up to the taste, where the fine shreds melt into the (hopefully) painfully hot broth and produce a rich and creamy, slightly tangy texture.  And it got me thinking about how cheese remains a bit of a novelty ingredient in Japanese cuisine.  As lactose intolerance is commonplace among Asian people, dairy is not as widely used as in the West.  In particular, cheese can be a bit of a tough sell for the Japanese palate, in the same way that natto, umeboshi, or takuan (which btw my daughter LOVES) could be for a typical Westerner.  Traditionally speaking, topping a Japanese dish with shredded cheese might be akin to smearing wasabi onto your hamburger bun.  But it's easy to forget that in spite of the purists and impassioned aficionados, ramen is fundamentally a fusion cuisine to begin with.  Although it is undeniably a Japanese phenomenon, ramen in the eyes of the Japanese is a Japanese version of a Chinese dish.  I remember being surprised to see ramen-ya in Osaka that had Chinese-style logos and mascots on the signage, before I knew what ramen really was.  Even the side dishes betray their Chinese roots: potstickers (gyoza/ jiaozi) or steamed pork buns (nikuman/baozi).  Okay, I know cheese is neither Japanese nor Chinese, but my point is that the fusion of cultures can open the door to new experiments.  And this one happens to work.

I think that many great things in the world of food are the result of adapting one culture's cuisine to the ingredients or palate of another.  There are of course numerous exceptions too, like the abomination that is "Pacific Rim fusion": people throwing wasabi or mirin on anything and calling it "Asian-influenced" but that does not deserve our focus here.  I think I may have mentioned a similar thread talking about banh-mi earlier.  I'm curious to find and identify more examples of successful cuisine fusions that have made a long-standing impact the same way that banh-mi or ramen have.

Alright I'm almost determined to write next time about music instead of just food and justify the latter part of the name of this blog.  Right now I'm listening to Chicago Underground duo records ("Axis and Alignment" and "Synesthesia") and marvelling at how two people can play multiple instruments and make music that sounds improvised and composed at the same time.  How do they overdub or multitrack such well-formed improvisations?  Seems like a logical impossibility.

not dead yet - turkish pide

Although I've let a significant length of time pass, I'm determined not to let this blog die a dishonourable death.  It merely brings to light the fact that these pages were brought to life during a short (4-day) period in which I actually had time on my hands to kill, and that circumstance simply does not apply to real life.

The other day during the whole what-am-I-making-for-dinner rigmarole I decided on something pizza-like, but did not have anything to make tomato sauce with: namely, tomatoes.  (Coincidentally, in the most literal sense of the word, my mother claims that she was thinking pizza and was trying her best to telepathically send that thought into my brain...)  I remembered an experience while staying in Istanbul where our hosts decided to order in on a whim; it wasn't even mealtime, but they felt we needed to experience this particular aspect of Turkish cuisine.  They phoned their local favourite, and within a short while a delivery arrived at our door: elongated rectangular cardboard boxes.  We opened them to find a new kind of Turkish delight: pide.

FYI, it's pronounced kind of like how we say the word "pita" but with a bit softer t/d sound, even though it looks like "p-eye-d"

It really is basically a Turkish pizza: the dough is essentially the same yeasted flat bread, and you order different toppings as you like and can commonly order it for delivery.  However, pide don't usually rely on a tomato-based sauce, and more noticeably, they are shaped into long boat-like figures capable of holding more substantial fillings rather than merely toppings.  Two particularly distinct toppings we tried in Turkey were egg (cracked into the boat in the last few minutes of cooking) and pastirma, the smelliest most garlicky cured beef ever.  Like many delicacies, pastirma is an acquired taste, but once you get it, you really get it.

So I decided that eating pide a few times in Turkey qualified me to make my own here at home (arrogant, I know).  Basically I just made pizza dough, which was easy enough, and rolled them out into long rectangles (actually my daughter helped considerably in the rolling out).  Next was layering some toppings (I borrowed from some Italian classics, but mostly just threw in whatever I had in the kitchen that would work - improvising!): mushrooms, bell pepper, some very dry salami, shredded cheese (I think I had asiago and jack cheese that day) some olives and anchovy fillets.  Then the ends of the rectangle were folded up into points and the sides were folded partially over the toppings.  I brushed the outside of the boat with egg wash and threw them in the hottest oven I could muster (the LED said 550F, who knows how close I actually got to that).  After the pide had a few (maybe 5-10 min) to let the dough bake, I took them out to crack a raw egg into each one, then tossed them back in for a few more minutes to let the egg almost set.  Aside: I don't own a pizza stone, and the floor of my oven to too filthy to put things directly on it, but I do own a fancy baking sheet thingy that has maybe a vacuum layer inside it or something?  I'm not quite sure about the construction, but it is the most amazing thing ever, keeping the heat distribution even throughout the oven no matter what I'm baking.  If I knew what it was,I would wholeheartedly endorse it to you, whoever you are.

Of course after pulling it out of the oven I was too eager to serve it, and so I silced it into pieces before remembering to take this picture, but you get the idea:

salami and egg pide

I kind of like how the toppings go in reverse from a pizza, with the cheese hidden in the lower decks of the boat, and having the egg add richness so that we don't really miss having lots of meat, just a few pieces of something salty (dry salami or anchovy) to give it some bite.  FWIW the dough was made with a mix of organic unbleached white all-purpose and some local hard red spring whole wheat acquired through the amazing grain co-op Urban Grains.

Hmm, maybe next time I'll write about Japanese pizza: okonomiyaki.  Especially since there is no decent okonomiyaki served in Vancouver to my knowledge (except my house maybe).  Although I'd love to be proven wrong there.

P.S. I just finished reading Jeffery Steingarten's latest article on hand-pulled noodles in NYC.  Inexplicably, the table of contents in Vogue blurbs about Steingarten eating "pasta" and not Chinese noodles.  The article reminded me that the Sha-lin Noodle House on Broadway is closed, thanks to a neighboring fire.  Does anyone know if they have set up shop in a new location or anything?  Are there any other hand-pulled noodle shops in the city?

Possibly the easiest thing to make for dinner

Like many people, I suffer the regular ebb and flow of creativity and productivity in life, and in particular when figuring out what to make for dinner.  Sometimes ideas possess me, and other times I'm desperate to just make something, anything that we can all eat and enjoy.  We all have our staple, go-to dishes to fall back on, but the struggle is to avoid falling back on them too often.

Enter the world of bibimbap.  Essentially it's mixed vegetables on rice, but you can "dress it up or down" as your time/energy/creativity fit.  Apparently (although I speak no Korean) "bibim" means mix and "bap" is for rice.  More specifically, the vegetables are in the form of namool, which are different salad-ish dishes.  For example, common namool could include soy bean sprouts blanched and seasoned with sesame oil, braised fiddleheads (bracken fern), pickled daikon radish, or shredded wakame (young kelp) seaweed.  At it's most basic, bibimbap is assembled by topping a bowl of hot rice with various namool and a bit of kochu jang (Korean hot pepper paste) and then mixed all together.

Admittedly, preparing a five or six different vegetable dishes for the purpose of mixing them together is not necessarily a quick and easy task, so why is this supposed to be an easy dinner solution?  Because of Kim's Mart (519 E Broadway) that's why.  For $5.99 the good folks at this Korean grocery store will make six different namool and package them with a small cup of kochu jang, requiring you to merely press "start" on the rice cooker at home.  (I meant to have a picture here for you but I forgot to take it.  I'll try to add it in again the next time we eat bibimbap.)  The package contains enough namool to feed about four people, maybe more especially if you dress it up a bit.  Which leads me to...

Upgrades!  Now you can add-on to this meal of convenience as your time and energy allow.  I will commonly add egg, either a fried egg (sunny, hold the wiggle) on each bowl, or cooked in omelet sheets and sliced into thin shreds.  Also, if i can work it out, some meat (usually beef, but chicken and pork work well too) sautéed with some sweetened soy sauce (like soy sauce with some green onion, ginger, grated apple, garlic, sesame oil and sugar) but it's really not necessary and we would only use a tiny bit anyways.  I like to add some nori cut into thin strips (like about 3mm x 25mm) but I don't always have the patience to cut it up.

So really, what could be easier than washing some rice in the morning, setting the timer on your rice cooker, and stopping by the grocery store on your way home?  This post was composed to convince Tina to try it.

Side Note: My first taste of bibimbap was enjoyed in Japan in 2000, thanks to Mark who took us to a Korean restaurant.  They specialized in a variant called dolsot bibimbap which is served in a stone bowl which has been heated up to the point where it essentially fries the rice for you after it has been served to you.  It comes topped with a raw egg, which also cooks from the heat of the bowl once you mix it up.  My favourite part was the little browned bits of chili-coated rice that stuck to the stone, like what the French would call fond (pan scapings) but what Mark taught us is called koge in Japanese.  Why isn't there a word for this in English?  We ate dolsot bibimbap a few more times during that visit to Japan including once at a mall food court, and I kept thinking "They would never serve this in a Canadian mall, imagine carrying a red-hot stone bowl to your table on a flimsy plastic tray. A safety hazard for sure!" Yet upon our return I was pleasantly surprised to see a Korean food stall at the Yaohan food court in Richmond serving it.  The first time I ordered it there, the proprietor (upon sizing me up as a non-Korean) made sure to remind me to bring the bowl back to them after eating.

Banh Mi and being a "regular"

Seeing as how my mandate here is food and music, I should clarify that this post is not about "being regular" which has a distinctly different connotation than "being a regular."

On to business. Marie is convinced that it is because of my shaved head (and possibly implicitly, my big ears) that I am easily recognized and remembered. I raise this point because this post is actually about my absolute favourite place in Vancouver to get banh mi (Vietnamese subs.) Coincidentally it is also (I just remembered) the very first place I ever ate one (many thanks to Steve Balogh, who lived around the corner at the time). Truong Giang Vietnamese Sandwich is right on East Hastings near Dunlevy, and although I've never seen more than two customers in there at a time, they still manage to make fresh and tasty banh mi every time i'm there.

I remember the first few times eating there getting the same once-over stare from the owner/proprietors (I'm dead sure it's a literal mom and pop operation, it's always the same couple manning the place) but over time they have come to recognize me, to the point now where I get warm smiles and hellos, even immediately after another customer gets the old once-over in front of me. They know how I like to order: no onions, extra spicy (sliced chilli peppers). They were super excited to meet my daughter the other day, as they have a daughter of their own, who is now old enough to work at the till in the restaurant. (aside: This girl can't be more than 12 years old, and she is the epitome of good restaurant service: friendly, efficient and confident. I hope I can be a good enough parent to raise a child as together as she.)

Here's the thing: I maybe visit that place a few times a year, tops. Maybe I went slightly more often ten years ago, but since then, I think it would not be far off to say that a year could pass without me eating there. I've never introduced myself, or even small-talked with them while visiting. (Although there was one occasion where I ran into the husband/father at the vet.) Yet they still recognize me whenever I go. I'd like to say that these are people-persons, and that's why they take the time to remember customers who return, even only sporadically. But, it could be because of my haircut...

Here's the special sub, I think it's $3.50

You don't need me to tell you why Vietnamese subs are a contender for the perfect food, but I might remind you anyway.  In spite of it's history of brutality and ignorance of human rights, colonialism has produced some incredible cultural mixings and developments (Hello, jazz music!).   Here the French occupation has left Vietnam with the best bread and coffee in Asia.  Somehow banh mi manage to have a bun that is crispy, light and hearty at the same time.  Couple that with pickled veggies, some cold cuts or shredded meat, and some cilantro garnish, and bob's your uncle.  Although I'm not much of a coffee drinker (I enjoy the taste, but never understood the habit of drinking coffee every day) I will not turn down an opportunity (although they are rare) to savour two kinds of coffee: Turkish coffee (in a tiny demitasse glass with the superfine grounds mixed in at the bottom) and Vietnamese "French" ice coffee (dripped over sweetened condensed milk then poured into a glass filled with ice.)

Almost every time I eat there (or take out) I try to imagine if there were any occasion/event I could use as an excuse to get Truong Giang to cater.  Partly because I'd love for them to have the business (although they've been there for this long, they must be doing okay) and partly because how cool would it be to attack a stack of 50 banh mi.

The yardstick to measure by: Ippudo NY

What got me on this New York ramen obsession in the first place was the opening of the North America's first Ippudo Ramen in NYC, just before I visited the city with the whole family. Conveniently located in the Lower East Side, close to but not on St. Mark's where the centre of Japanese cuisine and culture resides in NYC, Ippudo was the closest thing to a real Japanese ramen-ya experience I've had on this side of the world. However it's not a typical ramen-ya in that it feels more like a modern hip bistro (with fancy nouveau appys and cocktails) than a cramped fast food joint (where you shut up, eat your noodles and get out). We liked Ippudo so much we ate there twice during that visit.

So it was fitting that the final bowl of ramen during this trip would be there, a full circle of NY ramen as it were. Sharon and I met in front of the restaurant right when they opened for dinner at 5pm (and there were already people lining up to get in, I've passed by the place at various times and never seen the place less than full) and were seated right away at a large communal table.

Since it was my last New York meal for a while, we splurged for a nice shochu cocktail (complete with half a fresh grapefruit and a juicer to do the work yourself) and some appy's, the avocado tofu tartare (basically avocado topped hiya-yakko-dofu) and yamaimo isobe (mountain yam, very crispy and fresh, topped with masago). They were tasty, but IMHO overpriced.

Shochu with freshly squeezed grapefruit

Yamaimo Isobe

Then the main event; Sharon and I both ordered the Akamaru Modern, which is tonkotso broth with a little ball of red miso on top, to mix in yourself. Although the standard toppings were a little skimpy (I think they are assuming you will order your own add-ons, although I prefer the aesthetic where the chef serves the bowl complete, as he/she wants you to enjoy it) they were well presented and tasty. I should remember to ask for a side order of the kakuni (pork belly) as there just wasn't enough in bowl to start.

Ippudo's Akamaru Modern

Speaking of not enough in the bowl, again I needed to order kaedama to fill me up. It's actually kind of fun to eat your noodles, and pace your soup to gauge whether or not you will be hungry enough to order another serving of noodles to add to it. The surprise was that Sharon also opted for kaedama, although she was regretting it by the end of the meal. ("Eyes are bigger than your stomach" was a phrase that I absolutely did not understand throughout my childhood, although I heard my parents say it enough times) The unanimous kaedama orders were not a complaint, they were in fact a compliment to the excellent noodles, made in the basement! Hakata-style, they were the thin straight kind, but just the perfect amount of toothiness to them, without any doughy or floury taste.

All told the bill for the two us came to nearly $80, which was a huge shock. I guess the add-ons like drinks and appy's really add up quick, but it was a real contrast to the other ramen-ya from this week. Definitely a tasty meal, but it reinforces the idea that ramen pricing in this city seems pretty arbitrary; there is no guarantee that a $14 bowl will taste any better than a $9 one. But I guess wine is the same isn't it? It's all about packaging and marketing, and Ippudo certainly has those things on it's side. The restaurant itself is by far the most elaborately (and beautifully) designed and decorated, and the hype machine seems to support that it's the "hot" place to eat ramen.