It was a rainy late morning last week. I had just spent the morning at a sterile, chemical-smelling doctor’s office, and grateful to be in the fresh air but famished, I was pondering my food move when I overheard someone on the bus say somewhere in a lunch-related sentence, “ramen.”
I have always been skeptical of the food fads that flow in and out of popular city foodie life, so I had yet to make the effort or have the craving to try what this fancified version of the dorm-room and starving-artist staple was doing with their own restaurants, and at $12 a bowl no less. But, I decided this indirect bus suggestion was the work of fate, and it was time to board the boat.
I didn’t want my first ramen experience to be a bust, so a quick UrbanSpoon search for DC’s best pointed me conveniently to a spot a couple blocks from my apartment – Sakuramen Bar on 18th Street in Adams Morgan, whose ground-level basement awning and entrance I had oddly never noticed, despite that I have strolled past hundreds of times.
Sakuramen is a small room of Asian décor with a modern twist. A community-style long bar table slices through the center of the space, donned with a bed of black stones and modern columns running through the middle of the table center, giving a relaxing, contemporary vibe that suggested serenity and peace reminiscent of a spa. An upbeat playlist of my favorite pop artists like Jason Mraz, Ingrid Michaelson and Matt Nathanson was chiming through the speakers at the perfect level of volume, and the room was filled lively chatter. Everyone in the place seemed to be in a good mood, and I immediately felt at ease – which can be hard when you eat out solo.
It was the height of lunch time. It was packed tight with diverse young professionals and families. With no host stand for seating, I wriggled my way through a large waiting party of students waiting for a table and flagged down one of the servers who immediately sat me towards the end of the center table. I was soon joined by a lively young conference-lanyard-donning crew and two fellow young women, who were alternating taking photos of each other with their spicy buns (<-- not a euphemism).
The menu is small, with just a few appetizer choices and a handful of ramen dishes with various vegetable and meats, making it clear that ramen is what Sakuramen is about. A ramen virgin, I was stumped, but starved. All I knew was I wanted something warm, spicy and hearty, so I quickly ordered the only thing on the menu that sounded somewhat familiar – the Spicy Miso and a cold ginger tea. My ginger tea came almost immediately. I was delighted to find it was fully fresh, with chunks of ginger root smashed into the base of a generous glass, releasing a perfect hint of sweet and spice – but not too much of either.
My piping hot bowl of ramen came not long after. A small, red, perfectly round “fireball” of spice sat atop the broth like a little planet amongst soft, fatty pork, corn, scallions and thick curly noodles – the fat, much happier cousin of the instant ramen kind of noodles I knew and (sort of) loved. So, this was definitely ramen. The smell tickled my nostrils and I was ready to dig in immediately, until the sight of my utensils struck me with anxiety.
It was chopsticks and a flat-bottomed spoon. I had learned from my travels to Korea (and from my sister, who lived there and tried desperately to teach me how to use chopsticks properly, to no avail) that eating a noodle soup with the right tools is an art. There is twisting, dipping, and shoving involved, all in a very particular order. Plus, the slurping – in Asia, the polite and proper way to eat – but which I was raised to know as the biggest no-no of table etiquette.
But my stomach beckoned, so challenge accepted. I mixed my fireball into my soup, shambolically maneuvered my first bite onto my spoon, and took a splattery slurp – and was completely surprised by my delight.
It was hot, sweet, salty, and spicy. The noodles were a perfect al dente texture. The tender pork, lined with unapologetic fat, pulled apart and melted with the slightest touch of my tongue. The corn and scallions gave a welcomed crunch of texture, as the chewy noodles softened with the broth in my mouth. Without expecting it, it was complete soupy bliss.
Perhaps it was the magic of the ramen’s perfection or my just my will to want it in my mouth, but I was soon somewhat gracefully getting evenly distributed bites of spicy miso via my utensil devices. My nose started to run and I removed my sweater as the heat as the spice ball slowly accumulated on my tongue. The servers, spotting my frequent snot breaks, brought me more napkins with a smile, offered another ginger tea and checked on me a few times, all with a friendly chuckle.
In the meantime, I noticed my aforementioned tablemates debating the menu. They were fellow skeptics of the ramen craze, but had heard that the Spicy Miso here at Sakuramen was all the rage I overheard. I couldn’t help but intervene with a hearty second of the rumors, telling them, “it’s freakin’ ridiculous.” Soon enough they were all slurping their own Spicy Misos, moaning “yums” as they chewed, sweating and sniffling along with me as we occasionally looked up from our bowls at each other in smiles and comments of agreement. As we ate, our shared ramen elation turned into an exchange about food and then some, and for a few minutes I conversed with complete strangers – something I think we should all do more often. And when is a better time to do so than over a shared meal, deliberate or not?
Needless to say, as far as ramen is concerned, I am a convert. My friends are getting an earful about it, and Sakuramen is going to see a lot of me – and who knows, perhaps I’ll make a new friend over my next solo Spicy Miso.
Sakuramen Bar is located at 2441 18th Street NW, Washington DC 20009
