Is it possible to deconstruct the perfect food? Ramen lovers in New York, myself included, seem tempted to try. We split noodle fibers, dissect slices of char-shu, pay the utmost attention to the snap of bamboo and wax romantic over the substance of the broth as if working our way through the world’s most delicious Rubik’s Cube. Such overtures are far from new: cult classic Tampopo, released to the Japanese public in 1985, spends the larger part of 113 minutes enlightening its audience on the sublime experience that is a perfect bowl of ramen.

Much like the dyslexic tour de force of Yoda levitating a starfighter out of the swamps of Dagobah, Tampopo’s treatment of ramen is a wonderfully artful treatise that bridges the gap between the intangible and the mundane. Through the course of the film we’re taken from corner to corner of contemporary Japan in exploration of the taster’s choice. Vignettes and set pieces of all flavors weave themselves around the principal thread of one woman’s quest to become a ramen master, and a perfect snowfall of aphorisms about the balance of noodles, the profundity of broth and the soul of a good cook wafts through dialogue in evasion of a tangible thesis. In the end, the film devotes itself mostly to imparting a sense of how the perfect food feels: the experience, be it dull, depressing, orgiastic or absurd, is what ultimately defines the edible. Awfully convenient for me, isn’t it?

In undertaking my own journey of ramen discovery, I’ve been forced to test the myopia of my cult cinema obsessions against the reality of the ramen bowl in Manhattan. There’s certainly no shortage of quality in this city’s noodles; part of what makes this dish so enjoyable in New York is the sheer diversity of delicious ramen available. In recalling the wisdom of Tampopo’s culinary gurus, however, I was unavoidably compelled to find the perfect bowl of ramen, measuring life against fiction in the realm of taste.

Minca Ramen Factory was an ideal starting point, as it most clearly reflects the spirit of Tampopo’s humble ramen shop. No-nonsense without being austere, Minca is a cozy, jazz tinted corner of Alphabet City that serves a fine bowl of everyday ramen. The shop is the brainchild of one Japanese chef whose goal is to recreate the experience of eating ramen in Japan. I can’t attest to its authenticity, but Minca does provide the most comforting bowl of ramen in the city. The shop is rarely crowded, and service is fast and familiar. Their broth, even their salt broth, tends toward the earthy and rich, with a healthy amount of garlic in the mix. The noodles are firm in the ideal way: as Tampopo would say, “strong but smooth.” The pork slices are devilishly fatty and the hard boiled egg is expertly marinaded and cooked. That said, Minca prepares everything in perfect balance (Yoda would be proud), but the result is more relief than revelation. While their form is entirely satisfying, Minca’s flavors aren’t distinct, delicious or addictive enough to inspire.

In a far corner of the East Village is Minca’s polar opposite: Ippudo. A stylish dungeon of the contemporary restaurateur, this regal installment of a popular Japanese chain buries that prized connection between diner and cook in a fog of sculpted interiors and stereo systems. Places like this strike fear in the hearts of pizza bagel lovers like me. After hearing nothing but disdain from my friends on the ramen at Ippudo, I was more than ready to dismiss the overcrowded restaurant and move on. After waiting for an hour to be seated for a weekday dinner and ordering the $15 “anniversary kasane-aji ramen special,” I was entirely willing to walk out on the soup in disappointment.

After being promptly served, I was forced to come to terms with the beauty of the bowl before me. If I could pay a fair price for its ramen at a take-out window, Ippudo would have no problem serving me the perfect food. The tonkotsu style broth of the kasane-aji ramen is not only rich but wonderfully complex. Its marriage of chicken, pork and garlic flavors is seamless and forward, leaping onto the taste buds with a complete disregard for humility. The robust, flavor-soaked slices of pork sitting atop abandon subtlety for intensity. Ippudo’s thinly laced noodles, springy and vibrant, add an enjoyably new texture to an already distinct dish, as does their delightful garnish of crisp, fried gobo strips. A taste of the house ramen special, the “Akamaru Modern,” further convinced me that while I never want to set foot in Ippudo again, I’ll be hard pressed to avoid running into its ramen in my next vision quest.

Fortunately, there is an alternative source of incredible ramen in Manhattan- and an ostensible end to all of this soul searching. Standing between Minca and Ippudo, supper at Ramen Setagaya on 1st Ave. comes the closest to beating a visit to Santoka as my perfect ramen experience.

Setagaya’s slightly sterile aesthetic prevents it from beating Minca in the category of personality. Nevertheless, it remains a no-frills ramen shop in the image of Tampopo, offering quick, courteous seating and service with a notable lack of pretense. Most importantly, Setagaya serves a bowl of shio ramen that realigns the senses with every slurp. While the idea of salt ramen suggest a one-dimensional flavor, Setagaya’s shio broth is a subtle masterpiece. Infused with the unique flavors of the sea, it manages to be meaty, salty and fishy in one spoonful. Each sip rings clearly with salt, garlic and seafood, the combination balanced enough to avoid becoming overwhelming. Exhibiting a sense of restraint, the broth takes no prisoners in its complexity, but, like Tampopo, it understands that its purpose is “to animate the noodles,” not drown them in excess.

Setagaya’s noodles, as animated as they come, are supple and slightly chewy. Their pork is beautifully roasted, served in slightly smoky, slightly fatty, beautifully layered slices that one-up Ippudo’s Berkshire pork with their elegance. Setagaya’s halved egg crowns the ramen with a yolk that falls just beyond the reach of soft-boiled, achieving an impossibly silky texture and soft flavor that plays perfectly against the other elements of the bowl.

The entire symphony is a testament to Tampopo’s observation that “people who eat noodles are all amateurs. So, why make noodles amateurs can’t appreciate?” It’s a question meant not to discount the craft, but to boil it down to a fundamentally human level. The beauty of ramen is that it matches the unique and masterful with the simple and routine in a way that anyone who loves food can appreciate. Accordingly, Setagaya’s shio ramen is reassurance and revelation without leaning too far in either direction. I can’t be sure that Tampopo herself would agree with me, but I’m willing to bet that Master Yoda would be pleased.

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This entry was posted on Monday, April 20th, 2009 at 1:54 am and is filed under New York.