Japanese or Chinese?
Anecdote • Culture
By Will Galang
Before doing our usual grocery chores Saturday mid-afternoon, The Wifey and I were having different cravings for late lunch. She’s hankering for Japanese cuisine while I wanted Chinese and we’re both adamant in sticking to our guns. To break the impasse, we resorted to the fairest method we both agree on — a game of rock-paper-scissors. Best-of-five.
She won: Wifey 3, Me 0. I graciously accepted my defeat and prepared myself for some Japanese fare. So, hello Ramen Nagi! It really wasn’t bad at all. I had my usual favorite Original King Butao Ramen. The Wifey went for the same although I wrote in my order slip that my spiciness level be set to 5 — out of 10. With an extra serving of noodles and Tamago to boot, I was filled to the brim, needless to say. We both cleaned out our respective bowls. If there was a Japanese ramen sensei at the kitchen and saw what we did, they’d be proud of what we have accomplished. I picked that one up from one of my favorite films, タンポポ (Tampopo), the one where a mediocre ramen joint was transformed into one perhaps worthy of multiple Michelin stars by a ragtag group of noodle experts and enthusiasts.
I think I want another serving. It was one of those times I was glad to have lost a game or gave up a craving. Win-win, I guess.