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How good could a bowl of ramen possibly be? Good enough to obsess over on social media? Good enough to stand in the winter rain for hours on end? Good enough to dream about?

People, I dreamt about ramen. Frothy, deeply flavoured, chewy, crunchy, bold ramen. I’m not sure whether I admire this fact or resent it: work dreams are not anyone’s favourite. But I do think this is the first time an actual dish, rather than the stresses and politics of the job, has entered my dreamscape.

Here’s how it began: A couple of months ago, in the dead of winter, I noticed a curious sight from the 96 tram as I passed the intersection of Bourke and Russell streets in the CBD. Snaking around the corner was a line that stretched up past McDonald’s, the udon place and the momo shop, towards Parliament. I wondered what on earth would cause such a thing. A designer shoe sale? A nightclub? But the next night, and the next, the line reappeared.

It was a line far longer than ones generally seen in front of noodle and hot pot joints. Halfway down the block on Russell Street, a sign displaying a large “M” indicated what was attracting this throng.

Turns out, that “M” stands for Mensho Tokyo Ramen, which has shops in Japan, the United States, India, China and Thailand, and a San Francisco outpost listed in the Michelin guide. Melbourne’s Russell Street location is the first in Australia for the international chain. With only 28 seats – 12 at the ramen bar in front and 16 in a rear dining room – and ramen that takes longer to make than your average bowl, that line can easily take two hours or more to traverse.

I do think this is the first time an actual dish, rather than the stresses and politics of the job, has entered my dreamscape.  

In a part of the city with plenty of high-quality ramen options, it’d be easy to assume that the excitement over Mensho is purely about chasing newness. I wondered as much myself. But the more I looked into it, the more I realised that the bowls you find at the end of that line are anything but standard.

Founded by Tomoharu Shono in 2005, Mensho’s main claim to fame is Shono’s creativity. He makes a broth with matcha, the Japanese green tea, and tops it with duck. There’s a bowl on the Melbourne menu that features wagyu topped with sea urchin and salmon roe ($45).

I finally made it to the line myself at 4.45pm on a Tuesday night, quarter of an hour before opening. The weather was chilly but otherwise fine. The line was already long, but not yet creeping around the corner onto Bourke Street. I’d steeled myself for a couple of hours, so the 90 minutes I ended up waiting seemed relatively tame. At 6.15 I settled into my place at the counter, scanned the QR code in front of me, and ordered the “garlic knockout” ramen ($24), a ramped-up version of their signature pork and chicken toripaitan broth with noodles, chashu pork, black oil made from coffee and garlic, and six kinds of fried and roasted and otherwise fussed-over garlic.

I watched as the team in the kitchen navigated the huge array of broths on the stove, and squirt bottles full of oils and additives, and endless toppings. One chef, in particular, was responsible for assembling the broth for each order, using a hand blender to bring everything together before judiciously adding the noodles, then passing the bowl on to another cook for toppings and meat. That blending makes for a broth that isn’t just creamy, it’s downright frothy, the whipped air giving it a lightness that contradicts the richness of the whole.

There’s a lot about this ramen that’s considered in that way. The chashu pork slices are thin, and taste like the best roast pork. There are tiny enoki mushrooms throughout the broth and bits of vibrant greens, both of which buoy and brighten the broth. The noodles are squiggly and chewy, made upstairs in small batches, and you can taste the difference in their freshness.

Dream-worthy.

I’ve tried the spicy lamb ramen ($24), which has a broth that’s lightly curried, the lamb minced so as not to be too fatty or overwhelming, and smattered through the noodles. They only serve 20 bowls of the wagyu ramen each evening, and I’ve never gotten my hands on one, though I can’t say I’m too upset about it. That level of richness (apparently chocolate features prominently in the diet of the wagyu) is daunting, when even the standard bowls here push the boundaries of creamy umami-laden good sense.

At lunch, the lines are shorter and the ramen is lighter. I’ve made it inside in less than half an hour, and thoroughly enjoyed a bowl of shoyu ramen ($22), the clear broth and straight noodles an almost totally different experience to the decadence of the night-time bowls. The signature toripaitan ($24) is available at lunch, as well as a variety of appetisers that span both services (and which I could take or leave; the ramen is the point), but otherwise it’s a quite different menu – and more vegan-friendly, too.

There’s nothing to drink right now other than soft drinks, despite the QR code menu offering sake pairing suggestions. I’m assuming booze will appear at some point. Service is friendly and sometimes perfunctory, but handling these rabid crowds can’t be much fun.

To some people, waiting in line for two hours for a bowl of noodles is nonsensical. For others, paying $300 for an hour-and-a-half at some steak joint is equally as laughable. I’m honestly not sure which is more appealing. But my dreams say otherwise.