Previous SlideNext Slide

In one of the opening scenes of 1985’s cult Japanese comedy Tampopo, a wise old noodle-master instructs a young upstart on how to approach a fresh bowl of ramen. It’s not – and he can’t be clearer on this – a matter of diving straight in. “First, contemplate the ramen. Carefully observe the entire bowl while savouring the aroma. The jewels of fat twinkling on the surface … the nori darkening with moisture. Above all, observe the stars of the show – three slices of roast pork, modestly half submerged.”

What follows is a process of gently touching the ramen with chopsticks to express affection for the soup, nudging the swatches of pork chashu to say “thank you” for their existence, and approaching each component of the bowl in a specific order – slurp, sip, bite, slurp, sip. No talking. The most important part is to never take your eyes off the prized pig.

It was a scene I was reminded of at Mensho Tokyo last month when out came a bowl of ramen noodles chock-full of asparagus, scallops, crushed nuts and sumac, plus a white foam that tasted of nothing in particular. There were glistening batons of fermented bamboo shoots; a lobster tail bobbed about like the Loch Ness Monster practising its synchronised swimming. “Help me, Tampopo noodle sensei. I haven’t the foggiest where to start.”

Mensho opened three months ago in the CBD, just off George Street. It’s the latest branch of a 19-year-old Japanese chain that also has outposts in the US, Thailand, India, China and Melbourne. Founder Tomoharu Shono’s creative
recipes are Mensho’s point of difference, and if you’ve ever wanted to know what green tea, chicken broth and braised duck taste like together, you can find out here for $34.

The ramens are the thing and every one that I’ve tried has been alive with texture and deep, long flavour.

I can’t provide an opinion on that duck soup, however, because although I’ve visited Mensho three times in the past three weeks, other ramens have taken precedence. I’m also a bit Mensho-ed out. At peak times, the wait for a table can be more than an hour (you can’t book) and the space isn’t conducive to internal contemplation of the merits of a long-simmered broth. There’s oontzoontz music that sounds like a Bondi house party, and the interiors might remind you of a Virgin Mobile store.

Ordering is done through your phone, the food usually arriving within 10 minutes. There are snacks such as sweet and jammy corn ribs ($9), wagyu nigiri ($12), thin fillets of crumbed horse mackerel ($15) and well-executed fried karaage chicken ($15), but you can probably ignore them. The eight dinner-menu ramens are the thing and every one that I’ve tried has been alive with texture and deep, long flavour. If you can face down a whole bowl plus six craggy
nuggets of karaage, then you’re a better eater than me.

The best way to understand why there’s a line snaking past George’s Cameras every service is to order the signature tori paitan ramen ($32). If you didn’t grow up eating ramen on the regular, think back to the wintertime comfort of
a Campbell’s Cream of Chicken after school with hot, buttered toast soldiers on the side. It’s that sensation in high definition. The bowl also holds a gooey egg, frazzled enoki, and four types of thinly sliced chashu meats – pork, chook, duck and wagyu marinated in chocolate for extra richness (not that it needs it).

Pork chashu also headlines the “garlic knockout” ramen ($35), which does exactly what it says on the tin. Black garlic oil is slicked over a frothy broth in which fried garlic and roast garlic lurk. I’m reasonably certain it’s the most garlic-heavy thing I’ve ever encountered. That lobster bisque number thumps with flavour, although the tough tail meat, on my visits, required too much chewing to warrant the $45 price tag.

A better option is the intense “spicy lamb miso” ramen ($36) that’s built on a clear soup tinged purple with Korean spices. With each dip of your flat-bottomed spoon you should get a juicy – but not overly fatty – rubble of minced lamb, coriander and slither of red onion. Two pretty decent lamb cutlets poke above the rim. What would the noodle sensei do? He’d eat them first so they don’t overcook.

He’d also tell you to arrive at 9pm for the best chance of avoiding the line (last orders are at 9.30pm). He’d likely approve of the hearty, heavy noodles, too, made fresh each day from rye, wheat and quinoa. Whether the master
would acknowledge Shono’s creations as proper ramen or a delicious gimmick is more unknown. But he’d have to appreciate Mensho’s respect for produce, creamy broths and half-submerged pig.

This review was originally published in Good Weekend magazine