Ramen Noodles for the Soul and the Nostrils

When the thermometer flip flops between 70 degrees and 30 degrees during any given week, it’s a pretty good bet I’ll get smacked with the dreaded spring sinus infection. Within a matter of hours, I’m at least three of the Seven Dwarfs – Drippy, Sneezy and Stuffy. I need therapy STAT.  

As it happens, Zany is nursing a pesky post-nasal drip as well, so we arrange for immediate medical attention - a trip to UrbanSpace for Ramen noodles.  I trot quickly across town to meet her, as my 24 hour cold medication appears to have expired after just 6 hours.  

We rendevous a bit ahead of the noon hour, as the competition for those squiggly noodles can be fierce.  In fact, the entire floor of UrbanSpace is already starting to look like the 6 Train at rush hour.

Kurt-Obi Ippudo is renowned throughout New York as the Zen Master of Ramen, with locations all over the city.  The UrbanSpace booth is humming with activity.   Team members in smart white t-shirts mix noodles into large vats of broth, stirring up a steamy umami haze that just might whip the crowd into a frenzy. 

The base recipe at Kuro-Obi Ippudo is noodles, scallions and scrumptiously savory pork immersed in creamy white chicken broth, infused with garlic oil and umami miso paste.  Then, you have the option to build your own Ramen bowl, adding on extras like hard cooked egg, sweet corn, Parmesan cheese and thick cut bacon.  

Zany is torn.  She consults with the counter woman who explains to her that the thick cut bacon will offer a smokier flavor.  Zany is obviously under the weather.  She rarely needs any convincing that adding bacon is a good idea. I go crazy with two toppings – umami egg and sweet corn for added crunch.  My bill is nearly 18 dollars.  

We circle the indoor picnic area, and finally find the only two remaining seats on the floor. We slide onto the benches and open our bags of food.

“You know, of course, it would probably only cost us a few dollars to make this ourselves,” Zany observes. Perhaps, but sometimes you just need to consult with a professional. 

A savory steam wafts from the cup, and I dip into the rich broth.  Immediately my nostrils relax and I can breathe again.  The combination of crave-worthy spices and yards of slippery noodles does the trick. It’s far superior to one of those nose strips.  Across the table, I hear happy sounds emerging from Zany’s direction as she slurps her noodles and attempts to consume a piece of bacon the size of a golf ball.  

At last, she puts down her chopsticks, folds her napkin demurely, sighs with satisfaction, and suggests, “Shall we go in search of dessert?”

She leads me through the labyrinth of UrbanSpace, which is now in serious need of crowd control – we are surrounded by thousands of ravenous, well-groomed professionals who would clearly be lost without their hair gel.

Zany makes a good show of leading me around UrbanSpace to see what’s available, but it’s clear she’s leading me in the direction of Dough. This is a doughnut entrepreneur with attitude. 

Their slogan is “We Fry in Bed-Sty, Flatiron, Urban Space and now…Row Hotel.”  For those of you planning a trip to New York, Row Hotel is a hip art filled hotel in the theater district that clearly puts no restrictions on a guest’s calorie consumption. 

These are doughnuts on steroids and in fact, they are works of art, featuring varieties such as Dulce De Leche-Almonds, Salted Chocolate Caramel, Passion Fruit and Hibiscus.  We select a mammoth Café au Lait doughnut that seems a departure from our Asian menu.     

“I was thinking when we finished our ramen noodles that it was the first time I’d had lunch with you and actually not felt stuffed,” says Zany.  “I think that is about to change.”

I do the honors and split the doughnut in half.  It has a roasted coffee glaze and toasted pecan topping.  “What do you think?” I ask.  “Would we say that this half-a-doughnut is about a thousand calories?”

“Probably 750,” says Zany. “But don’t worry.  We only had broth for lunch.”

I wolf down my half and half of Zany’s half and I do feel better. Which proves definitively that the old medical bromide is, “Feed a cold, starve a fever.”   Or, “Don’t waste your money on cold medications, when you can have Ramen noodles and doughnuts.”  

©2016 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved 

Communal Noshing in an UrbanSpace

It is the darkest days of February. And frankly, the runway to February wasn’t all that great either. Zany came down with strep throat and spent Christmas in the ER. I’ve recently recovered from a virulent bout of food poisoning and have been living on a steady diet of saltine crackers and Chicken and Stars soup.  The soup just doesn’t taste as good as when I was a kid. We are desperately in need of a little culinary excitement.

Zany proposes the remedy – a lunchtime excursion to UrbanSpace.  What is Urban Space, you ask?  Is it a new type of apartment? Or, a posh new department store?  Maybe a new club?  A short walk from Grand Central Station, UrbanSpace Vanderbilt is built into a 1929 space that flanks Park Avenue and it is home to dozens of food stalls.

Zany meets me inside the door at the 45th Street entrance and pulls me into a throng of hungry people who are queuing up at various food stalls for an early lunch.

“This place is basically like a food cart parking lot with a roof,” she explains.  “And there’s a bar so we can drink, too,”  she adds, with just a bit of glee in her voice. 

Lunch is about to take on a whole new dimension.  

Zany has already done recon, and gives me a quick overview.  “We’ve got Ramen noodles in this corner, dumplings to the left, a pretty decent chicken sandwich in that corner, and near the back they serve crepes and wine.” If she ever decides to change careers, concierge might be the way to go. 

The space has an industrial feel, framed with steel columns and girders. A torrent of polished, well-coiffed professionals are streaming into the space which is quickly taking on the rowdy feel of a tailgate party at Giant Stadium.

My eyes and stomach seem drawn to the Ramen noodles, but the line is pretty long, as it’s all made to order.  Zany eyes the competition.  

“I’d say that’s about a 20 minute wait,” she calculates.  “We’ve got to move faster if we want to sample as much as possible.”  Thus begins what can only be described as an international grazing experience.  

She pulls me towards the Hong Kong Street Cart – which looks more like a New York apartment-sized kitchen than a cart.  

“Appetizers?” she asks, and orders dumplings and scallion pancakes.  As we wait for our food, a chorus line of fetching felines provides a little entertainment.

We carry our food through an obstacle course of picnic tables.  Seating is already hard to come by, but we manage to squeeze into a small, partially occupied picnic table on the other side of the floor. 

“Doesn’t this take you back to the elementary school cafeteria?” asks Zany.

The dumplings are chubby, dimpled pillows of delight, served with a soy dipping sauce. The scallion pancakes are bronze and crispy, cut in kid friendly triangles.

It’s time to move onto our main course, and we debate the wisdom of giving up our seats. Fortunately, there is ample seating at a nearby bar, and with a blink of the eye, we are instantly transported to a German Oktoberfest.  

The Weihenstephan food stall bills itself as “the world’s oldest brewery,” which is cool because you know how we love a backstory.  The added bonus is they are serving German hot-spiced wine. 

We take a moment to debate the wisdom of imbibing on a work day (an afternoon document deadline creating one major obstacle) but in the end, the old adage “When in Bavaria” wins out and within minutes, we are giddy over our Gluhwein.

For our main course, we select a mountainous Reuben Sandwich, and what appears to be a foot long pork sausage slathered with a garnish of mustard and chips.  

Zany takes a bite of the Reuben – tender corned beef buried in tart sauerkraut – and proclaims sarcastically, “Oh that’s terrible.”   She then consumes her half in record time.  The pork dog does not disappoint.  We are feeling in a festive mood.  It all washes down so easily with that mug of Gluhwein.  It leaves us both with a warm glow, which is appropriate since Gluhwein is roughly translated as “glow wine.”

Zany leans back and muses, “I think this place can become our winter refuge.”  Yes, our winter refuge along with three thousand of our closest friends.

We discuss the possibility of indulging in crepes for dessert, (France is close to Germany, right?) but we decide that the Reuben sandwich and pork dog has been quite the formidable experience, so we hoist ourselves out of our seats and make our way over to a friendly little bakeshop called Ovenly. 

There, we split a yummy and dense Chocolate Truffle Cookie sprinkled with sea salt.  After all, we wouldn’t want to over indulge.  It’s the kind of cookie that leaves instant chocolate marks on your front teeth. 

Late that afternoon I get a text from Zany, that says, “For the record, I actually did some writing this afternoon. Apparently all those calories made for good inspiration.”

My response through heavy eyelids is,  “My productivity has been nominal at best.” 

I never did get those Ramen noodles and crepes, but Japan to France is a whole different itinerary.  I’m checking flights even as we speak…

©2016 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved