Broth and noodles. There’s little that can be prepared so quickly that satisfies so deeply as a bowl of Asian noodles served up piping hot. Ramen, though, is sometimes given a bad rap.
Many non-Asian Americans first become acquainted with this miraculous union of starch and salt as young adults: when they are just starting to shop for themselves, they find it’s the cheapest meal available. Less than a quarter buys a cellophane package of noodles and a foil flavor packet that—when combined with hot water—offer all the comfort one could ask for. A face full of aromatic steam clears the senses, and the strands of al dente rice noodles are a pleasure to grab with your chopsticks and let slide down your hungry throat.
Ramen offers cheap sustenance, and a chance to live within a budget. A week eating ramen, and maybe you’ll be able to pay the rent.
But if what comes out of the packet is the extent of your ramen experience, even if you’re a fan, it’s easy to assume that the dish is limited in range to the six color-coded flavors available in the supermarket: red for beef, yellow for chicken, brown for mushroom, somewhat pink for pork, really pink for shrimp and tan for “oriental” flavor, whatever that is. On foreign shores and in specialty stores, however, the rest of the world knows a spectrum of ramen flavor that would astonish the muted American noodle palate.
One particularly passionate noodle connoisseur rates over 4,000 different ramen packages on i-ramen.net. Though most of the site is in Japanese, there are video reviews and some of the exotic pre-package tastes are listed in English. They include Pepper Crab Flavour, Braised Duck Flavour, Skip Jack Tuna Noodles, and Mi Kocok Bandung Flavour.
The safari of instant flavors available in foreign supermarkets attempt to provide an at-home alternative to what’s being cooked by noodle chefs on streets in Asian cities.
My parents spent their honeymoon in Japan, and many weekends while I was growing up, my mother prepared the family a huge pot of ramen for lunch. Served in wide bowls and with ceramic spoons she’d brought back from Tokyo, the presentation was delectable. The yellow yolk of the dissected hard-boiled egg floated in a patch of green chives and slices of ham. Carrot medallions added splashes of color deep down in the broth, through the noodles.
As we ate, she would explain to me and my brother about noodle bars and how they were everywhere in Japan. She and my father had honeymooned on a budget and often felt like strangers beyond their means in a strange land, but when they hunkered down over a steaming bowl with the locals, the simple pleasure they shared made them feel connected and contented. She often lamented that she could only find similar noodle emporiums in New York City; she thought they should be an institution everywhere.
So when Noodles opened in Northampton (on the corner of Main and Masonic Streets, just across the street from the Academy of Music), I thought of my mom and hoped what was served beyond the bright orange exterior might offer some of the flavorful comfort I’d remembered. It did not disappoint.
The interior of Noodles is brightly painted but spare. There is booth seating along one wall and stools facing tables that run along the windows.
As well as a selection of salads and rice bowls, there are dozens of meat and vegetarian noodle choices on the menu. The basics like beef, seafood, and tofu noodle soup are all covered, and all are loaded with fresh vegetables and have broths steeped in long-simmering flavorful ingredients. There are more complex options, too, such as Pink Lady Noodle Soup (which includes fish balls and slices of fish cake) and a spicy concoction known as Larb Woonsen for those looking for something with more impact.
On my first visit, I tried the Chicken and Shrimp Noodle Soup, which was flavorful and hearty, but not as adventuresome as the Curry Noodle Soup ordered by my companion, with its chicken bathed in a Thai-influenced yellow coconut curry broth. The dishes ordered by those sitting next to us also made me eager to try ordering again.
When I came back, I grabbed a seat at the back with a view of the Northampton skyline and ordered myself the Beef Stew Noodle Soup. It included lumps of marinated beef that thickened the broth, and, fortified with bean sprouts, celery, chives and parsley, it made a succulent meal.
Most entrees cost between $7.50 and $9.50 at Noodles, and while they are not priced like what you’d find wrapped in cellophane at the supermarket, they offer a serious noodle satisfaction you’re not likely to find simply by adding hot water at home. Couple them with one of the fine selection of dumpling appetizers and you’ll leave Noodles with a satiated glow.
