File:Ganko Ramen, Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo (3217609888).jpg

The bone is their trademark. I went in this place, and after having some trouble reading the menu outside, brought in my ticket. I like everything here that is edible, so I just kind of check the price and say a couple Hail Marys and hit a button. I walked in, and sat down and the guys behind the counter lifted the ticket up close to my face and said, "Can you read this? Can you actually read this??" I'm used to that here. The Japanese are advanced and technologically modern, but still hold on to a cute kind of backwoods sense of how you treat foreigners. I bet they'll be that way in 100 years! Anyway, I answered, "結構" which sounds like cake-oh... Which means: relatively, OK, tolerantly, fairly, rather.... Truth is, I couldn't read the little ticket. I really could not read it at all, even though I have lived here for 10 years. I knew that it was good food. I knew that it was probably ramen, and probably not miso or tonkotsu or soy sauce flavored. Basically there are only four choices and as a rat in a maze, I have learned that bumping certain red spots on the wall will get me certain food prizes down the chute. When I said kekko, though--the guy who'd thrust the ramen ticket in my face chortled, "Ha ha... 'kekko' he says. Well, he speaks Japanese alright. Ha ha ha..." and his assistant guffawed along with him and went to work. They always do stuff really HARD here. Intense. So when they make ramen for you, it's never half-assed, never phoned in. Janitors janit hard. Hawkers hawk hard. Everybody seems to do stuff with their every sinew as a matter of pride. I said, 'Uh, katame, onegaishimasu.' That means al dente. I like the noodles or 'men' kind of chewy and hard. More guffaws and chortles, because this means I'm a sort of ramen maven--a lover of ramen. Just as there are hard-pushing over-achieving ramen cooks, the eaters of ramen are also embarking on a sort of give-it-your-all pursuit. So that's what I became to those guys: one of those foreign white guys who loves ramen and knows he minutiae of how to order it to his exact liking. I started texting Sarah on my phone about something or other, and in moments, HAI!! the bowl hit the counter slightly above my spot, ready to eat. I kept on texting for a moment, and the guy says, "Hey, you ordered it katame--you better get crackin' because it's not gonna be katame in a few minutes. Those noodles are softening while you are on your phone there." Now I couldn't for a nanosecond say that, but I know he said that. I have a pretty big passive vocabulary and can read contexts pretty well--so I grabbed my bowl. Then I figured out what I had ordered: Chashu pork ramen with salt-flavor broth and a big sheet of nori sitting on the top. It was really good. I mean, the whole mood of the place, those two guys looking at me, waiting for me to take my first slurp and react. When grunted my approval, they laughed again and went back to business.