The Summer Noodle

I am American. I grew up in the ’80s, and 90’s in the Midwest with European ancestry. Naturally, my favorite summer food would be hamburgers? Hot dogs? BBQ Ribs, perhaps? Sorry to disappoint. Finding my favorite food will take a trip to the other side of the planet. The food I am talking about is called Hiyashi Chuka, a type of cold ramen. Now hold on, this isn’t that 25-cent pack of ramen at the store I am talking about. I am not crazy; let me explain.

Right out of high school, I had that travel bug that young adults like to get. Unfortunately for me, I was dead broke, and I needed a change. So, in my infinite teenage wisdom, I decided to join the Navy, which turned out to be the most significant decision of my life, but that is a story for another time. I shipped off to boot camp and suddenly found myself in Japan on one of the largest warships man has ever known, an aircraft carrier. The work was challenging and rewarding. I soon found myself underway and having the adventure of my life. There was back-breaking labor mixed with the tedious monotony of watch standing. For some reason, I loved all of it. Then came the port visits, oh the port visits. We started with the American port of Guam, and the rest were in Asia. I know what you are thinking; this guy has gone off on a tangent and forgot what he was talking about. Right? Well, bear with me; this snippet of history is relevant. This foray of port visits in Asia fascinated me by the food, the people, and the culture. I wanted to experience all of it. This was the travel I had been seeking, and boy did I go all in. The importance of this is that in my travel-induced euphoria, I never stopped to realize the eccentricities of the foods I was trying. They were nothing like the foods I had in America and were fascinating. By the end of that deployment, I had found that my tastebuds had reset. I was much more open to other foods, and I loved it. Thus, a foodie was born.

After that life-changing deployment, I had two weeks of downtime. All I had to do was show up for one day of watch standing every four days. Now to level set a bit here, the navy didn’t give us barracks in those days. So, I had to go back to the ship every night and crawl into what we called coffin racks stacked three high. All my worldly possessions were stored in a compartment that was accessed by lifting my bed. You can google it, US Navy coffin rack. In all fairness, they also gave a coffin locker, which was laughably small. Naturally, I had zero interest in hanging around in the cramped berthing compartment, so I did what I loved. I traveled and tried new foods and experiences. The train system in Japan is hands down the best in the world. Everything is on time, and it is relatively easy to navigate. My favorite thing to do was get on the train line called the Yamanote loop. This was marked on the map as a light green circle. It was easy, get on the circle, and if you miss your stop, you can stay on the train or get off and go right back. I liked to play a little game on the loop called “this looks interesting” I would get on the loop, and the second that a random thing caught my eye, I would say, “this looks interesting,” and get off the train to explore. This little adventure game let me see some exquisite local shrines, find the best coffee I had ever had (that would be another great story), and led me to Hiyashi Chuka.

I was playing the “this looks interesting game” on one hot, muggy summer day and found a small city. I have found that despite the immense size of Tokyo, the Japanese still manage to nestle these small towns in there. It has a community vibe, and it is as if the larger city is barely noticeable a genuinely fascinating experience. I had arrived in one of these small communities along the Yamanote loop. The train ride from Yokosuka had been crammed with people, even for a Saturday. I was hot and a little grumpy, to be honest, but now looking back, I was probably “hangry.” With that hunger in my gut, I noticed a small restaurant and went in. It was a small place with one row of seats against a bar-type table. I asked for a menu with my limited Japanese language skills, and the young lady behind the counter politely handed me the menu. I had been in this situation before and shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was. The entire menu was in Japanese. For those who don’t know, the Japanese have three alphabet types. The complicated Kanji characters, the simple hiragana form, and the Katakana form are typically used for foreign words. This menu in my hand had all three, and I may as well have been trying to read ancient Sanskrit. Naturally, I laughed and tried to communicate verbally. The lady was very polite and extremely patient with me. I was hungry, so I went with something familiar; I asked for ramen in rudimentary Japanese. The young lady behind the counter lit off with a flurry of words that I tried to decipher and failed. I could only sit there with a blank stare. This patient young lady contemplated for a moment and attempted one word.

“Cold?”

I thought she was talking about the weather in my stunning wisdom and vast cultural knowledge.

I said, “iie, atsui” (No, hot), Then proceeded to pantomime the oppressive heat.

She let out a little giggle and tried again, saying, “Eat. Cold. Ramen?” while gesturing towards me.

I instantly realized my blunder and agreed without thinking. After ordering, I had never had cold ramen and realized that I wanted hot ramen despite the high humidity and sweltering heat combo outside. However, it was too late, she was already set to the task, and I would rather live with my blunder and try something new than put this poor lady through more of my inadequate language skills. Besides, there is nothing wrong with trying something new.

In only a few moments, she came out with a beautiful-looking meal. It was in the standard ramen bowl that you see when you get authentic ramen, not the 25-cent stuff. It was in a light brown liquid soup with a generous amount of noodles. Across the top were thin slices of cucumber, egg, crab meat, seaweed, ham, and pickled ginger. I was intrigued. I took a bite with some noodles and cucumber and experienced a flavor explosion. Aside from the cucumbers and noodles, the sauce was a cacophony of flavors. I could tell it was soy-based with a vinegar taste (I love the vinegar taste) and a hint of sweetness. I don’t remember eating the rest of the bowl; I believe I was in a food trance. I do remember ordering a second one though. Don’t judge me; I was 19 and weighed 120 pounds. I left that shop with the memory of a lifetime.

Later that night, I returned to my charming sleeping accommodations and went into a convenience store for a quick bite. As I skimmed the display, I noticed a plastic bowl container with plastic sealed across the top and got excited. It had the sauce, noodles, cucumber, moyashi (bean sprouts), and ham. I grabbed the container and went to the counter. I asked the register guy, “Hiyashi Chuka,” and he confirmed with a nod. This delectable life-changing experience had been in front of me the whole time. While the convenience store version was near what that young lady had made me, it was still exquisite. I enjoyed that dish wherever I could for the rest of the summer.

As the weather started to cool, my favorite food started to get harder to find until one day; it was just gone. I was sad about that, but the following summer, I found it again. Then it disappeared. I never connected the dots that the Japanese people were sensible people and cold ramen was for hot weather. I finally found this out when my then-girlfriend and now wife told me it is summer food. I still eat it every chance I get. Every time I get that first flavor explosion, I am transported back to that hot day, in that little shop with the patient young lady.