Earlier my cousin was sitting in my room and lauding the beauty of New York City's convenience: any time you think of something you desire or would like to purchase, you can probably find it here. He was specifically referring to some rare wine he found at the last minute. I wondered how true it was that you could find anything here. Obviously there are local varieties and recipes that never leave their regions, despite New York's drawing power. And even if there's a suitable version here, the original ethnic food is usually better in every country it comes from.
He left a couple hours before I planned to meet another friend for dinner. We'd agreed to eat at a ramen place on 125th. As I watched the rain fall on yet another evening, I began reminiscing about Japan. There was this little ramen shop right near the train station. On certain evenings when I just couldn't wait to cook or even walk the remaining seven minutes home, I would clear my head with a steaming bowl of ramen soup or an enormous bowl of fried rice with bits of egg and pork mixed in. In fact, the latter was one of the few dishes I ate regularly in Japan but hadn't found in America. There is certainly plenty of fried rice around, but it just wasn't quite the same.
We met at the ramen place, and we looked at the appetizers and saw a fried rice bowl which looked appealing. We split it, and it turned out to be exactly the same dish I'd eaten in Japan. It was a perfect warm-up for the entree, a massive lake of hot salty ramen, the best antidote for a rainy day.
I guess my cousin was right.
He left a couple hours before I planned to meet another friend for dinner. We'd agreed to eat at a ramen place on 125th. As I watched the rain fall on yet another evening, I began reminiscing about Japan. There was this little ramen shop right near the train station. On certain evenings when I just couldn't wait to cook or even walk the remaining seven minutes home, I would clear my head with a steaming bowl of ramen soup or an enormous bowl of fried rice with bits of egg and pork mixed in. In fact, the latter was one of the few dishes I ate regularly in Japan but hadn't found in America. There is certainly plenty of fried rice around, but it just wasn't quite the same.
We met at the ramen place, and we looked at the appetizers and saw a fried rice bowl which looked appealing. We split it, and it turned out to be exactly the same dish I'd eaten in Japan. It was a perfect warm-up for the entree, a massive lake of hot salty ramen, the best antidote for a rainy day.
I guess my cousin was right.
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