Midway through teaching Saturday, it was time for lunch.  I instinctively hurried to 1st avenue – just far enough that there was little risk of meeting a lunching student on the street.  Walking past Setagaya Ramen, I decided to go in.  Sure, I had just been there a week before and had had a thoroughly mediocre ramen in the mostly empty space (nothing else to report), but Menkui-tei is too close to class and anyway I had just eaten at their midtown spot with Gruber, Gruber mother, and Manzo a few days before (Gruber hesitatingly ordered a pork-based Ramen with no scallions, Marjorie ordered chicken on rice, and Manzo had beef over rice), I cannot eat at delicious Plump Dumpling until I write a long-overdue review on Yelp for the friendly owner who personally requested my help publicizing his new large space on the corner of 2nd Ave, and I was not in the mood for any of my usual heartily overcooked East Village Polski-Ukrainski haunts.

Thoroughly mediocre Setagaya Ramen from a week before

Fortunately, Setagaya Ramen was packed, and I do not like to wait on line.  I noticed a partially obscured narrow doorway in the back of the restaurant with a paper printout on the wall saying Bibimbop Tapas Bar.  I curiously stuck my head in.  It was a lovely totally empty Korean restaurant.

I asked the waitress – the only person there – what kind of food they had.  She said, “Korean food”.  I’m not ignorant, but given the billing as a tapas bar, I was worried they wouldn’t have untapas food.  The menu came, it said Bibim Bar at the top, and I ordered the hot bowl of bibimbop.  She stuck her head through a window in the wall to the Setagaya Ramen kitchen and muttered some unintelligible Japo-Korean syllables.  Soon the raw egg came in a bowl.  Then the kimchi.  Minutes later, a hot bowl of cooked rice arrived with a few greens on top.  I poured in the egg and stirred.  It was good.

Back in class, I continued the discussion of Javascript until 6pm, at which time I had 2.5 hours to kill until Curtiss’s birthday party in Williamsburg.   I picked up a bottle of Slivovitz for Curtiss, a bottle of wine for the party, and hungry again, went in search of food.  Determined not to go back to Bibim Bar, Plump Dumpling, Menkui-Tei, Little Poland, or the Ukrainian East Village Restaurant  (and God forbid Vesulka), I found myself treading concrete towards Rai Rai Ken – the not good ramen.

Rai Rai Ken was packed with a mix of Asians, Americans, and Asian-Americans.  It’s a cozy place and inviting.  I found a seat near the door next to three pan-Asian men speaking English and ordered the Takuwan radish pickles and Curry Ramen.  I agree with Handy that the ramen experience depends significantly upon the right order, and I wanted to order correctly in order to be able to agree with Big Dan about Rai Rai Ken so as to reduce tension in the defense on the soccer field.  If we all like the same ramen, perhaps we will play better as a team.

Mediocre Rai Rai Ken Curry Ramen with Slivovitz wating behind

The pickles were a bit chewy, but very nice.  The Curry Ramen was good.  I enjoyed it.  Far better than the Shio Ramen I had sampled in a previous excursion.  The curry broth had a nice flavor and was not overdone with salt.  It seems that the meat is the weak point for Rai Rai Ken.  It’s overcooked and doesn’t ingratiate itself well with the pork broths.  More of an afterthought than an integral part of the dish.

Rai Rai Ken is mediocre ramen, but a nice enough place if ordering is done correctly.

After listening to Regina Spektor explain why the global financial meltdown can be viewed not solely in terms of gigantic loss, but also in light of the opportunity it presents for renewal and a break from tried ways of thinking, she twiddled her vocal chords several times, exhibited her range of at least two and a half octaves, and giggled gingerly close into the microphone.  Within the fraction of a second that it took a pang of hunger to introduce itself to my warm and welcoming stomach, Regina Spektor had bolted out the emergency exit and was gone.

On the recommendation of BigDan’s comment on Handy’s ramen post, Nina and I proceeded onwards following the more promising specter of Rai Rai Ken.  We each ordered the Shio Ramen for $8.50, anticipating the juiciness of a fresh and fragrant seafood broth and a steaming pile of noodles.  Guaranteed by the stolid BigDan himself.

Shio Ramen

Looking down at the bowl, I couldn’t help but gaze with wonder at the pink and white “smiley face” processed seafood cake floating beside a lumpy piece of seaweed and a half dozen sunken bamboo shoots.  The Japanese can turn even American cheese into a cute form that makes young girls giddy.

Rai Rai Ken is not good Ramen.  The broth was drastically over-salted.  The noodles smelled and tasted like my freezer after a long thaw.  The sheet of seaweed was… lumpy.  The pink and white smiley face cake is as foreign a concept to me as are host clubs – indigenous flavor that does not translate.  The pork slice was the least of the evils at a dry overcooked tastelessness.  As if nothing were to be spared, even the half boiled egg managed to be cold on the inside.

Rai Rai Ken is a cute little place.  But Rai Rai Ken is not good ramen.