[RAMEN] Il Returno de Hercules [Part I] (from October 18, 2002)

Ramen This Week: Il Returno de Hercules [Part I]


The weather has cooled and ramen is in the air. But no, this is no ordinary ramen column. From today, I will rant about everything. I am sure that comes as a surprise to many of you.


山頭火・明治通り店 Santoka Ebisu

Tonkotsu meets fish broth and a hearty helping of garlic. Quite savory, as a matter of fact. But the charsiu and other features are softish, and as you know that's not my style. Meanwhile, the standout noodles -- kinky and frizzy like Jim Kelly. Unfortunately, the similarities to Jim Kelly do not end there, and are not all positive. Like this master thespian who gave us such performances as Black Belt Jones and Black Samurai, the ramen is "too busy looking good." No doubt that there's more than a smattering of soul in this bowl, but it is ultimately too sleek, too manufactured, and too much of a nod to the pop mainstream. The conveyer belt-like atmosphere of the store operation does not help. And in the end, it's no Bruce Lee.

All this talk of Jim Kelly and the late 70s reminds me of one of the albums I’ve been listening to lately: Daft Punk's Discovery. If you can suppress the image of Juliette Lewis dancing in a Gap commercial [shudder], Daft Punk's work offers a few enchantments. Their music immediately recalls the disco era Stevie Wondrous sensibilities of Jamiroquai. Evidently, these Frenchmen also went wild collecting Casio keyboards and other equipment at the Zapp garage sale. All the same, it would be a bit inaccurate to call Daft Punk the intellectual offspring of YMO, since they have done little to take discotechno beyond the grandmasters.

All this talk of YMO reminds of the story about Michael Jackson's remake of "Behind the Mask." Apparently the Gloved One went through all the trouble of rearranging the Yellow Magic Orchestra classic and penning some of his usual stately lyrics. Everything was in place for the song's inclusion on one of those albums -- Thriller, Bad, or Nauseating, I'm not sure which. There was but one problem, a little-known concept called "intellectual property law." Now, of course MJ could simply have asked nicely, but he decided to demand that YMO surrender all copyright ownership rights to "Behind the Mask." After all, the Gloved One thought, he was on the verge of unleashing the most influential contribution to modern civilization since the color-changing mood ring. To which Hosono Haruomi reportedly replied, “Go get yourself a nose job, you chimp-fondling freak.”

By the way, I just looked at what Amazon has newly recommended to me, an esoteric list encompassing Glenn Gould's first recording of the Goldberg Variations (yes please, I need a fourth copy), the Dixie Chicks, and the soundtrack to Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I hate that company. Strictly P.O.S., as Henry Blodget would say.


L'Osier

Through the regal front doors on Namiki-dori, up the glistening stairs, and straight into Bud Fox and Darrien Taylor's living room from "Wall Street." It was all I could do to stop myself from rummaging around the restaurant to look for the automatic sushi roller.

All of L'Osier was indeed amazing. We quickly opted for the prix fixe diner de saison, while pleading with the waiter to replace the first dish with the duck foie gras. Since the thoroughly delicious cooking here is generally suited towards kinder, Japanese tastes, it was wonderful to be able to start the night off with something truly pulverizing. In case you haven't noticed, everything about duck tastes like, well, "duck," for lack of a better description. Whether you eat the skin, the breast, or the liver, it all tastes like duck. One of these days, I will test out my theory by nibbling on an eyeball. It was also the only dish that paired well with the 1998 Cotes du Rhone El Cheapo de les Pierres, which was all I could afford.

(By the way, you may have realized at this point that I seem to be talking about a non-ramen foodstuff. You would be correct, were it not for the fact that I meticulously considered and imagined the taste of every morsel as if it adorned a shoyu ramen from Meguro's Men Tamagawa -- the bouillabaise of ramen. Next time, take along some slices of that duck liver and throw those babies on a tama-charsiu, and tell me that's not the most fantastic thing you've ever tasted.)

Next came a delicate, flaky yet moist kinmedai snapper served with an elegant artichoke "vapeur." The meat dish carried two drumsticks of robust, grilled lamb packed together with minced vegetables and excessively minced truffles in what was probably those unspeakable intestinal sausage casings. A terrific assortment of cheeses. Lastly, I'm not in the best position to comment on the desserts since I'm not a fan of sweets, but let's just say that you can choose from a couple dozen of them. Good coffee, and free refills (what a concept).

Then there was Le Bill Royale. The bill is enough to remind you why you don't dine in Ginza more often. In this truly international neighborhood, you also get to pay consumption taxes to several principalities all at once. But hey, it's not every day that the wife turns fifteen. (Japanese Trader: "I said fiputeen. FIVE-OH.") And the wife indeed looked radiant, with fetching diamond earrings and her neck swathed in some dead animal's fur. Still, there was no confusing the wife with ace Ginza hostesses Hana and Kana, who sat with Old Man Embezzler Funamura at the corner table.

In all, not good for a guy who lost his wallet. By the way, if any of you stole my it's-actually-a-business-card-holder, give it back or else. I've been practicing at the gym, and I will kill you.