I Went Back to Japan for Ramen. These Three Bowls Made It Worth It.

I didn't go back to Japan looking for the "best" ramen. I went back looking for the bowls I couldn't stop thinking about.

Our first trip was about seeing Japan. The second trip gave us the luxury of slowing down. We weren't racing from landmark to landmark anymore. Instead, we started chasing the things we already knew we loved. Somewhere along the way, that turned into a ramen obsession.

We had plenty on our first visit, but this time I wanted to figure out which bowls actually stuck with me. Not necessarily the highest rated. Not the hardest reservation to get. Just the ones that made me stop halfway through and think, damn... this is ridiculous.

For some reason people always ask me, "Why ramen?"

If you're flying halfway around the world, why spend so much time eating what most people think is just a bowl of noodles?

Because it isn't just a bowl of noodles.

It's one of the meals in Japan where you can spend less than ten bucks, sit down shoulder-to-shoulder with locals, and eat something a chef has spent years obsessing over. Every shop has its own personality. One bowl is rich and creamy. The next is crystal clear and delicate. Another tastes like it was built around one ingredient. They're all ramen, but they can feel like completely different meals.

We also happened to be there in the dead of winter.

After walking ten or fifteen miles, ramen stopped being lunch or dinner. It became part of the rhythm of the trip. Warm up. Sit down. Burn your mouth because you're impatient. Slurp noodles. Walk back out into the cold and do it all again.

These are the three bowls I still think about.

Ramen #1 - Ramen Hayashida Shinjuku Shop

Our first day in Tokyo was a joy. The excitement was overwhelming. I felt so comfortable in the city after our visit the year before, but I could tell our group was fading. Jet lag was creeping in. Fatigue was starting to win. In that moment it would've been so easy to throw in the towel and swing through Ichiran on the way back to the hotel for an early night.

But not this time.

I wanted to push just a little more, leading us to Ramen Hayashida Shinjuku Shop. Not necessarily the highest-rated ramen shop in Japan, but perfect for the evening. The first timers in the group could try their famous Tokyo-style shoyu ramen while I could finally enjoy their widely praised nodoguro (blackthroat seaperch) ramen.

That was my plan, but it wasn't how it worked out.

Everyone ordered the shoyu, and at the very last second the picture of the Chicken Paitan got me. Creamy, silky, chicken bone broth. I completely abandoned the plan.

Best decision I made all night.

The bowl came out minutes later, still steaming. The room itself was hot from pots of broth that had probably been simmering since before sunrise. My brain said, wait. My body said, go. I took the first sip of broth and immediately burned the hell out of my mouth.

Worth it.

The first thing that hit me wasn't chicken. It was chicken skin.

As a kid I'd always rip a piece of skin off the chicken before dinner even started. That's exactly where my brain went. This broth tasted like that memory. Rich, fatty, gelatinous... like the most luxurious chicken skin imaginable, except somehow it was refined instead of just heavy. I just sat there thinking... this gamble might actually be paying off.

The flavor was balanced perfectly. Undeniably rich, packed with gelatin and umami, but somehow still light and refined with these incredible roasted chicken notes. The broth was thicker than I expected, gluing itself to the silky noodles instead of slipping off them. Every noodle was coated. Every bite felt exactly how I wanted the last one to taste.

I just kept working through the bowl.

Around me the restaurant had its own rhythm. Louder than I was used to. The chefs barked commands back and forth with a cadence that sounded chaotic until you realized every single voice had a purpose. Bowls hit the counter fast. Noodles disappeared faster than I could believe. Somehow all of it relaxed me. I felt comforted. Taken care of. Like I wasn't just eating dinner anymore, I was part of the moment.

Before I knew it, the bowl was gone. I lifted up and thought...

Can it really get better than this?

I tried talking myself out of it. Maybe it was traveler's bias. Maybe it was the jet lag. Maybe I was just so happy to be back in Japan that everything tasted better than it actually was.

No.

Ten minutes earlier I was wondering how much longer I could stay awake. Ten minutes later I felt like walking another five miles through Tokyo looking for whatever was next. That bowl didn't just wake me up. It felt like the official start of the trip.

It was only day one, but there was a big part of me that already knew this bowl was going to end up on the list.

I was right.

Ramen #2 - Hakata Issou Honten

I'll never forget it.

It was our first night in Fukuoka. We had one thing on our minds. Tonkotsu ramen. We dropped our bags and headed straight to dinner. The directions went from four minutes... to three... to two...

What is that smell?

I couldn't believe it. I'd read that traditional tonkotsu ramen shops produce an unmistakably strong pork bone aroma. I just never expected it to be this strong. I literally didn't need the directions anymore.

Just follow the smell.

Walking up to the ticket machine, I don't think I've ever felt so sure of what to order.

We're in Fukuoka.

We're eating tonkotsu.

At this particular location, the kitchen sat lower than the dining room, almost like an amphitheater. I was glad. I wanted to watch the show. The pots were massive. The kitchen was humid like a steam room. The chefs had towels wrapped around their heads. They've been here before. This isn't new to them.

I knew we picked the right place.

Our bowls came out looking like giant cappuccinos. The surface of the broth was frothy. The color was completely opaque. I could barely see the noodles underneath. I knew it would be strong, but I wasn't prepared.

The obligatory first sip punched me in the face.

This wasn't pork flavored.

This was pork.

The broth had grit. I'm not joking... there were literally tiny bits of bone in it. Rich, powerful, unapologetic. My wife wasn't sure.

I was.

This bowl took a minute. You're not rushing through something like this. This is tonkotsu, yes. But it's probably not the tonkotsu you've had before. Somewhere in the middle of the bowl I had this weird realization...

We've been lied to.

Not because the bowls back home are bad. They're not. But if this is tonkotsu... then I'd never actually tasted tonkotsu before.

The noodles were thin. About the only part of the bowl that wasn't thick, rich, and powerful. They complemented the broth perfectly. I feel like the noodles are usually what slow you down. This time it was the broth.

I'll never forget that bowl.

Maybe because it was incredible.

Maybe because it tasted like a place I could never take home with me.

Ramen #3 - Sumire Nakanoshima Main Store

We flew to the north of Japan and weren't sure what to expect. It was freezing cold. The snow was piled high in Sapporo. The city had just been hit by another heavy winter, but nothing stopped.

We were freezing, tired, and hungry, ready for a bowl of Sapporo miso ramen when a mistake happened. We showed up to a popular ramen shop and it was closed. We weren't sure where to go. I needed a minute.

Without thinking, the taxi driver started driving.

He said he could take us to his favorite. We were down.

We drove through backstreets in a quiet residential neighborhood. The snowbanks on both sides of the road were higher than the taxi. The driver never hesitated.

We landed at Sumire.

One I'd hoped we'd make it to. I just didn't expect to get there like this. The building was impressive. Solid concrete with simple signage. I could tell this place wasn't going anywhere.

The larger interior was different than we were used to. After ordering the miso ramen, we were seated at a table instead of the usual counter or booth.

The ramen came out.

The broth was deep brown. The miso was clearly going to be the star. It rolled through the broth like clouds. A layer of pork lard coated the surface, trapping every bit of heat inside the bowl.

I was in.

The first sip hit.

Is this the best?

I grabbed some noodles. Nothing like we'd had yet on the trip. Thick. Curled. Brightly colored. Honestly... they looked like instant ramen at first.

I was wrong.

They were incredibly bouncy and chewy, grabbing onto the broth with every bite. I wanted another one before I'd even swallowed the first.

I knew the miso would be incredible, but I wasn't prepared for how meaty and rich the broth would be. It delivered in every way. Meaty and fatty from the pork. Salty and deeply umami from the miso. Addicting because of those noodles. Every part of the bowl pulled its own weight.

Was it the best?

I honestly don't know. Maybe.

What I do know is that if that first ramen shop had been open, I never would've climbed back into that taxi.

I never would've driven through those snow-covered neighborhood streets.

I never would've ended up at Sumire.

Funny how that works.

Sometimes the best meal of your trip isn't the one you planned.

It's the one that finds you.