Bowl by Bowl: Studying Ramen in Tokyo

Nothing like going to the source to get the real deal Holyfield experience when it comes to culture, food, and art. One of my favorite things to do is to go to the source. When I was in my 30s, I went to Ireland specifically to see what Guinness tasted like straight from the teat. When I was in Buffalo, New York, I found the best wings (the spot in the old church). When I was in Medellín, Colombia, of course I blacked out on coffee.

Finding myself ten toes down on Japanese soil, this was my opportunity to learn something—or a lot of things, actually. That’s exactly what I did. I humbled myself and became a student to the ramen, bowl by bowl.

Oreryu Shio-Ramen

📍 1 Chome-22-8 Dogenzaka, Shibuya, Tokyo 150-0043, Japan

By the time I got to the hotel and checked in, it had to be around eight or nine o’clock. I had been up for about 24 hours, barely getting any sleep on my flight, and I did not have it in me to go wandering for food.

But then, like that golden light emanating from that brief case in Pulp Fiction, I peeped a ramen shop across the street from the hotel. And just like that, my Tokyo ramen journey began.

I looked at the menu for all of five seconds – thanks to the pictures; I knew exactly what I wanted. I immediately ordered the Oreryu Otokomori-Ramen, mainly deep-fried chicken, char siu, noodle broth, and eggs. Minutes later I was staring down the bowl like I paid for a savory spa treatment. I paused to take in the moment. This was my first meal in Tokyo, and from the very first bite, I was floored. Moved. Maybe it was just the exhaustion, but the second that broth hit my lips, it was like I had dove straight into the bowl and started swimming—navigating noodles and roast pork. Nestled into the neon yolk of one of the eggs I hadn’t eaten, I lost myself. I cussed. I slurped.

I ended up eating here three times during my ten-day trip. And yeah, convenience played a part—it was right across from my hotel—but it was actually the ramen that kept me coming back. I returned for the spicier brother to my first bowl, then on another visit, I switched it up with garlic fried rice and gyoza.

When I’m back in Shibuya, this is the first place I’m hitting.

Men no Bou Toride

📍 Japan, 〒150-0045 Tokyo, Shibuya, Shinsencho, 20−23

I found this place while trying (and failing) to get coffee.

For three days in a row, I tried to visit the Heart’s Light Coffee shop, only for them to announce they were temporarily closed—which I would’ve appreciated knowing before I walked 20 minutes each morning to get there. After hitting that same wall every day, I started exploring other coffee spots. That’s how I found Air Drip Coffee (magnificent, by the way)—but you can only have so many tiny cakes and Americanos before real hunger kicks in.

That’s how I found this spot.

From the moment I walked in, I was hit with some profound pungent aromas—not bad, not funky, just strong. It was different. But that’s exactly why I was here—I came to Tokyo to taste new flavors, to wake my palate up.

I sat down, looked at the menu, and saw a disclaimer about noodles: “All of our noodles are prepared with thin noodles (Hoso-men). Please also let us know how you would like your noodles done; Regular (Futsu), Al dente (Kata), or Soft (Yawa) done”. This was new. In the States, you get your ramen however they make it. But here? My server actually asked me how soft or firm I wanted my noodles.

I picked al dente. Why? Because why the hell not.

While waiting, I realized this was a real, local spot—not a touristy area, not a place people “find” on Instagram. If anything, it felt like it was hidden in a low-key area where you’d go to renew your license. The energy was casual but welcoming, and when my food arrived, my server took the time to explain all the condiments—the pickled onions, the hot spices, the oils—all the things that could take my bowl to the next level.

The ramen itself? Loaded. Honestly, a little too much going on for my usual taste—not enough broth, a little heavy-handed with the sprouts—but still a solid bowl. Would I come back? Yeah. But next time, I’m trying something different.

Santouka Harajuku

📍 Japan, 〒150-0001 Tokyo, Shibuya, Jingumae, 6 Chome−1−6, 1F

I found this place by accident—just hiking around Harajuku, looking for creative inspiration.

I had wandered into an alley, drawn by a storefront splashed in red with “Penny Lane” on it. I thought, Okay, maybe this is a cool spot—but it was closed. And then, directly across the way, was this ramen shop.

It was cold as hell that day, and the second I walked in, I felt relief. There’s a specific way you’re supposed to order ramen in Tokyo, and I wasn’t entirely sure I was doing it right. But the greeting was so warm, and the place was so cozy, that I stopped overthinking and just went with it.

The ramen itself? Familiar. This bowl was closer to what I might get from Ivan Ramen in New York—delicious, comforting. If you’re in the area and stumble upon it? Worth it.

Marugame Seimen

📍 Japan, 〒150-0043 Tokyo, Shibuya, Dogenzaka, 2 Chome−9−9, Umehara Building, 1F

For days, I passed this place, and every single time, there was a line.

One day, I saw a break in the crowd—still a line, but shorter than usual—so I went for it.

Unlike the other ramen spots, this felt like a graduation. Not that I was going pro, but I had leveled up—I had learned things. I had picked up knowledge about various styles of broth, condiments, noodle girth. And now, it was time to apply that knowledge.

This is where I had my first udon. This is where I had my first duck ramen. This is where I had my first sweet potato sashimi.

And this is where I felt like I had unlocked something. No tourists. Just locals, packed inside, moving with purpose—this was where people who knew what they were doing came to eat.

When my bowl arrived, I dug in immediately. And from the first bite, I was all in.

I’m not a sip broth with a spoon type of person. My technique is more akin to the way I’d approached my Saturday Morning Cartoons when my cereal milk was the last man standing—when the noodles and meat are gone, I pick up the bowl and slam the rest. And that’s exactly what I did.

This bowl? Unforgettable.

Lessons Learned

This trip wasn’t just about eating ramen—it was an independent study in flavors, culture, and the art of getting lost. Here’s what I took away from it:

1. Convenience isn’t the enemy of good food. I ate at Oreryu Shio three times, partly because it was across the street from my hotel, but mostly because it was that damn good. Sometimes, the best spot really is the one right in front of you.
2. Ramen is personal. Men no Bou Toride taught me that in Japan, you get a say in your noodles. Soft, firm, al dente—it’s not just about what the chef serves you, it’s about how you want to experience it.
3. Getting lost leads to better meals. If my coffee spot hadn’t been closed, I wouldn’t have found Air Drip Coffee. If I hadn’t wandered aimlessly, I wouldn’t have stumbled upon Santouka Harajuku. Some of the best meals happen when you aren’t looking for them.
4. Every bowl is a lesson. By the time I got to Marugame Seimen, I wasn’t just eating—I was applying everything I had learned. The broth, the condiments, the technique—every bowl before it had prepared me for that moment.
5. Slurp unapologetically. The louder the slurp, the better the ramen. That’s not just an observation—it’s a fact.

Thanks for walking with me.