I have something quite embarrassing to admit: I am beginning to enjoy learning about Japan. And not just the soups as one would expect — though I always hold the Land of the Rising Sun's glorious broths close to my heart. No, I have a new obsession.
Do not dare accuse me of watching anime or manga. Nor am I a fan of gambling, cheating Shohei Ohtani, the Campbell's chowder soup-to-baseball equivalent. Nay. While losers have been watching anime and Shohei was betting the over on his starts against the Oakland A's (but for some reason, not the Mets), I was delving into a new obsession: that of the Shogun.
I rarely watch television shows. Usually, my time is fully consumed with soup. It occupies my waking hours and pervades my very dreams. However, in my leisure time, I do enjoy the rare television episode (usually "The Soup Nazi" episode of Seinfeld on repeat). But I have just discovered a new show which has rocked my world: Hulu's Shogun.
It is a show stirring with excitement. Hunched over my television with a bowl of stew, I become almost as engrossed in the show as I am in my food. I learn of Blackthorne and his journey to be the first Englishman to set foot on Japan, Lord Torunaga and his desire to become shogun, and Mariko and her boiling-hot love affair with the aforementioned Englishman. Lies, sex, betrayal, conflict with Portuguese Catholics — the show has it all. It even includes a scene (my favorite in the show) where the Japanese are disgusted by Blackthorne's disturbingly English stew. Truly riveting.
After watching the fifth episode last night, my stomach had a newfound craving for the culinary imaginations of the islands. I had the hunger of one from Honshu, the appetite of an Anjin. I knew where I had to go — Yuchan Shokudo, Davis's finest Japanese eatery.
Yuchan Shokudo is quite an anomaly. Apparently, prior to the coronavirus-2019 pandemic, it served yakitori, a style of Japanese grilled meat. The restaurant claims they changed that business model due to the pandemic — but I say the real reason was the public's outcry for more soup. And more soup they made. Tonkotsu, chicken ramen, miso ramen — creations the devoted broth lovers of Davis craved for.
I am one of those devotees, a disciple of the Shokudo. Alas, just last week, I ventured into the restaurant to sample one of its most fine broths, the chicken ramen. As a Jewish man who pretends to be kosher, I could not resist. The broth was quite viscous, the noodles tender, scallions and marinated chicken rippling across my soup-starved tongue. I was satiated — thinking to myself that all this broth needed was a matzo ball to make it perfect. Coincidentally, there is a horrid restaurant in Brooklyn by the name of "Shalom Japan" (a terrible name) that serves this. They claim to be Jewish-Japanese fusion, but frankly, are barely that, and will not serve some of my Jewish-Japanese fusion ideas like the Dr. Brown's Black Cherry Blossom soda, wagyu pastrami, pickled Japanese eggplant, or yin-yang cookie (black and white cookie). But I digress.
For this soup, while a fine fixing, is the not the primary object of this article. Tonight, I approached the restaurant to sample one of my favorite broths — the udon. Tonight, I was a shogun.
My journey to shogun-ship began much as Blackthorn's journey did. For some inane reason, the restaurant has a constantly rotating menu, with eager soup-samplers not knowing if they will have the broth they want. Like Blackthorn, I took a serious risk, not knowing if there would even be udon on sale tonight, much like Blackthorn did not even know if Japan existed. But through the pouring rain, much like the turbulent waters of the Sea of Japan, I reached my destination to find there was indeed that land of the rising soup.
I was then tested, much like Blackthorn, played by skilled actor Cosmo Jarvis. My only serious criticism of the culinary establishment is its ordering process. One must wait in line in the front of the restaurant to order before sitting. But it is not as simple as it sounds. The line always takes much too long to move along, making the prospective diner's soup-awaiting stomach grumble. Much like the 17th century Japanese aristocratic bureaucracy, the worker who mans the register uses a quite antiquated and tiresome process, overtly discussing the meal with the clients and taking much too much time to print out receipts. But I must be Lord Torunaga, become the shogun, and overcome the meddlesome doings of the bureaucracy.
I faced another obstacle — the people in front of me in line. They took an exceptionally long time in line to order, apparently because they were practicing Lent, according to one. It became evident, however, that they very much wanted the red meat they were forbidden from eating. Much like the Catholic Portuguese clergy of the show's time period, they held up my ascent to soup, annoyingly blocking my hunger at every turn. Eventually, they decided on tonkotsu with no slices of pork inside the broth. Once again, they acted just like those Portuguese. For you broth novices, tonkotsu is pork bone-based broth. They would refuse to have solid pork, but they would have liquid pork? Much like the Catholic Portuguese who professed love but brutally suppressed other religions throughout early modern Asia, they acted as hypocrites. But I was a Torunaga, a paragon of tranquility even as persecuted by the Portuguese and the Catholic lords they whispered in the ears of.
Finally, I would reach the counter. I ordered beef udon without egg, something the worker asked me about incredulously. But eggs are disgusting. I would have my soup, beef, noodles, onions, and no more or less.
Seated at the table next to the Catholics, I waited for my meal. At its arrival, I was slightly dismayed. I had paid a pretty penny (or medieval Japanese mon) for this soup, yet the bowl was considerably smaller than the ramen bowl. It was filled to the brim, however — I breathed a sigh of a relief into the steam of the liquid.
On my first soup, I felt the power of a shogun. From lord to daimyo to shogun I became as went from scallion to noodle to beef. Tokugawa Ieyasu and Oda Nobunaga watched from above as I carefully slurped some of the most viscous broth I have ever had. Perfectly marinated onions dotted my gaping mouth. Udon noodles, likely the finest noodle ever to exist, slid to my stomach, stabbed with my chopsticks as if I were a samurai.
Upon leaving, I felt not like a ronin. I was a samurai, feasting upon my spoils. Long I had ventured, conquered my solid-eating enemies, and consumed soup. Even the Emperor of Japan would view me with jealousy. I was Shogun of Soup.
Soup Scores:
Ramen: 7.9/10
Udon: 9.3/10
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