Serendipity Soup

My friend Dana has told me many times that one of the things she loves most about me is how excited I get by the very small delights that I notice on the street. "Look!" I'll say. "Look at that sunset! That smiling child! The stitching on that coat!" She's said that I can get excited by the angle of light hitting a building and live of that high for hours. I felt kind of sheepish when she first pointed my sincere exuberance at these small things, but in the end, I can't argue. I really do get ridiculously happy by little pretties.

Case in point: I was supposed to deposit a check at the bank on my lunch hour. I left before the noontime rush, and I arrived triumphant at the bank to realize that I had left the check on my desk at work. Needing comfort for my stupidity, I walked down the street I was on towards 9th avenue to get some soup.

Well.

I didn't realize I was on 52nd Street, and the wonderful Totto Ramen was on my route. I've tried to go to this place many times, and the line for ramen lovers was always spilling out onto the street. In fact, I had attempted to introduce a friend to the hot deliciousness and chewy noodles yesterday, but the crowd was too thick, so we had to leave it be. But there I was, at 12:30 no less, peeking in the window to find plenty of open seats at the bar. (The restaurant probably seats about 20.) I seized my lunchtime prize and sat down to order.

Now, you have to understand, I usually hate eating alone in restaurants. I will gladly get takeout and eat the food a bit cold and a bit stale just so I can eat it without being surrounded by others or having to say "Table for one." But Totto Ramen doesn't do takeout, so the only way to eat it is right then and there. I ordered the Vegetarian Ramen, and it was amazing watching the men behind the bar put it together. It was as though they were doing some kind of Japanese pas de deux. One would add the broth, one would boil the handmade noodles. One would add a red pepper strip and then cross it with a yellow strip. One would shake out the noodles, ONE-TWO-THREE times to get all the boiling liquid off before adding it to the bowl. One lovingly tossed three asparagus spears into the broth, and the other added a scoop of onions, topped by slices of avocado. One placed in the bean sprouts and the other fitted a lime to the side of the bowl. I was utterly mesmerized by their teamwork, and how quickly and beautifully the soup came into being. You can see my soup maker here. And oh the teamwork, here.

Maybe it was because I was hungry, or because I was so excited to get a seat, but the soup was nothing short of divine. Every time I brought a noodle or a slurp of soup up to my lips, I was greeted with rich, layered smell and every texture created a unique experience. Perhaps it was because I was alone that I had no conversation to divide my attention, and all of my senses were engaged by the soup. And because I was alone, I never had to open my mouth for any reason other than eating more wonderful soup, so I didn't have to worry if there was noodle bits in my braces. I just didn't care, and it just didn't matter.

I lingered over my last bites, watching the men behind the counter fulfill orders for others who had come in--beefy men who opted for extra noodles and extra spice. I watched the soup maker take out a hand-held blow torch and with a large, blue flame "cook" the gorgeous cuts of meat until they had a fine, crispy sheen. I wish I had remembered to take a picture of this, but I was too mesmerized by it to even think twice.

So Dana, if you're reading. Soup! Look at the artistry to the soup! And the blowtorch! Oh my, the blowtorch! I've been quietly giddy all day!