There are noodles on the floor, on the window, in his eyebrow and shoe, and draped over the back of the highchair.
Babies and ramen.
Itโs a bit like taking a clown to a custard pie factory, or when Andrex puppies โgo Cujoโ and the bog roll unravelling becomes slightly less manageable.
Iโm sorry to the lovely friendly guys who own this tiny new ramen bar.
Itโs lucky that it only seats a handful of people. Thus, in order that we fulfil covid recommendations, they let us have the whole place to ourselves.
We didnโt have to feel disgraced by the messy but kawaii pup.
Mind you, he wouldnโt be so enthusiastically chaotic if he didnโt love the noods, including the hakata tonkotsu version (ยฃ12), which heโs sharing with his mum, aka my sister.
He stuffs them into his mouth in fistfuls, his pelican bib in overspill.
This pairโs bowlful also features an opaque and creamy pork bone broth, as well as half moons of chashu pork, a soft boiled ramen egg, with its buff soy-stained white and gooey yolk, a handful of chopped spring onions, toasted sesame seeds and a few strips of menma.
The noodles are made in-house, and are suitably slippery, chewy and soft. If you knitted a cardigan out of them, itโd be bouncy and snug, like an alpaca mix. They are extra sookable and if you do it fast enough, thereโs the prerequisite whiplash effect as the last few inches flick a drop of broth onto your jumper or face.
It is, indeed, the ultimate comfort food, perfect for perpetual lockdown worriers and those who feel the coming change of season in their marrow. Apparently, the restaurantโs name is the Japanese word meaning โreason for lifeโ, which seems apt.
As far as our orders go, the rest of us have variations on the soupy theme.
Mine is the chicken (ยฃ12), which I chose since it comes with the bonus of three sticky and sweet chicken yakitori, propped against the inner edges of the bowl to keep dry. I have to unscrew a couple of bits of meat from one of these skewers, to feed to the insatiable baby, after he eyeballs me expectantly. Thereโs also the buff-coloured oeuf, a huge load of menma, stacked up like lifted floorboards. And, like the other bowls, so much ramen โ enough to feed a nest full of hungry guga.
Whenever we thought we were nearly done, our chopsticks would dredge another whorl of carb.
The tofu (ยฃ12) one was based on a wholesome-tasting shiitake mushroom broth, and, along with the egg and the menma, there were lots of tofu dice, some vibrant looking pak choi and crispy mange tout.
โSorry, but we donโt do sushi,โ one of the chefs had said, from the open kitchen, when we first walked in.
Iโm presuming that a lot of people assume they do, especially as thereโs a bar-like seating area.They have one humble speciality and do it well.
However, there are a couple of side options, to have as starters or just to keep things interesting.
There are edamame (ยฃ5) and chicken yakitori (ยฃ5), but we went for the takoyaki (ยฃ5). There were five of these octopus balls served in little wooden kayaks and all of them were dusted with flakes of katsuobushi, a sweet sauce and mayonnaise. They were pale inside, squishy and creamy centred, with the occasional delicate tentacle tip in there, as evidence of the main ingredient. I usually prefer steamed gyoza, but I came round to the fried versions that they serve at Ikigai. The set of five pork (ยฃ5.50) ones were beautifully crispy, with thin and light frilly edged wrappers, and a zingy dip on the side.
The nephew got just the one. No more, because he canโt steal and then wear all of my lunch.
Sorry, again, to the owners, for adding to their deep cleaning duties.
At least you can be assured that a noodle in a babyโs shoe means youโre doing a great job. n
13 West Crosscauseway Edinburgh (07935 669042, www.ikigairamen.co.uk)
