When the substitute becomes the standard.

Ramen. Ten cents or ten dollars?

I think its safe to say for most the word ramen evokes thoughts of ten cent packages of dried noodles with far too much salt that you add to hot water and have a "meal". Even though the package says to boil water... everyone knows you put the stuff in the microwave for about three minutes and you end up with a product at a similar point on the bad scale. Or you can be fancy and just get the cup of noodles, but the polystyrene foam cup is quite obnoxious. But everyone has had the less than adequate meal at one point or another, and thousands upon thousands of college students consume God knows how much of the stuff every year. And before teachers were smart enough to catch on, it was the easiest and cheapest way to win canned food drives.

And then perhaps you have a decent bowl of ramen somewhere and it changes everything. Your mouth is flooded with all kinds of flavors you didn't know were possible, and your palate does somersaults over new combinations of textures. It's almost exhausting. But you grow to love what's happening and you go back again and again. You forget what that dried microwave brick was all about and you have no desire to return to it.

Then, you go to a different city for lunch one day because you've heard things. Crazy things. That there was an even better bowl of ramen. This doesn't even make sense because what you've had over and over again at the other place was as mind blowing as any food really can be. But they say its even better than that. Could it really be? Doubtful, but you find yourself on the freeway just to be sure. Upon arrival, there is a small line, but apparently that means you're lucky because there's always a line, and usually its long. Or it means you are a nocturnal creature and showing up at 2pm is what some might say is "after" lunch. Don't believe them. Anytime before 3 or 4 pm is perfectly normal for lunch. The place is small and there is a chalkboard menu on the wall. Three choices of broth, a buttload of "extras" you can add to your liking for anywhere from $1 to $3 and a little note that says "our ramen is not vegetarian food". That little message at the end and aromas dancing in your nasaries is very promising.

I've thought for a longtime that food can be quite transcendental, especially when you taste something from, say, your childhood but you're 25 or you're 40 or older and you haven't had ______ in years. Those moments can even be religious. A friend of mine has even been brought to tears by something she ate. This was one of those moments. Except I didn't cry because I am an iron pillar of masculinity. (Okay, it's just that I don't cry often. Not that I don't want to, but my crier is broken.) The first bite of this ramen took me to places I've never even been, to galaxies far far away, and across centuries in the past and to come all at once. It was unbelievable. And apparently, there is an even better place in New York called Ippudo which I HAVE to go to at some point, preferably soon. And all this begs one question: why on earth would anyone ever choose to put that aweful $.10 into their body for any other reason than necessity?

Days and weeks later, my mind still lingers on those flavors. Was it even real? Could such grandeur have taken place in the life of a mere mortal like me? David said it best, "is this real life?" As usual, I end up thinking about things far beyond what is normal and I find myself all up in my head... this time about noodles. But ramen is more than that and here is why.

I think I paid about $15 for that steaming bowl from heaven after all of my extras and tax. It was truly unbelievable and if you don't believe me and you're in the Bay Area, let me know and I will buy your noodles if they don't change everything for you. Well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Anyway, when we hear "ramen", I'm confident that most will think of the ten cent dried noodles with salty broth in crinkly packages. But that's not what ramen is supposed to be. Its a substitute for something incredible. I wonder how many things in our lives are a rip off of something that's supposed to be soul-filled and delicious in every sense of the word. There's a song by Switchfoot called "Easier than love" and I wonder if it could also be about ramen. Of course, they didn't write the song about ramen, but it could be related. The song is about how sex is something that has become the substitute for love because its easier. A certain very prominent coffee company is trying to do this to people too. An instant coffee that's supposedly hard to tell from regular brewed coffee. Now I can imagine that its not too bad and I can see how you might drink it because its easier and more convenient, but when you taste freshly roasted coffee brewed in a french press (or a Clover machine, or some other snooty way to make coffee) you're blown away by what you're tasting and what you've allowed to become standard.

From all this babbling, I only know three things:

1. I won't eat ten cent ramen unless I have to (or I'm tempted in a weak moment)
2. I don't want substitutes to become standards for anything in my life because the real thing is that much better
3. Ramen Dojo in San Mateo, CA is FREAKING DELICIOUS AND EVERYONE NEEDS TO EAT THERE. Except, please don't because then I'll have to wait in an even longer 2pm line :)

805 South B Street

San Mateo, CA 94401

(650) 401-6568

Pocket [change].

The other day I went searching for something delicious. This is really a never-ending activity for me. Maybe its all I ever do and other things are just rabbit trails along the way. Friendships, work, fun activities, coffee shops and bars - all just distractions on my way to that delicious morsel of mystery. I even dressed up this day. A collared shirt, a sweater, nice jeans, and dress shoes if you can call that "dressed up". And I was going to the farmer's market and I LOVE the farmer's market.

Bear with me. Maybe life is a collection of moments in more than measurable ways like how a day is a collection of hours and an hour is a collection of minutes and a minute is a collection of seconds. What do you remember? Memories are collections of moments that pushed through to permanency like a million salmon returning to spawn and the few that actually make it. It's easy to forget about the vast majority of them, but you certainly remember the ones you catch... or that one that got away.

Sometimes there are moments that change everything. Then there are moments that are only remembered because of a series of... well, maybe we don't know why we remember them. Or even why we noticed whatever it was to begin with. For whatever reason, we remember certain otherwise-insignificant moments.

The holiday season always brings about a certain spirit of giving. Though this spirit is often confused with the evil spirit of pointless consumerism, it is still there, and people ringing bells next to red buckets are its signature.

I was at the farmers market and the unmistakable clanging of a Salvation Army bell ringer could be heard over the chattering crowd and buses passing by. Then I judged a man. He looked dirty, his clothes didn't fit quite right, match, or look very good. I imagined he had a certain aroma about him; probably something like weed and body odor and I thought he must be homeless. I don't know what his situation was or anything about him for that matter. Except, there was one thing. He was a much more generous person than me.

Whenever I pass the ringing bells and red buckets, I always feign a smile and keep walking. Give a stranger my parking money? HA! This man was different. Some of this memory died halfway upstream, but I think I remember him putting down his bag and walking out of his way to drop a few coins in the bucket. As for me? I didn't have any change to give that day, but I did eat an $8 hot dog. Life can be ridiculous, unfair, judging, absurd, and sometimes dirty. But, it can also be generous or delicious. For me the two seem to be mutually exclusive. At least on that day. My conscience will deal with these things and change will come, probably in small amounts. Pocket change.

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'Zilla-style hot dog from 4505 Meats. Bacon is already in the hot dog, then they add their $$$ Sauce, kimchi, and the most incredible chicharrones known to mankind up to this point. I also don't remember if I ate this hot dog the same day that I saw the man give some pocket change, but I'm choosing to remember it that way.