If you take eating and drinking seriously then your reading list should include Jeffrey Steingarten, the ex-Harvard lawyer who became the restaurant critic for American Vogue. His seminal book, The Man Who Ate Everything, is a collection of incisive and obsessive food essays, and recounts how he taught himself not to hate what he ate.
Steingarten undertook an eradication of his food phobias because he felt he could not let personal dislikes cloud his professional judgement. It would be comparable, he argued, to being an art critic who detested the colour yellow. Not someone you would send to review a Van Gogh exhibition: “Sunflowers and fields of wheat everywhere; hated his hat; can’t recommend – 2/10.”
Steingarten’s own list of career-limiting dislikes ranged from kimchi and anchovies to coffee ice cream and refried beans, but he was determined to ‘liberate his palate and his soul’. “No smells and tastes are inherently repulsive”, he wrote. “What’s learned can be forgot.” I admired his commitment and applauded his ultimate success.
But I also shared his initial pain: I just don’t like ramen.
Okay I’ll avoid hyperbole, I don’t hate it, but despite repeated tastings at some excellent establishments I’ve never actively loved it. There was always something else on the menu I’d rather eat, and so ultimately, I did.
I suspect this is because I prefer my soups thick enough to eat with a knife and fork or a slice of orange Warbies. A finely clarified consommé or a Heinz Big Soup? No contest.
Yet for everybody else, including my two sons, it appears ramen is an escalating love affair and a rabbit hole of geekery, and Manchester has become a soupy hotbed of earnest diners comparing the saltiness of their ‘tare’ sauce bases – an essential seasoning in ramen – and the pH levels of their noodles.
I generally nurture my inner nerd, so it struck me as time to take a leaf out of Mr Steingarten’s book and learn to love ramen.
And where better to begin than New Wave Ramen, named after the Tokyo trend for focusing on the highest quality ingredients. Here, stocks and tares are prepared in house, and New Wave are one of the few UK restaurants to make and age their own noodles. Their boiling fowl are older, flavourful birds, their coppa (shoulder pork) comes from Littlewood’s butchers, and they are even experimenting with making their own katsuobushi, the smoked and fermented skipjack tuna flakes, often also known as bonito.
My wing man for this visit was Matthew Frost, the recently retired editor of Manchester University Press. He has commissioned books including Andy Spinoza’s excellent tome Manchester Unspun and is also the wearer of Manchester’s most famous moustache. It was only as we sat down that I realised I had, in an instance of delicious serendipity, invited a man with a bona fide ‘soup strainer’ to a broth battle.
New Wave sits in a deceptive site, narrow as a paperback and fronted by a utilitarian open kitchen and tight counter seating. But persevere, and hidden beyond you’ll find a compact dining room, casual and clattery with un-clothed tables, as well as some small, snug banquettes. There is even a more extensive overflow in the basement.
We settled in and began with a snack of kimchi – a nod to Steingarten’s bête noire, although I love it. The cabbage was roughly chopped and speckled with chilli, and along with fine matchsticks of carrot had stewed in its own juices. This was a deeply flavoured dish, tender yet snappy, and with more funk than Clyde Stubblefield.
Next up small plates. I expected a variation of Sichuan smashed cucumber, but here the fruit appeared to have escaped a roughing up and came topped with crispy chilli which had pooled Irn-Bru-hued oil around the dish. The revelation was the underlying bed of shira-ae, which is usually a rough mash of tofu and sesame but here was a generous smear of fabulously silky purée akin to hummus.
Gyoza were tight with pork and cabbage and nicely crisped, and the tender chicken thigh karaage came in a pleasingly craggy crusting. The rice grains for the chashu were beautifully cooked, distinctly individual but locked together like a rugby scrum. And the yielding cubes of braised pork belly came with a sprinkle of furikake, a top-knot of finely sliced spring onions, and a blow-torched zigzag of Kewpie mayo which lifted the dish from good to great.
And then the main event, the ‘ramen d’être’ of this whole journey of self-improvement. Here, the cuisine is based around chintan chicken broths (vegan bowls aside), rather than the more ubiquitous pork tonkatsu, as is the norm for ‘new wave’ ramen. The balance of simplicity and intensity in these lighter liquors leaves little margin for error but get it right and the quality of the ingredients can shine through.
Matthew had the OG Paitan. In classical French cooking, a chicken stock would be gently simmered to prevent cloudiness. But here the paitan is gleefully boiled hard, causing the fats to emulsify before it is blended into a tongue-coatingly creamy broth. He ordered it with a generous bundle of house noodles, flat commas of crisped pork belly, added slices of coppa, and a sheet of nori tucked into the rim of the bowl like a press pass in a hat band.
And for me, the lamb tantanmen, a dish with a nod to Sichuan dan dan noodles. I can’t resist a bit of spice and the use of toban djan and sesame pastes created a pleasingly thick soup. This came with another fat swirl of immaculate noodles, draped like Ophelia’s hair, plus half a jammy ramen egg, spring onions, chilli oil and herb oil. Each scoop of pale broth was strewn with beads of green and orange, like a spoonful of liquid terrazzo.
But the star of this particular show was the quenelle of soboro – ground, spiced lamb cooked down with more toban djan and oyster sauce – which melted into the soup. I also added chashu celeriac, which came as a couple of translucent slices, variegated with browns and oranges from its long marination and overnight roasting. And then added menma, or fermented bamboo shoots. If you like the lacto notes of natural wines this is the topping for you.
This was undoubtably outstanding cooking, tangibly elevated by the attention to detail and quality of produce. I can’t remember having had better ramen, and I sense it has indeed recalibrated my tastebuds and renewed my enthusiasm for the entire genre.
Whilst old Thom would have been a regular at New Wave for its accomplished side plates, new Thom will be returning for the ramen alone.
Thom and Matthew ate at New Wave Ramen, 16 Tib Lane, Manchester, M2 4JB.
Petit Fours
- New Wave Ramen is a recent incomer to an area, bounded by Cross St, Princess St, Moseley St and Market St, which was historically known as the ‘Square Half Mile’ and is now a hotbed of quality indie hospitality. Within spitting distance you have best in class operators including Salut, 10 Tib lane, Café Beer Moth, Kala and the historical City Arms pub, as well as Nell’s incoming to the old Croma site. It’s arguably a cluster as diverting as that of Ancoats, and provides a nice counterbalance to the national/international operators clustering around the golden triangle of Spinningfields, Deansgate and Peter St.
- A shout out to the diminutive Bexley Square in Salford, one of my favourite open spaces in the city. With its outdoor seating, public sculpture and mature trees it would grace any European city. Around the short perimeter you have The New Oxford, one of the city’s best real ale pubs, the ever-excellent Porta tapas bar (they are also about to open in the old Greens site in West Didsbury) and Y2 Persian café. If you find yourself around the New Bailey end of town it’s well worth crossing Trinity Way for a bit of al fresco action.
- This month saw a long over-due return to Ynyshir in mid-Wales, for the launch of Luke Unabomber’s new album. Ynyshir has two Michelin stars and has been voted the best restaurant in the UK in the National Restaurant Awards. It also has an in-house DJ spinning vinyl right by the pass, the most incredible mountainous setting, and sausage and egg McMuffins for breakfast, making it one of the most singular fine dining experiences in the UK.
- Most of my dining is technically work, and often happens at lunchtime, Tuesday to Thursday. Sadly, despite a plethora of options for casual dining (Bundobust, Blacklock, Maray) and Chinatown (Happy Seasons, Noodle Alley, Pho Cue) I find ambitious chef-led indies are fewer and further between at these times. This is down to understandable reasons around economics, consistency and staff welfare, but it makes me grateful for places like Erst which do open mid-week. And now the wonderful Higher Ground is inching in the same direction, opening for Thursday lunches for the first time. Please prove them right and beat a path to their door. I’ll see you there!
