Not that he ate much ramen at first. It was only in January 2008, after months of noticing the 45-minute lines outside Mutekiya, a trendy ramen shop in the Ikebukuro neighborhood, that he finally decided to dip his chopsticks.
“It was awesome back then,” he told me. The shop had recently been on TV, and was serving a special pork-laden ramen: “A slice of pork, and then it was stewed pork, and then it was a pork meatball, and then it was a pile of ground pork too. I couldn’t comprehend it. It was delicious, of course.”
He was hooked. He began Googling best-of lists and standing in line for hours. “That’s crazy, any way you look at it,” he said. “It’s noodles and soup, and you wait two hours for it? There’s something crazy about that.” Still, it was his kind of crazy, and since he was between jobs and surviving on unemployment insurance, he started to blog.
Today, Mutekiya’s lines remain long, but Mr. MacDuckston’s tastes have matured beyond the shop’s serviceable tonkotsu broth and slightly overcooked noodles. After Mutekiya, he became a huge fan of Nagi, a mini-chain with a branch just outside the wild, neon Shibuya shopping-and-night-life zone. As Mr. MacDuckston led me there one night, I realized the quiet neighborhood was familiar — two years earlier, I’d wandered the area with friends, searching for somewhere to eat. Little did I know we’d walked right by one of Tokyo’s better ramen shops.
It was an easy mistake to make. Nagi looks more like an exclusive drinking den than a bustling noodlery. The dining room is intimate, its walls decorated with brown-paper flour sacks, and you place your order not by buying a meal ticket from a vending machine, as is often standard, but with an actual waiter, who lets you specify just how hard (or soft) you want your noodles. We asked for ours bari — wiry — and that’s how they came, thin and deliciously mochi-mochi, the Japanese analog of al dente. They were so good, in fact, that we left soup in our bowls to flavor the kaedama, the almost requisite extra helping of noodles we’d ordered.
That soup wasn’t bad either — a tonkotsu broth, simmered for days until milky and rich — and the toppings (tender roast pork, an incredibly eggy slow-cooked egg) were top-notch, but this Nagi was all about the pasta.