Bowl of dreams

When does a simple, inexpensive bowl of noodles inspire rhapsody, ignite rivalries and attract fanatics who will gladly spend the rest of their lives in a blissful if futile search for the one, perfect bowl?

When does a bowl of noodles, diligently prepared, satisfy not just the stomach but the soul?

When it's ramen.

One hour before opening the door to his ramen-ya, Yasushi Ueyama is sitting at a table. A picture of tentative aplomb. The tiny shop is growing humid. There is the scent of green onion, an earthy note of soy. Stan Getz plays coolly in the background, accompanied by the staccato hubbub of boiling water.

Since Ueyama does not speak English, his wife, Kathy Ueyama, is providing the translation. She well knows the vessel, the hunger, of her husband's heart.

Yasushi Ueyama is 45 years old. He has black hair, watchful eyes, a cobweb of beard on his chin. Clad in blue jeans, a T-shirt and green Crocs, he has something of a hipster look. Ueyama's three great passions in life are jazz, sake and, now, ramen.

In July, he opened Shoki Ramen House at 2675 24th St., in what was once a Thai joint. The place is hardly prepossessing – a buckled tile floor, a few mismatched tables and chairs. The ramen shop has the look of hope, faith – and desperation.

But there's auspiciousness here, too, even a benevolence. A Shinto shrine called a "kamidana" is installed above a side door; a scroll of the god Shoki, brushed by Ueyama's great- grandfather, is displayed on a wall. There is a covey of birds painted on the ceiling by Ueyama's daughter, Maho, 19, who, together with her sister, Saho, 16, helps their father dress the bowls of ramen. Theirs is a tasty collaboration.

And that's all they serve – ramen, in two types of broth (shoyu and shio), in three sizes of bowls.

Ramen, ramen, ramen.

"Ramen is very fascinating," reflects Ueyama. "I enjoy making food from scratch using the finest ingredients. I want to share with people that Japanese food isn't all about sushi. I only sell ramen. You can only eat one bowl of ramen at a time. So, I feel I have one chance, one opportunity, to have my customer fall in love with my ippai (bowl) of ramen."

Still, can such a single-minded noodle shop, even with the blessings of the gods, thrive in Sacramento?

Ramen, like so many things exalted in Japan – art, religion, gardens – has its origins in China. Noodles have been a staple in Japan for centuries.

But ramen didn't really capture the country's heart until after World War II, when a defeated, famished population sought comfort, nourishment. Then, in 1958, Momofuku Ando perfected a flash-frying technique that turned ramen into imperishable bricks. Thereafter, college students the world over survived on endless varieties of Top Ramen and Cup Noodles.

Today, instant ramen remains a vast enterprise. Nissin Food Products alone manufactures 4 billion packs of ramen a year. In Sacramento, Oto's Marketplace has an entire aisle devoted to instant ramen. Its top seller, according to owner Russell Oto, is Sapporo Ichiban, which sells for 39 cents per packet.

But it's real ramen, the noodles fresh, the composition of its broth a zip-locked secret, that causes ramenatics to quiver. (See "Tampopo," a 1985 cult film that captures the transcendence of ramen.) There are nearly 200,000 ramen shops in Japan. People line up for an hour or more to slurp a favored bowl.

What is it about ramen that's so enticing?

"It's easy, quick. It's like Japanese fast food," says Henry Mizushima, who, together with his wife, Fusako, owns Henry's Watch Repair in Sacramento. "The first thing I do when I go back to Japan is go to a ramen-ya. Everyone feels the same way. It's warm. It feels good."

"I was born in 1944," chimes in Fusako, a native of Nagoya. "When we were young, I don't remember going out for ramen. But in high school, we would go out for ramen!" Ramen-yas were social centers.

"Every two, three blocks, there was a ramen shop," says Taro Arai, who grew up in Kumamoto and whose family owns the successful chain of Mikuni restaurants. "And there were street vendors called yatai, who served noodles from carts. I grew up in a poor family. Ramen was like one of the cheapest foods you could have."

About the writer:

• Call The Bee's Bob Sylva, (916) 321-1135.