Italian Pasta in Japan

Basically, the Japanese LOVE noodles. Like, more than NZers love alcohol or bacon or Iranians love kebabs or rice. Though probably even more. Cause they have noodle festivals! Entire festivals dedicated to noodles! Noodles of several kinds but mostly there are 4; ramen (the thin and yellow fast-food Chinese noodle), soba (the healthy brown one made of buckwheat flour), udon (round and thick like moi) and somen (supermodel thin like moi in the future). Which are eaten hot, cold, on their own with dipping sauce, in a soup, in a stir fry and even as a patty in a burger bun! So you’d think after a life-time of living and breathing mamas home cooked Japanese noodles, they’d venture out when it came to dining at Bona Petito… No. What do they order? What SOLE pasta CAN they order? You got it, SPAGHETTI.

It’s funny, even their supermarkets, only sell spaghetti in their Italian/pasta isle. To be fair, on the odd chance, I might see shells or bow-ties, though I’m sure it’s not the Japanese buying those. As for all of the other good pastas; fettuccine, ravioli, tortellini, gnocchi etc they are only usually found in international import stores. Oh and when it comes to lasagne sheets, only the tiny square sized ones are sold because Japanese don’t have full-sized ovens in their homes.

So you go to an Italian restaurant and the only sort of pasta you can order is spaghetti.Which is fine… only a firstworldproblem and all but like, they’ll have packets of tagliatelle displayed around the restaurant for fun or as decoration to tempt you but they don’t actually serve that, no. Or any other pasta for that matter. Just spag. Just more fu&king noodles. #myjapanlife

so nice to ramen to you!


A little teaser makes it sound like I think it’s good.. let’s say a little “extract” from my novel-in-progress:

There is an art to everything in Japan. From taking off your shoes before entering a house to eating ramen with chopsticks in one hand and a ladle in the other. Fortunately, in most places, beginners are accounted for. The first time I ate ramen, I joked about needing a bib then I was actually handed one. As for the ramen itself, excuse me while I salivate into my keyboard. Authentic Japanese ramen cannot be adequately described by words alone. A high definition picture and a smell detector are vital. If tea is a hug in a cup, Ramen is a Hollywood romance; too good to be true. Except it’s not imagined or supposed, it truly is real, until it disappears and it will.