The inside of the ramen store is dark and cramped. Steam, carrying the strong smell of pork and garlic, spreads from the tightly packed kitchen. A uniform line of customers sitting on short vinyl stools do not smile or exchange words. Stoic faces look straight ahead into the kitchen, as if they are about to go into battle. Suddenly, a single question from the clerk breaks the silence. Each customer starts to chant, one after another, words seldom heard in the Japanese language. It sounds as if they are casting incantations. After echoing the response of the person to my right, I receive a nod of acknowledgment. Within no time, it arrives. A mountain of ramen. It is piled high with bean sprouts, cabbage, and stewed pork fat. Golden noodles contrast with a dark broth and are barely visible, peeking through the tower of vegetables and meat. This is ramen, Jiro-style.
‘Ramen’ is a homogenous term that encapsulates many different variations, commonly referred to as styles or ‘kei’ in Japanese. Hakata tonkotsu, punchy in flavour with creamy a white pork broth and thin noodles, or Sapporo miso, mellow and hearty, topped with a knob of butter and a spoonful of corn. As many influencers have said, Japan has multiple Michelin starred ramen restaurants, which focus on carefully curated broths and ingredients. With Japanese noodles reaching new heights of worldwide popularity, it is easier than ever to taste and compare the different varieties. Despite this proliferation, however, some major styles of ramen have yet to find much success or discussion outside of Japan—one of these being the infamous Jiro-kei. In Japan, you would not be seen as a true ramen fan without frequenting some Jiro-kei establishments. The style is synonymous with ramen culture and is currently the epicentre of heated debate within the noodle scene. Jiro-style ramen is famous not just for its unique boldness and impact, but also for its infamous cult-like fandom.
Jiro-style ramen was born with hungry university students in mind. In other words, it is salty, fatty, and incredibly filling. Each bowl is a spectacle that demands the full concentrated attention of its eater. It is rough around the edges and can, in some ways, be seen as the antithesis of the highly refined Michelin-style ramen. While more fancy establishments will prioritise techniques to highlight the natural flavour of ingredients, a Jiro-kei establishment will happily add a heaping spoon of powdered MSG in each bowl, provide you with a raw egg to dip the noodles in, or even top the vegetables with fried garlic and black pepper. Why not even chuck on some slices of Kraft singles? If it enhances the flavour, there is no shame. In Jiro-kei’s pursuit of the bold, there is no room for pretentions. The strange case of Jiro ramen is that this unpretentious flavour exists in direct contrast to the infamously strict requirements imposed upon patrons.
Jiro-kei restaurants are famous for the stern rules that are upheld religiously by its fervent fans. Any outsider seen not to follow the rules will be ostracised and met with hostility. Rules include: no talking while in the queue, no children, no photos except for the bowl of ramen, eat your noodles in silence, and don’t loiter. If you come with others, it is nearly impossible to be seated together, as you will be placed at the first available chair regardless of group size. It is expected that each patron spends no longer than 15 minutes eating their noodles to ensure an efficient turnover. Leaving any noodles or vegetables is seen as the greatest disrespect and can often lead to being banned from the store. Some places will even have a clerk check through the bowl of noodles to ensure that every last noodle has been finished—drinking the broth is fortunately not a requirement. Others have been known to charge a fee of 10,000 yen (approximately AUD 100) as a penalty for not finishing the bowl. In the classically Japanese sense, the main way these rules are enforced is through social pressure. The society of Jiro fans is powerful enough to impose rules and values purely through the potential shame of being different from the group.
When one joins the queue to enter a Jiro-kei, they will immediately detect an atmosphere different from any other ramen store. Stepping inside, there is no chatter, only the fierce sound of slurping matches the clattering of a kitchen operating with efficiency. It is commonly dark inside a Jiro-style establishment, and patrons are encouraged to look in and observe the crafting occurring in the kitchen. Water is most often self-serve, but you will notice the more serious-looking fans coming prepared with their own bottles of tea. This stems from another fan-imposed Jiro rule, as it is seen as inconsiderate to drink from the cups provided. Similarly, another ‘rule’ encourages patrons to bring their own tissues so as not to use any of the restaurant's napkins. Supposedly, these rules come from a desire to reduce the cleaning burden on the restaurant. Unsurprisingly, many of the ‘rules’ of Jiro are seen as tiresome and unnecessary by the broader population.
Another famous aspect of Jiro-style ramen is the ‘call’ system. After handing the vending machine-supplied ticket confirming noodle volume and type to the staff, the clerk asks each patron, ‘Would you like garlic?’ This seemingly simple question hides much more and signals an opening of the floodgates. For those in the know, this is the opportunity to add customisations to the bowl: extra cabbage and bean sprouts, extra pork fat, extra garlic.
Not knowing the appropriate combination of requests will likely provoke the ire of the clerk and result in being ostracised by the fandom.
More than anything, Jiro is unapologetic. It is perhaps this punk-like attitude that inspires such a loyal following. There are, of course, passionate fans for all styles of ramen, but none are as ubiquitously known for their fervour as the Jiro-rians. A unique code, worth protecting and fighting for.
In 1968, chef Takumi Yamada decided to set up shop in the Meguro Ward of Tokyo. In the booming post-war economy of Japan, ramen was the food in vogue. Then more commonly known as ‘Chinese soba,’ the ramen of that era was much more modest than what we are familiar with today. Pork or chicken broth flavoured with soy sauce, topped with green onions and sliced pork. It was this simplicity that led chef Yamada to believe he could easily succeed in making ramen. He came across one key problem: he didn’t actually know how to make ramen. Trained as a traditional Japanese chef, he was more familiar with making bonito broth or preparing fish. It seems unusual to aspire to start a business specialising in a food you have no experience with. It could very well be that Yamada didn’t like ramen at all and had accidentally committed himself to the wrong career path. However, Yamada was stubborn, and once he had set his mind on it, he was committed to seeing it through. Unsurprisingly, the early days of Ramen Jiro found no success. It might not have been unusual if the story of Ramen Jiro ended there. Better businesses have failed for less. However, despite being an inexperienced chef, Yamada was certainly not lacking in determination, and he persisted. He realised that ramen was something that couldn’t be simply figured out based on trial and error, and it required more formal guidance.
Luckily for him, and broader ramen history, his restaurant just happened to be located next to a traditional Chinese restaurant. One day, the chef at the Chinese restaurant decided to check out the brand-new Ramen Jiro, perhaps scoping out the competition. However, rather than discovering a new rival, the Chinese chef was shocked by the poor quality of the noodles next door. He was so appalled that he suggested Yamada close his store for a few months and apprentice under him to learn some basics. Although Yamada was often rude and fiercely stubborn, he did not reject help. The exact details of this exchange are unknown, but one can imagine a strict, sage-like figure teaching a young and inexperienced apprentice.
Through the guidance of his neighbour, Yamada gained a masterful understanding of the fundamentals of Chinese cooking, and, according to some stories, an unconfirmed ability to catch flies with chopsticks. With confidence and experience under his belt, chef Yamada sought to reopen the new and improved Ramen Jiro. The quality had undeniably improved, but he still wasn’t coming close to achieving the ramen big leagues he aspired for. Yamada continued to improve his ramen, making gradual adjustments to the broth and noodles. Small tweaks were made, and he referred back to his training as a Japanese chef to add unique elements to the broth. The next great leap came from another random coincidence, a customer born on the northern island of Hokkaido who happened to be staying at the nearby student dorms. The Hokkaido student remembered the iconic Sapporo-style ramen from his hometown, topped with corn and butter. He encouraged Yamada to use more unique toppings that would help differentiate his bowls. Rather than dismissing the suggestion of a random student, Yamada took it on board and decided to add a unique edge. There were many mysterious strangers guiding the hand of Chef Yamada and Ramen Jiro.
He eventually landed on the idea of further concentrating the soy flavour and topping his ramen with thicker cuts of pork and a large mountain of cabbage and bean sprouts soaked in pork fat. The decision to increase the volume came in part from his desire to attract the many students nearby with large portions. The choice was a hit, so Yamada took it further, piling the meat and vegetables even higher. As this attracted more students, the portions continued to grow, starting a self-fulfilling cycle of exponential ramen growth.
By the 1990s, the style was solidified. From there, his apprentices began to start their own Jiro-kei ramen shops, and the style spread throughout Japan. Due to its association with university students and bold flavours, talk of Jiro-kei spread quickly through word of mouth. The style found particular enthusiasm in the newly emerging internet forums, such as 2ch, the Japanese precursor to the infamous 4chan.
With young university students spreading the word, keen ramen fans came from across Japan to try this new and unique take on ramen. They liked the boldness and uniqueness, and so, too, took to the forums to sing its praises. Fans would compare notes and thoughts about each bowl, sharing their secret topping requests or how they asked Chef Yamada to pile the vegetables and pork fat even further. Soon, a sense of communal identity emerged around its fans. The eccentric, rude, and near-excessive style of Jiro was perhaps the perfect candidate for the online community, as almost every aspect of it seemed designed to scare away ‘common’ people. With the collective realisation that the mountain of food could grow even larger, fans competed to one-up each other. They demonstrated their knowledge and passion for the style by ordering with unique code words, understood only by the chef and ‘real fans’. Others claimed that to truly enjoy Jiro, the bowl had to be eaten within 10 minutes. Some showed off their fandom by taking to the forums to explain that a true fan should eat their noodles in complete silence, birthing a de facto ‘rule’. Eventually, someone on the forums declared that as a ‘true fan,’ they would never use the water cups in the restaurant and would always supply their own bottle out of consideration for the store. Others echoed this opinion to demonstrate their devotion, and hence, another rule was born.
As is often the case with passionate online communities, a cavalier sense of superiority soon fed into itself. A cycle of one-upmanship eventually led to a completely insular fandom that would ostracise and berate casual fans for not comprehending the craft at the same level. They had effectively developed a para-social relationship with a noodle store. And so, they worked to enforce rules and created a secret language of ordering through the unique ‘call’ system, an attempt to prevent perceived slights and filter out non-hardcore fans. Today, these self-created rules are seen as the letter of the law and are de facto supported by the restaurants themselves. They have successfully created a seemingly impenetrable aura of rules and regulations. Thus, they became known as the Jiro-rians, a tongue-in-cheek suggestion that their devotion has surpassed fandom and is instead akin to a national identity. They are disciples of Jiro-kei.
The near-religious rule-following of the Jiro-rians, however, can be seen as contradicting the founding ethos of the original Ramen Jiro. If Chef Yamada had not been bold enough to break free of his Japanese chef conventions and start a ramen store with no formal training, the style would not exist. Similarly, if he had been too stubborn to accept help from his neighbour, his business would have failed. The style evolved through the suggestions and requests of early patrons. Through earnestly taking suggestions and lessons from others around him, Chef Yamada was able to develop his unique style of ramen. When the style is about rebelling and having it your way, why does the community impose all these additional rules and restrictions? The fandom’s militant idealism has pushed it away from the original identity of the style.
Rules and respect for those who prepare food are important, and fans should be proud of their shared interest. However, the validity of said rules must be analysed when they actively exclude others. A Jiro-rian would argue that there is no problem with something being gate-kept. So long as the business continues to do well, the Jiro-rians would argue that their ruleset is not hurting anyone. Critics of the fans, however, demonstrate how exclusionary their behaviour can be and how it prevents Jiro-kei from achieving new heights in popularity. The question arises: Does a chef have the right to dictate in detail how their food should be enjoyed? What right or role does the fandom have in imposing these rules? This debate between the hard-core fan and the casual enjoyer is echoed throughout many fields in history. Ancient Romans probably argued amongst themselves about the trendiest flamingo tongue establishment in the city.
A community can grow to the point where their own values and interpretations get imposed on others. The Jiro-rians have successfully created a legal system enforced through the consumer. Ramen Jiro intimidates, and the Jiro-rians were happy to keep it that way.
With Jiro style’s popularity exploding in recent years, there has also been a rise in establishments rejecting the harsh rules of Jiro. They aim to provide a more approachable option for those interested in trying the style. Recently, the Japanese ramen discourse has centred on a Jiro-style restaurant collaborating with Chiikawa—a popular, small, cat-like character whose name combines chiisai (small) and kawaii (cute). Although the duality between cute animal characters and the aggressively bold Jiro style may seem odd, it has successfully enabled many new people to dip their toes into the otherwise hostile Jiro community. The hardcore Jiro-rians reject this perceived ‘dumbing down’ of the style for broader appeal. Many millions of hostile internet words have been shed between the puritans and the ‘let people enjoy themselves’ camp. Like all internet arguments, neither side can agree, and both leave the experience angrier and more fervent than before. It is not just the broth of Jiro that is salty. Perhaps it would be best if they tried to avoid blood-pressure-raising arguments.
At the same time, the Jiro-rian traditionalists have doubled down further, working to impose their rules. There has been a recent wave of new Jiro-style shops opening with larger portions, bigger flavours, and even stricter rules. This impenetrable nature is perhaps part of the reason why Jiro-kei is not as well known outside of Japan. Many have deemed the rules or fandom unnecessary and pretentious. It is not unreasonable to hold the belief that people should be able to enjoy food however they like. Some within the Jiro community agree with these arguments and have split off to support establishments that aim to make Jiro-kei more accessible. Having rules to enforce respect serve their place, however as Jiro ramen proves, daring to experiment outside of the status quo breeds something new and unique. The war between the traditionalists and reformers rages on to this day. Regardless of ideology, both sides are united by one thing: a collective love of ramen.
Image credit: Creative Commons