Who says getting older means growing up?

Fri 14 Feb 2014

Birthdays abroad are the best. I woke up with messages from loved ones and birthday cards all the way from France and the UK. It's lovely to be remembered from so far away, so thank you all for your kind wishes.

A few months back, we heard about an amazing museum just outside Tokyo centre dedicated entirely to Ramen. Being noodle soup fan número uno this was obviously top on my list of birthday activities. The tube ride was long and the weather diabolical. It was snowing, a lot, and it was absolutely freezing. We tiptoed our way from the train station, trying not to slip on any ice, and made it to the museum in one piece.

Inside there was nothing resembling a museum, no history of the mighty Ramen, no explanation of the vast varieties or their origins. There were just restaurants and food - set in 1940's Tokyo. The restaurants weren't just any restaurants either; they were exact replicas of the best Ramen eateries in the world. The decor in each is exactly the same as the original, as are the staff's uniforms, the menus, and food preparation techniques. This was my kind of museum!

It's actually referred to as a food theme park and I can understand why. The replica restaurants have been arranged in a square decked out with a totally traditional 40s feel. The ceiling is painted clouds, and there is kitsch retro Japanese memorabilia everywhere - it just has the most magical feel.

We had a birthday drink to start off with. I opted for a good old reliable G&T whilst Jamie dabbled with new experiences and failed with an ice tea cocktail. It was disgusting. Think pure green tea, cold, without sugar and with some horribly bitter alcohol.

Gyoza was first on our taste list. We found the restaurant that specialised in giant Gyoza and used the typical ramen ordering machine out front, covered in buttons to select and pay in advance. When it was delivered there were two huge gyozas. We scoffed one each, trying not to let the juicy content dribble down our chins and inevitably onto our only warm clothes.

Next was a traditional slow-cooked pork ramen. By slow-cooked, I mean pork bones and fat and tasty bits cooked for 20 hours. This intense pork-flavoured broth was mind-blowing. Luckily they had half portions on offer, so we had just about enough room to sample one more. We'd opted for dipping ramen. This is a new craze that's taken off in Japan and America. The Ramen stock is thick and served separately to a bowl of udon noodles, and you dunk the noodles into the broth. We'd messed up somewhere along the way and received our noodles and broth pre-mixed with no dunking required.

I'm not normally a fan of fat noodles, but these were like aldente pasta. The flavour of them was subtle, and they were far from stodgy. The broth was delicious, and I don't know how dunking could have enhanced the experience any further. I was in heaven, but there was no room in my tum for anything else.

Back in the snow, we carefully walked to the metro station and scoured the shops for any bargains we could purchase to keep ourselves warm but ended up leaving with a pair of tights and a chilled bottle of champers. The journey back was long due to train cancellations caused by the bad weather, so we had a quick turnaround ready for the big birthday night out.

We warmed up with the bottle we'd brought and headed straight for Shinduku, a cool part of Tokyo filled with bars, karaoke clubs, and restaurants. There was an actual blizzard blowing by now and a thick covering of snow, making walking exceedingly treacherous. We'd gone just over halfway towards our destination of Golden Gai when we had to nip into a wine bar to get out of the cold. One glass of wine and a plate of pâté later, we were ready to head back out.

Eventually on Golden Gai, a row of 4 streets filled with over 200 miniature old-style Japanese bars, we found a warm welcoming place to sink a couple of cocktails and knock back a shot of tequila. Using the wifi, we located a close-by, fun-filled bar in which to carry on the celebrations. The snow had somewhat deterred people from going out and so far the bars were dead.

By now it was close to 10pm, and our sans dinner tummies were starting to absorb far too much cocktail. We stopped at what can only be described as a raw meat DIY BBQ delight. Having been less intoxicated we wouldn't have wolfed down the beef tongue so eagerly, but it was surprisingly delicious (though I'm not sure how reliable our palates were). Along with the tongue, we also cooked and ate our first ever bit of Kobe beef. This rich beef is intense and, as delicious as it was, I couldn't have eaten a steak of it. This teeny slither was enough.

Failing to locate the 'fun-filled' bar we'd researched, we ended up stumbling into a woman's front room, I mean homemade pub. The tiny room was smaller than last night's karaoke place. With the barmaid, us, and an intoxicated Japanese man who spoke more French than English, it was a squeeze.

We tried to make conversation in franglais, but when this guy fell off his stool and had to be scraped off the floor by Jamie, we realised all attempts would be in vain. The bar lady dished up some unidentifiable snacks which we demolished unquestioningly. When it was time to get the bill we were asked for 4000 yen! Over double what we'd been paying the other night.

"We're so sorry, we don't even have that much on us."

"Ok, 2000 yen."

Ha! What little chancers!

The journey home was full of running/falling in the snow, missing our stop, and nodding off on the tube.

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