Co-workers Kei and Kuni working in the Tavern pub keep a book, 'Uwasa no Ramen', or 'Gossip/Rumour Ramen' that Kei picked up in a second hand bookstore. It's kind of my bible. Kuni pointed out his recommendations, including the guide's no.1 ramen shop (at least, 2007's no. 1), just down the road from me. Jiro.
I thought maybe I'd gone too far but then I saw a couple of men queuing outside the doorway of an establishment. The first good sign. The second good sign, though I didn't realise it immediately, was a big barrel of a man with a squint in one eye and a greasy t-shirt on, loitering beside the customers sat at the counter. The third and final good sign was the lack of options at the token-vending machine. Many ramen shops use vending system, rather than burden the ramen chefs with cash handling and the machines usually display a good two dozen options of size, soup and toppings. Jiro had 6. There was no distinction between miso, soy or salt-soup ramen. You know a ramen joint means business when they don't even identify their soup. It's not miso, soy or salt, it's just meat broth.
Once a couple of customers had vacated their seats and hurried on, I took a place and the second good sign came good. A space had been created at the counter and the man with a squint starting passing over plastic sacks of meat. The good stuff. When my bowl of noodles and meat broth arrived shortly after, it was topped off with a chunk of meat the succulence of which I have rarely tasted in a ramen joint. And the final touch, a fistful of chopped garlic tossed on top. I didn't eat again that day.
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