The Kimchi Field Museum in Seoul

The museum suggests that you can take a picture here,
in case you don't already have any photos from your trip to Korea of traditional Korean women feeding you kimchi.

On my last day in Korea I hustled over to the Kimchi Field Museum, the thought of which I had been salivating over for days.


It's a pretty big place, all things considered, and they even have a library where you can study books and movies about kimchi and other traditional Korean foods.


Koreans love red pepper, but also garlic, leeks, green onion and anything else that is guaranteed to make their breath stink and their gums tingle.


The Kimchi Field Museum is located, as it appears food museums generally are in Asia, inside a mall. The largest underground mall in Asia, in fact, COEX.


I am not sure if I understood the point of this, it was this giant thing on the wall showing very small pictures of different types of kimchi. I'm sure someone was like, "Damn, everything in this museum is so old-fashioned. We need something high-tech, something futuristic! Let's make a big white kimchi hole!"


"You think that's high-tech? Check this out. This is science."


The museum brought together two of my great loves: kimchi and plastic food.




This was a display on how healthy kimchi is. They were trying to make the point that it's great for losing weight, but I thought this image also accurately acknowledged kimchi's gas-creating properties. She can't keep her skirt down!


Worldwide pickled vegetables


Kimchi tasting. I never like any of the ones made of greens as much as the cabbage, radish and cucumber ones. Making it green is just a step too healthy for me.





Although I'm a huge fan of kimchi, I wouldn't normally spend an entire afternoon dedicated entirely to fermented cabbage. However, the Kimchi Museum was really interesting and I'd highly recommend it for anyone buzzing around Seoul. In terms of actual information, it was definitely the best food museum I've been to, and they get extra points for providing information on everything in English. They even suckered me into buying a DVD with 59 kimchi recipes on it. Considering that it only took one kimchi recipe to get me kicked out of my flat in London, I shudder to think of what I may be able to do with 59.

Gwangju's Namdo Traditional Foods Museum

Although in possession of a rather spiffy website and an enticing name, the Namdo Traditional Foods Museum was, unlike the Korean food that it showcases, pretty bland. This is probably because it was all in Korean, but there was only one real room of exhibits and they didn't bother turning on the lights in some places. The museum appears to be mainly for events, but I wasn't able to figure it out. Stick to the food in Gwangju if you're short on time.

Ramen museum photobooth pictures

Just in case you thought I was lying, there actually is a photobooth at the Yokohama Ramen Museum and I actually did pay to use it.



The first one says "ramen" up top and I'm not sure what it says on the bottom. The other one has a street name on the top and down the side it says "Just one more bowl." Sounds about right. If any of you multilinguists out there have better translations, please enlighten me.

The Fukuoka Ramen Stadium

Fukuoka, Hakata is the heart of ramen country. Hakata is the land that gave birth to tonkotsu ramen, the whitish ramen made from pork bones that proudly considers lard a seasoning and is of the belief that not finishing the broth at the bottom of a bowl of ramen is a direct insult to the chef. This isn't broth that is meant to keep the noodles warm while you eat them, this is broth that stands up and demands you notice it. This is broth that can  lay you out. Making tonkotsu ramen is a complicated affair, with many shops spending two days on each batch, taking small amounts from the stock at different times during the process to end up with a final batch of complexly-layered and impossibly rich soup.



Therefore, it's no surprise that Fukuoka took umbrage at Yokohama's Raumen Museum and decided make a ramen stadium of their own, complete with a gift shop and educational displays. Located in the heart of the largest and most soulless malls I've seen yet in Japan--Canal City, the ambiance isn't particularly appetizing but it is conducive to shopping.

 

Not being able to pass up the chance to go to my third ramen museum in three weeks, I headed straight into Canal City after waking up. Luckily, because I'm unemployed, I don't wake up until after 11. By the time I got there it was lunchtime, but the stadium was fairly empty. The stadium had ramen shops from all over Japan, but I decided to try a ramen hailing from Kyushu, the prefecture that Hakata is part of, primarily because it has the highest fat content available in a ramen. When in Rome, as they say.



I can't pretend that seeing chunks of lard floating in my soup didn't make me squirm a bit, but within moments I was nearly unable to move, sedated by the tonkotsu as effectively as if I had been hit with a tranquilizer dart. A good bowl of ramen can take a lot out of you. Angel-hair thin noodles, a few fried onions, pork like there was no tomorrow, who could complain?







Although I had the option to add more noodles to the remaining broth to help it go down more gently, I declined and set off to the gift shop where I purchased my second ramen-themed Hello Kitty notebook, a ramen mug and a box of instant ramen from one of the famed Japan ramen houses. Ramen chefs are like celebrity wrestlers, they stare out at you menacingly from the front of the boxes with arms crossed, daring you to mess with them. Ramen is men's work, it seems. As I've yet to finish a “large” bowl of ramen—they come in two sizes, the large one goes for 100 yen more but is twice the size—I can't really dispute this, it's a man's world out there.

The Instant Ramen Museum

Duking it out with Yokohama's Raumen Museum for control of the definitive history of ramen is Osaka's Instant Ramen Museum. The Instant Ramen Museum takes the view that the invention of instant ramen was one of mankind's greatest achievements, and that its inventor, Momofuko Ando, has irreversibly changed the course of human civilization (really).


Momofuku Ando


A replica of the shack in Momofuko's backyard where instant ramen was invented


The Cup Noodle Drama Theatre

The museum is as much a homage to Momofuko Ando as it is to ramen. They've recreated the actual shack from Ando's backyard that he worked in when he invented instant ramen. They've made a cartoon movie—shown in a theater shaped like a cup of instant ramen—of the agonizing process Ando went through trying to figure out how to best make noodles that would respond well to boiling water, how to fit the noodles into a styrofoam cup and how Ando was inspired to make the lid for Cup Noodle while opening a can of nuts on a plane. All of this is of course nearly impossible to make sense of to your average foreigner, as the displays are all in Japanese. Luckily I'm fairly well versed in the life and times of Momofuku Ando, so was able to decipher most of the displays.


Space ramen

Ando's crowning, and final, achievement before his death in 2004 was to make space noodles, or ramen that could be brought into a zero-gravity environment. No small feat. There's a movie of a Japanese astronaut floating around, eating ramen in space.


Make your own cup noodle


The nice lady making my cup of 'ramen 4 lyfe'

There's an interactive portion to the museum as well, where you can make your very own instant ramen, picking the toppings and flavorings, decorating the cup and having it shrink-wrapped and made into a large floatation device cum necklace before your very eyes.

Demonstration of "middle suspension." The noodles are tightly packed to allow hot water to circulate from below and thus, cooking the noodles evenly. Note the inflatable ramen necklace.

Note to the wise—if you're interested in having schoolchildren stopping you in the street, try wearing a giant cup of ramen in an inflatable device around your neck for a day or two.






One of the first instant ramens to hit Japan - Chikin Ramen

My favorite part of the museum, though, both for its design sensibility and historical significance was the “Instant Ramen Tunnel” that maps, through displays of actual packages, the ramen sold every year since the first package of “chikin ramen” released in 1958.


Momofuko Ando memorial


Momofuko Ando's possessions

As if the rest of the museum weren't enough, there's a memorial to Ando at the end, where they display the many honorary degrees he's received as well as his actual fedora, watch and iPod Nano. This is the bit that's a little fuzzy to me, I'm not actually certain if there was some other significance to the iPod Nano or if his possessions are really being displayed in the likely event that the Nissan staff will one day petition for Ando's possible sainthood.

Pilgrimage to the Ramen Museum

The Shin Yokohama Raumen Museum (hereafter referred to as the Ramen Museum, god knows why they need that extra U) is one of the beter known Japanese food theme parks and claims to be the first food amusement park to be created anywhere in the world. It features a museum documenting the history of ramen, a pretty bangin' gift shop, and perhaps most excitingly, a two floor "theme park" built to represent Japan in the year Showa 33, 1958, the year instant ramen was invented--a pivotal time in the history of ramen--and before the modernization of Japan.

As you wander around what is essentially a two floor basement designed to look like Japan when it was still dirty, the strains of retro Japanese music and cats yowling (seriously) are piped through the sound system. In the theme park, there are 9 ramen restaurants that are branches of "long established institutions from different regions of Japan." Basically they have nine of the best ramen places in the country slangin' noodles in the place just to make people like me happy.



My plan had been to spend 12 hours at the Ramen Museum, from opening time at 11. This was to make up for my only other trip to Tokyo where I insisted that we go to the Ramen Museum for dinner and ended up getting us lost on the subway for what felt like hours. We made it in to the museum for last call and ended up with scant choices, as most of the ramen shacks had already closed up for the night and the ones that were open gave us a move it or lose it ultimatum. One small bowl of ramen later and they closed up shop, and I was terribly unhappy.



This time, I vowed, I was going to do it right. Over the course of 12 hours I could easily eat four or five bowls of ramen, right? And since they offer "small bowls," I could probably make it through most of the nine possible ramen stands. A few hiccups started the day. The trip to Yokohama from Tokyo should take around 40 minutes. With my exception geographical skills as well as my deft handling of the Japanese public transport system, I managed to clock nearly two hours door to door. On arrival I tried to take in a bit of the educational side of the place, but as the displays were all in Japanese, I didn't learn much. However, I was pleased to see the giant pile of cocaine in the middle of the place--apparently it's an integral part of the ramen-making process.



I had a serious strategy going into the museum. I was going to try as many ramens as possible, starting with the north of of Japan and working my way south. This way, I reasoned, by the time I began to feel sick, I'd be getting to areas of Japan that I'd visit in a few weeks anyway. Still geographically confused after the harrowing train ride and not starting in Sapporo as I should, I decided to have my first bowl of ramen from Ryushanhai, a restaurant based in Yamagata. Ryushanhai is credited with creating this incredibly savage bowl of ramen that features a giant red glob of "karamiso" on top. I'm still unclear as to exactly what karamiso is, but it's got some kick. Apparently the word on the street is that it's too spicy when you mix in the whole glob of karamiso. Just like all of the other words on the street in Japan, though, I didn't understand and just ignored it.



This turned out to be a brilliant decision because it was so spicy that it nearly blew my face off. I like this feeling because it reminds me that I'm alive. The homemade noodles were thicker than any I'd had in ramen before, and the noodle to soup ratio was very high. You couldn't compare this bowl of ramen to anything I found in London. This bowl was heaven in my mouth, paradise on my tongue, sweat pouring down my face. Even though I had gotten the "small" bowl, I quickly realized that I was in trouble. Finish the bowl because it was so freaking good and risk taking up valuable space that could later be occupied with other ramen? The choice was clear. One in the face was worth two in the theme park, so I finished the bowl and wandered out, dazed and runny-nosed.



My plan for the day had been to have a rest in 1958 Tokyo in between bowls. I pictured lounging on comfortable post-war couches, letting the ramen settle and having a covert read of my book, 70 Japanese Gestures. When I went to the museum last year, there was a fifties-style bar serving Tom Collins and and Old-Fashioneds, and I thought I could always skulk around there for a bit. Sadly though, the bar didn't open until 5pm (what a strange, repressed culture, eh?) and the only seating in the place were a few benches and tables, most of which were occupied by groups of racous Japanese people, who seemed to find my presence and my e-book slightly amusing. I did a full loop and circled the museum a few times, trying to burn off a few calories before I headed in for bowl two. I didn't have the energy to wait until I was hungry again, I just managed to lope around the place to the point that I wasn't still uncomfortably full, and then headed in to Eki from Sapporo.

I didn't go in right away, of course. At the ramen museums, as at most ramen places around here, they have a vending machine out front. You put some yen in, push the button that correlates to what you want, and then take the ticket it gives you to the counter. This is especially fun for me when they don't have pictures on the vending machine and just have Japanese characters. Usually on these occasions I stand at the machine until someone finally comes over and asks me something in Japanese. I shrug and make and adorable "I don't know" face and wait for someone to just push a button for me. This is a good plan if you have an adventurous stomach. Luckily Eki had pictures. The thing is, they all sort of look alike. You can tell the difference between a bowl of ramen with an egg and one without, but sometimes it looks completely identical and there's no easy way to tell what the hell is going on. In these cases I just pick the first one, assuming it's probably their specialty. Why would you bother putting your speciality in the middle? I had considered ordering one of their shoyu (soy sauce-based) ramens, just because I had already had a miso ramen but an hour earlier. But then I thought, eff it, let's do this right and I ordered the Eki speciality.



The Eki specialty was basically the best thing I've ever tasted. It was also miso-based, but the broth was so complicated and perfect I couldn't even begin to try and figure out what else was going on in there. Filled with thin noodles and topped with green onions, slices of pork and fried onions, the bowl was pretty boring looking. You can tell the Eki guys looked at each other and said "dudes, let's liven this up. You can never have too much pork, right?" And so they threw on a scoop of minced pork, some squares of what appeared to be pure pork fat, and then leveled the whole thing off with a half inch of fat covering the top of the bowl. This was not a bowl of ramen to take lightly, you could give your life for this.

Eating ramen in Japan is a pretty in-and-out affair. People don't linger, or often even sit. But in the state I was in, I could only hope to get through this bowl of ramen by dragging it out and taking a while. The staff was certainly confused as to why the foreigner was taking 45 minutes to eat a "small" bowl of ramen, as three or four other groups had come in and finished during that time. I was at the end of my rope. I didn't think I could eat this ramen, but I most certainly couldn't not eat this ramen.

So I slogged through, alternately thinking this is the best thing to ever happen to my mouth and oh god, someone put me out of my misery. Finally, I finished the majority of the bowl and managed to stumble out of the place, disoriented and borderline obese. I barely managed to drop a few thousand yen in the gift shop--Hello Kitty and ramen co-branded stationary, postcards, freeze-dried ramen, etc--and have a go at the photobooth before I waddled out the door.

Perhaps I had failed at my original goal of 5 bowls of ramen. But in losing, I won.