Bone Daddies: the stock falls

None of the Ramen bars beat Tonkotsu.

Last year I went through phase of eating Ramen. More accurately London did, but I followed. I gave up the burgers, steaks and good beer and started trying to drink stock from bowls using chopsticks.

Distressingly it seems I shouldn't have made such a leap. I should have landed halfway, with a ramen burger...

Still, by the time I realised my mistake, I was kind of hooked on downing soup using wooden sticks. I'd also discovered that they usually give you a spoon. A really BIG spoon. A ladle in fact. I was wowed by Tonkotsu several times, semi-wooed by Shoryu and thoroughly mistreated by Koya (although like a cheated-on naive teenager, I'll probably give them another chance). But then ramen got a bit less trendy. The explosion was more of a seepage, and I was distracted by my first-ever good kebab. And my first-ever sober kebab.

So I was surprised as anyone to find myself sat down in Bone Daddies, our Western bastardisation of Ramen – with added rock music, craft beer and eastern European waiters – hoping that this would attract the people who regard a McChicken Sandwich as something a bit different. So I took an instant dislike to the place. I had to sit on a stool, with my legs dangling like a school boy in the headmaster's office. I was so close to my neighbour I got splash back from his stock. And the music was too loud.

Still, I am a food blogger, and I'm currently only doing the latter. Our starters were super – soft-shell crab with chilli and ginger; crunchy chilled tenderstem broccoli with fiery yuzu mayo; and... well... beans. The broccoli in particular, which you can get at their sister restaurant Flesh & Buns, was brilliant. That mayo is just off the scale – spicy, sweet, sour, creamy, spiky. All the things.

And so to the ramen. For direct comparison I went for the tonkotsu, which is essentially a super thick, marrowy pork broth – a dish that 12 months ago I would have been cynical about. Now I love the stuff – salty, meaty and filled with sweet crunchy veg and a gooey Clarence Court egg. Bone Daddies was slammed with stuff in contrast to its rivals. The broth was cloudy like the Shoryu ramen, while Tonkotsu's is clear (if anyone wants to explain that to me...), and comes in second, mostly because while Shoryu and Bone Daddies insist on using dry meat, Tonkotsu use lovely moist roasted pork that's so much more satisfying than the stringier stuff, which belongs on a Sunday roast.

So if you're feeling the January blues and need some hot stock to perk you up, you could do worse than Bone Daddies. But you could do better, and go to Tonkotsu. But maybe stop off for some broccoli on the way home.

Shoryu: the Katie Price of tonkotsu...

...buns are all it has going for it.

Ramen in Soho!? Again!? I've given up burgers for %$£@&!? ramen. It's still just stock with stuff sloshed in it. Even if you add black garlic, a marinated fried egg, spring onions and fresh chillies... actually that sounds really nice. Oh, and this is authentic is it? You bang a drum when people walk in - is that what they do in Japan? Because it's kind of annoying. Oh right. Well, ferment me some vegetables I'll be back for breakfast.

Yes, I've found myself at yet another ramen joint. A cuisine currently so trendy the food critics are tripping over themselves to join the queue, and east London has been left looking at each other going: "What, the shit Wagamama's do? We've got to like that again?"

Shoryu has to be the trendiest, even boasting a Regent's Street address (Yah, but it's south of Piccadilly Circus darling). The queue was about 20 minutes at 7.30 on a Friday, which was perfectly tolerable if you've let the whole "I hate queuing" thing go (I haven't). The three of us agreed to be sat at a two person table, on the premise we would be moved as soon as a table left. That moment came and we were told to stay put, I presume because the chef with the drum had already banged it for a group of four.

So we sat scrunched together like noodles in a ramen and tucked into one of the most delicious starters I've tasted in a while - steamed buns with the texture of a stress reliever and filled with crispy salmon. Soft, then crunchy then smooth and mayonnaisey. Incredible. I'll be hunting them down at the next opportunity. Sadly the okra wrapped in salmon might have well have been grass wrapped in Tesco's luncheon meat, and the gyoza were a little tough. But still, as they would say in Carry On: "Oh, the buns! The Barbara Windsor's!"

Then came the tonkotsu (just ramen with fattier stock as far as I can tell). Mine was called the Dracula Tonkotsu (£12.50). Really it should be the anti-Drac Ramen, because it is laced with black garlic almost to a fault. Almost. It's actually perfectly balanced, especially with the little bit of heat. Sadly the stock is a little over seasoned, presumably because it's under-flavoured. The pork is a little dry for pork belly too. It's really not a patch on Tonkotsu on Dean Street, and a few quid pricier per dish too. It didn't leave you licking at the bowl, which given the amount of umami black garlic they piled in is almost a scientific impossibility. But they managed it.

And with that we were out in the fresh air again. To their credit we were admirably stuffed, and slightly gassy from the Kirin Ichiban on tap (good move). But as we walked up to Soho in search of a decent pub we went past Tonkotsu, with no queue, cheaper food, better stock and a better table policy (only one person per seat). They may be two of the few ramen places in town, but there really is no comparison. Like Katie Price, buns aside there isn't much to Shoryu.

   

Tonkotsu: my new stock answer

Best ramen in London.

I remember the first time I ever had a ramen. I'll whisper it: it was at Wagamama. I remember too many noodles, too many veggies that looked like noodles and a weird pink and white thing that looked straight out of a Woolworth's pic'n'mix. Apparently is was a crab stick. Anyway, it was all drowned in "stock".

Stock? I mused. As in, what OXO turns into cubes? But that's just a poor man's soup! So I carried on thinking that and, bar a terrible meal at the much-lauded Koya, barely sniffed at a ramen. Until I arranged to have dinner with a fellow food blogger. Both sick of burgers and lost in the middle of Soho, we started throwing Japaneses around (not the people that is, restaurants). And so it was that I headed for a rare ramen, and not entirely looking forward to it.

It all started going right before I'd even walked through the door. Rather than forcing you to look the diners, Tonkotsu have put their kitchens in the front window. Through it you see the Japanese chefs toiling away over massive, shiny pots of stock, chopping veg, frying gyoza and talking excitedly. It's so inviting and theatrical, like the very best street food.

It quickly becomes clear why they've done this. The dining room is so thin there's hardly room to swing a cat, which I believe neither the Japanese nor the Chinese would want to do anyway. So you walk past the kitchens into a dingy, atmospheric corridor, where your table just happens to be. The effect is that you immediately feel a million miles from Soho. It's not authentic by any stretch, and I hate that word anyway, but it has an edge that makes you think you're in some kitch cafe in Shoreditch, not least because you can see the wiring.

Service was swift (there are only about 30 seats so it should be) and within about 10 minutes we were supping on yuzu lemonade and digging into a crispy-bottomed moon-shaped prawn gyoza (dumplings to most people). The were the delicious, fresh as spring and sweet with the light, not overly spicy (though slightly watery) chilli sauce. Before we had even finished five (and believe me it didn't take long) our ramen had arrived. And it looked like no ramen I had ever seen.

Unlike Koya's cloudy, separated mix of oil and chicken water, this was dark, thick and slightly viscuous, like Soda Stream coke syrup. And it was stuffed with flavour; absolutely loaded with it, from pork bones that must have been cooked for weeks to get all this beautiful flavour out. The soy sauce added a cheeky sweet-saltiness that made it as moreish as crack. It left oil on your lips and hope in your heart and once paired with the falling-apart pork, marinated in mirin and soy until it fell apart, it was all I could do not to throw my face straight in it. And then the egg! Imbued with the flavours of the stock it was a revelation; the semi-runny yolk like a flavoursome jewel - the most precious thing ever held between chopsticks. Once I work out how they cooked it, got the flavours so deep, I will never eat another kind of egg again.

I've heard it said that £9 for a ramen is a bit much, I'd say that the gyoza were the only overpriced item here, at a pound each. But genuinely, this is the best fast food and so-called "cheap eat" I've had in central London and, when it comes to ramen, it's the only place you can go. Tonkotsu is as close as stock could ever get to art. No longer a poor man's soup, it's my favourite soup.