Nearly bedtime, my wife and I returned from a bar, passing by Ramen Nakamura. The line was auspiciously short. Perennially busy, the wait is usually over 30 minutes and often runs over an hour. We wrote our names on the list, waited, and kept our fingers crossed.
We made it — the last customers of the night. The counter bustled with slurping ramen customers. I snapped this photo, doing a little street photography while waiting for our order.
From the corner, a young couple asked for sriracha and broccoli. I was shocked and confused — these are not ingredients associated with raman! Were they from a small town in a fly-over state? Didn’t they realize the many hours required to craft the soup? Indiscriminate use of sriracha would blow up everything.
I yelled across the counter (in a friendly way.) Hey, where are y’all from? Orange County, they responded (the suburban county just south of Los Angeles.) Will wonders never cease? I would’ve expected folks from a large metropolitan area in California to practice proper ramen etiquette.
For the record and to protect the innocent, the sriracha requesting couple is not pictured here. Nope, there were further down on the right.
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