I’m still on my quest to find authentic Japanese noodles. Ramen. I want ramen just like in the noodle houses I went to almost daily during those six months I lived in Japan, years ago.

Some people in Japan take ramen very seriously. To them, it’s like an art form. The perfect ingredients, the correct firmness of the noodles, right amount of broth–I could go on. There was a movie about it years ago called “Tampopo” in which some of the movie’s characters searched for the perfect ramen recipe.

There was this place in SoCal called Ebisu and it was sooo good! I ate lunch there at least once a week. The food was just… perfect. The different ramens, the gyoza, the yakisoba, even the hiyashichuka were all delicious. I felt like I was back in Tokyo.

So I’ve been searching for a place in the Bay Area that compares to Ebisu. So far I’ve been to Gen Ramen in Fremont and Tanpopo in San Francisco. Gen was not very good. Tanpopo was better, but still not what I’m looking for.

Tonight I drove over to San Mateo, wanting to try Santa Ramen. It was so crowded inside; at least 10 people were standing around waiting for someone to leave. AND there was a line out the door, replete with a waiting list tacked to the front window. I ended up going to Tanpopo again instead.

I’ve read about a place called Ryowa Ramen in Berkeley–I’m going to try that place next. I still want to try Santa, but I’ll have to try that during the off-hours.

I spent the night at Dave’s house Friday, and on Saturday morning we took the boat out for the first time this year.

It was an absolutely beautiful day in California–68 degrees, no wind, and not a cloud in the sky. Like the true dumbass that I am I forgot YET AGAIN to put on sunscreen. I fried.

The fishing was slow and tough. We both went out fully expecting to get skunked–and we did. I tried EVERYTHING. All the plastics, jigs, spinnerbaits, buzzbaits… Dave threw all his topwater baits. Nothing.

But we didn’t care. It felt sooo good to get that boat back in the water. We drank beer and relaxed, talked story, had some lunch, and basked in the sun.

Give it another six weeks and the bass bite will be back. And so will we.

If you take the first letter from Chris’ name, ‘C’, and add that to his last name, ‘Ritter’, you get ‘Critter’. And that’s what he is to us–the Critter.

I haven’t seen Critter since Dave’s wedding back in August 2001. I haven’t talked to him since the summer of 2002. It was really good to see the guy again. Critter is much happier, healthier, and wiser than the last time I saw him. And I’m really happy for him, he looks great.

On Friday Critter was in town for a baseball game–he’s an atheletic trainer for UCSB, and they were playing Cal. So after the game we drove out to meet him.

Dave, Ange, and I all crammed into my dad’s little Ford Escort to pick up Critter and head out for a bite to eat. North Beach Pizza in Berkeley is a cozy little pizza shack featuring home-made pizza dough and a shitty selection of draft beers. But we had a good time anyway.

Click here for pictures of the guys.