We’re seated outdoors at the corner shop that sells pork noodles along Sukhumvit 26. (There’s another shop nearby, almost indistinguishable, so I guess regulars will go to the one they’re familiar with. There are no wrong choices.)
The fun part about dining alfresco is the opportunity to see the cook in action, given it’s an open air kitchen, or at least the part of the cooking process where he’s blanching the noodles swiftly in a large vat of boiling water before draining them with a quick flick of his wrist, without a single strand escaping the strainer.
Lift, shake. Lift, shake. Then another flick of his wrist, a more measure one this time, and the noodles are safely in the waiting bowl.
I remember the same episode repeated in ramen-yas all over Japan, and in cha chaan tengs in Hong Kong, at wonton mee stalls in my hometown of Malacca. Morning or midnight, the scene repeats. A bigger splash, sometimes, but much the same. Over and over.
It’s a beautiful way to cook, a beautiful moment for us to savour. That is, till our bowls arrive and then we best get busy eating our noodles while they’re chewy and the broth steaming hot.