In a town where ramen enthusiasts have no shortage of options in which to get their soup on, a newcomer had better not bring a subpar slurp, 'cuz this city will toss that baby out with its bathwater. But in the case of Kyuramen, a broth-filled bundle of joy founded by Gary Lin, the only thing being tossed are its noodles.
Lin is a ramen-crazed geek who turned his ramen-ya chain into a fixture in Japan and Taiwan before opening 30-plus locations here in the United States. John Zhao, the man behind YH Seafood Clubhouse and Bakery 1908, among other eateries, runs the UCF-area outpost, and it's been a hotspot since its debut in the student-heavy sector back in November. They come for the ramen, no doubt, but many a young'un have been lured by a viral little vid making the rounds on the socials.
It goes like this: A fluffy omelet sits atop a mound of chicken fried rice. A server slits the omelet lengthwise to reveal its custardy innards, which unfold over the rice. Curry sauce and a demi-glace are then poured over the gory Cronenbergian concoction known as omurice ($19.99). This "Eggs Videodrome," as I like to call it, comes with your choice of lemonade or Thai iced tea — beverages offered by Tbaar, also a Lin-owned concept that has a counter operation in the restaurant's entryway. It's alluring!
Another lure is the space itself. At the back of the restaurant, five vertically stacked seating booths shaped like a honeycomb bring plenty of Instagram appeal. It's certainly one of the more unique seating options in the city, even if the angle of the backrest is more conducive to slinking than slurping. The time to slink would come, but not before we bowed our heads into four different bowls of ramen.
"Kyu," by the way, means "nine," and nine types of ramen are offered in shio (salt), shoyu (soy) and miso (fermented bean paste) broths. The "Tokyo Tonkotsu Shoyu" with black garlic, bamboo shoots, corn, wakame, scallions and nori ($16.99) is as classic and pleasing a bowl of ramen as they come. Lush roasted pork chashu straddled the line between meaty and fatty; the ramen egg was expectedly jammy; the noodles, springy and chewy. What stood out, however, was the pork broth itself. Forty pounds of bone cooked for 18 hours lent unexpected levels of umami to the rich liquid. It formed the base of the "Kyushu Spicy Tonkotsu" ($16.99) as well, a blazing bowl we passed around like a dutchie, and 'pon the left-hand side to boot.
With the "Japanese Curry" ($18.99), we opted for tonkatsu — breaded pork cutlet — rather than the chashu as our meat of choice, but the curry's one-dimensional note was a departure from the multi-pronged flavor attack of the other two. The chicken ramen's ($16.99) chicken broth was hearty to the core; it even reheated well the next day for some leftover lunchtime soul.
But there are soul-filled bites of the non-soupy variety too — soft, plush takoyaki octopus balls ($8.99), crisp shrimp tempura ($7.99) and fried squid tentacles ($9.99), to name a few. Soul-less purple sweet potato fries ($7.49) proved too mushy to enjoy. The two desserts on offer — matcha pudding ($4.99) topped with red bean and served with a wee cup of milk, and light, floral cherry blossom jelly ($4.99) — provided an antidote to the soups' relative luxuriance.
They also initiated our relaxed postures; I slunk back into the seat of our honeycomb booth to a point where I felt I might fall off. To the side of me was a wishing tree, another hallmark feature of Kyuramen's decor. I witnessed patrons jotting down their wants and adding them to the tree as I slid further down in my seat. "Send Noodz!" said one of the dangling desires, and I could relate. And as full as I was, I knew damn well what I was wishing for.
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