We read about a ramen place called Nagi in The New York Times and ventured out last night in an attempt to find it. After having wandered about Shibuya for an hour, we were close to giving up, trying to convince ourselves that maybe we wouldn't be missing out on that epic a meal by settling for dinner somewhere else.
But lo and behold, after asking a German cyclist for directions and crossing a highway (or a busy 6 lane street, at least), we finally found it and were rewarded with the best ramen I've ever had. Granted, I had only tried mediocre ramen before that, so it didn't take much to top it - but still: it was nothing less than spectacular! Heavy, spicy, oily broth, thin noodles cooked al dente, and then some kind of flavorful ball of something dropped in it's center. I have no idea what it was, but I know it was tasty.
But jeez, you should have seen us sweating bullets before that wending machine below where you had to buy your meal ticket. In the end, the patrons as well as some other guests had to step out to help us. But you know what? It's really quite interesting to feel and be so clueless. I mean, the generosity and kindness one experiences when lost like that is so overwhelming - in the best of ways of course.