If Silence Is the Cost of Great Ramen, So Be It
NAGOYA, Japan—Vegetables, vegetables, vegetables. I am sitting in a cardboard cubicle at a counter inside a ramen shop, rehearsing my order in my head over and over again. My sister is in the next cubicle over—all I can see is the top of her head—and later I will learn that she is doing the exact same thing. Small paper signs pasted to the partitions ask us customers to tell the chef what toppings we’d like (garlic, vegetables, soy sauce, or pork drippings) in a loud, clear voice with good tempo. The kitchen is loud and the restaurant is full, so it helps if patrons can communicate in one efficient go. Like an enthusiastic movie extra delivering a single line, I really want to get it right. That’s because it is the only thing I will say during the entire hour I spend here.
My sister and I are, or silent dining, to help make things a little safer. (And there’s that silence actually works.)
