I try not to judge tourists’ travel itineraries. I’m very humble like that. In a way, it’s kind of nice that all the tourists congregate in the same three places. Sure, it’s wrecking small towns and pushing locals out of, well, the locale, but at least it keeps certain neighborhoods free of selfie sticks and anime-themed bucket hats. That said, when I do venture into the city, one thing I refuse to do is wait in a line. Japanese people love lines. They say it’s because of cultural emphasis on harmony or respect for social order. I, on the other hand, believe nothing on this earth is worth waiting an hour for, least of all a bowl of Ichiran ramen.
So when I see a crowd of foreigners lining up for the most basic white bread of noodles in Japan, I sort of lose my mind. Ichiran is fine. It’s convenient, it’s clean and the broth is perfectly engineered to be inoffensive. But did you travel across the world to play it safe? Are you really out here giving up an hour of your day for what amounts to the Big Mac of tonkotsu?
Why Do Tourists Line Up For Ichiran?
Ichiran isn’t bad. It’s consistent, open late and they’ve nailed an anxiety-free ordering system. No small talk, no kanji, no social fear of pissing off the guy behind you while you stare blankly at the ticket machine. If ramen had a panic room, it would be Ichiran. But I’ve never had bad ramen in Japan. Most foreigners’ only ramen experience is the Cup Noodle they ate three times a day to survive college or a neglectful childhood. Most ramen shops in Japan are likely going to be the best ramen of your life.
The real draw here isn’t the noodles, it’s the English menus and the influencers. Some folks just won’t eat anywhere unless the staff speaks English and the menu has pictures. Ichiran knows this. They’ve built the whole operation to be foreigner-proof—from the English menu to the sit-alone booth where you don’t have to speak to a single soul.
Meanwhile, some influencer on TikTok or Instagram couldn’t be bothered to walk more than a block from their hotel, filmed a shaky reel with lo-fi music and suddenly, Ichiran, with its weak-ass thin noodles, watery broth and a single sad sliver of pork, becomes: “Are you looking for the BEST RAMEN IN TOKYO!?”
Aren’t You Just Gate-Keeping Ramen?
You really waited in line for this?
Yes. And you’re welcome. I will be the martyr of/and the patron saint of good ramen. Say anything remotely critical about Ichiran online and watch the comments fill up like a boiling pot of rage. It’s always just perfectly acceptable: “I only waited an hour, and, actually, it was pretty good.” I’ve eaten gas station hot dogs at 2 a.m. that I considered “pretty good.”
People get defensive because they’ve already invested in the hype. They stood in line. They filmed themselves slurping in a silent booth like it was a pilgrimage. Most importantly, they’ve uploaded it to Instagram and already shoved a phone in their co-worker’s face with a picture of the most basic-ass bowl of ramen. Admitting it wasn’t life-changing feels like admitting they wasted their one shot.
It’s usually their first bowl of ramen in Japan. You could’ve handed them instant noodles from a convenience store, and they still would’ve called it amazing and said it’s better than back home. It’s less about the food and more about the fear. The fear of picking the wrong place, stepping outside the tourist bubble or walking into a local shop and not knowing what to say.
Ichiran is comfort food for the anxious traveler. And I get it. But let’s not confuse safety with greatness, especially when better bowls are literally around the corner. Of course, first-timers come here. It’s easy. It’s predictable. But “easy” and “best” are not the same thing. Ichiran is fine. It’s your trip. You’re allowed to enjoy it. But I’m also allowed to roast you for it.
How to Actually Find Good Ramen in Japan
Let’s get one thing straight: ramen in Japan is everywhere, and most of it is leagues better than the “foreigner-safe” chain you waited an hour for. You don’t need a secret password or a culinary diploma to find great ramen — you just need to look literally anywhere else. Google ラーメン屋 (ramen shop).
Or walk two blocks from any train station and find a place where the clientele is 100% Japanese, the menu is not English and someone’s grandma is cooking in the back. That’s your spot.
Start with the basics. Japan has regional ramen styles, the way America has BBQ sauces.
- Tonkotsu (from Fukuoka): Thick, creamy pork-bone broth; the Ichiran crowd-pleaser.
- Shoyu (Tokyo classic): Soy-sauce base, clean and savory.
- Miso (from Hokkaido): Rich, hearty, built for snowy winters.
- Shio (Salt): Light(-ish) and salty — the one people pretend is healthy.
- Tsukemen (Dipping style): Noodles on the side; concentrated, often seafood-forward broth.
Still want training wheels? Use Tabelog — Japan’s brutally honest review site. If it has a 3.5, that probably means it’s fire. Japanese people are famously harsh with ratings. A 3.0 is already considered good. Anything above that means it went above and beyond. A typical “good” review in Japan looks like:
“The noodles were incredible — maybe the best ramen I’ve had in my life. However, the staff did not use the money tray when returning my change. Two stars.”
You don’t need a 5-star rating — you need a place that locals keep going back to. Ignore the one with 4.7 stars and five menu items in English next to a stack of suitcases.
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