Oodles of noodles
From soggy to savory, a roundup of instant noodle offerings
Have instant noodles come full circle? Rewind a couple of decades, poll the room and see what “ramen” means to the average American. Nine times out of 10, it’s a plastic-wrapped brillo pad that costs less than a quarter. Today, however, it’s easy to think we’re living in a more enlightened age. Phoenix is awash in countless varieties of noodle dishes still far outside the mainstream in the ‘90s. Think bowls of fresh ramen; lamian hand-pulled to order; chewy belt-shaped biang biang noodles; dan dan noodles that positively hum; noodles bathed in crystal-clear pho; and icy-cold Korean potato starch noodles. So we can sign the armistice and declare a resounding victory for good taste, right? Best not to mothball the militia just yet.
It turns out we’re far too fond of convenience foods to let our newfound noodle-y knowledge win the day. Rather than defeating instant noodles with ancient culinary wisdom, to nobody’s surprise, we’ve turned this into an arms race.
Have you seen the instant noodle aisle at your local Asian market lately?
There are hundreds (yes, hundreds) of varieties of instant noodles lining the shelves. And with college students returning for the fall session, we’re once again entering prime season for quick, cheap meals that require little more than a microwave or an electric kettle to prepare. Sure, I could turn my nose upward and haughtily refuse to debase my dining critic standards. But where’s the fun in that? Rather, in the interest of diplomacy, I tried 40 packets — a tiny fraction of what I found — both to better know my enemy and maybe, just maybe, find some common ground.
Here are 12 that stood out from the crowd, for reasons both good and bad.
Menraku Japanese Tempura Soba
Country of origin: Japan. Price: $2.49 at Asiana Market. Taste: You know those stale, puffed rice cakes we touted as health food in the days before carbs were evil? The ones that were kind of like beige, lumpy hockey pucks, but with less flavor? Imagine one of those slowly turning soggy as it melts into a bowl of mushy noodles and flat bouillon. Now stick the $2.49 back in your pocket and go home.
Nissin Raoh Umami Miso Ramen
Country of origin: Japan.
Price: $1.99 at Asiana Market. Taste: You know what? I’ve had worse miso ramen at some local ramen shops. That’s more a commentary on the shops in question than it is on these noodles. But this is a completely different beast than the Japanese instant ramen of yesteryear. The noodles have a little texture and flavor; there’s some depth to the broth; and it even sports those glistening little globules of fat that dot the surface of the soup. Of the classic ramen styles I tried, this was unquestionably the best of the bunch.
Nongshim Savory Lobster Bowl
Country of origin: U.S.
Price: 98 cents at AZ International Marketplace.
Taste: This soup contains clam, crab, cuttlefish, pollock, mussels, oysters, sand lance, sea squirt, shrimp and tuna. You know what it doesn’t contain? Lobster — or flavor, for that matter.
Lucky Me! Bulalo
Country of origin: Philippines. Price: 48 cents at AZ International Marketplace.
Taste: I don’t want to say Lucky Me! has restored my faith in bouillon, but they sling a better powdered broth than I might have guessed possible. Nobody will mistake this for the Filipino bone marrow stew it’s ostensibly modeled after (or any good soup). But this smooth, beefy number is rounder and richer than most and lacks the pungent, artificial saltiness that usually accompanies powdered broths. Bonus: At two for a buck, it’s stupid cheap. Almost suspiciously so. Hmmm.
Beixiaoxi Shaanxi Biangbiangmian
Country of origin: China. Price: $2.39 at AZ International Marketplace.
Taste: If the formidable Shaanxi Garden loses any business to this product, it’s because the summer sun has cooked our brains. Within this yellow pouch, biangbiangmian — the culinary pride of Shaanxi — is reduced to a pile of sticky, gelatinous noodles with the flavor of a petroleum product and the consistency of toad snot. Tip for the manufacturer: Yes, we all know where much of the “flavor” in instant noodle flavoring comes from. But maybe mix all of the seasonings together rather than separating them into individual packs? Nobody wants to tear open a plastic bag of clear, viscous liquid so they can dress their noodles with an MSG-fortified saline drip.
Yumei Ranlendachu Huoguo Mao Cai
Country of origin: China. Price: $6.99 at AZ International Marketplace.
Taste: This thing is bananas. It weighs as much as a newborn and it punches way above its weight class. Less of an instant noodle bowl (though there are noodles in it), it combines seasoning packets and scads of preserved vegetables into a fully contained, self heating Sichuan hot pot. Load all of the ingredients into the upper chamber; drop the “heating bag” and a little bit of
water into the lower chamber; and cover the nested bowls. In a few minutes, you have a pile of noodles, slivered potatoes and sliced lotus root in a fiery, bubbling concoction of ma la goodness.
Mama Pad Kee Mao
Country of origin: Thailand.
Price: 69 cents at AZ International Marketplace
Taste: More like sad kee mao, amirite? (Rimshot.) A dry instant noodle packet that involves draining the water before adding the seasoning, this tastes like it was prepared by a toddler with the full run of the spice cabinet. It pains me to think these mushy noodles would be associated with anybody’s mother. You deserve better, Mama.
Indomie Mi Goreng Rendang
Country of origin: Indonesia. Price: 59 cents at AZ International Marketplace.
Taste: This dry noodle from Indonesia, however, makes for a punchy little snack. The noodles themselves aren’t anything special, but a complex and well-balanced blend of spices has some swagger. A base of sweet soy is gussied up with clove, star anise, ginger, galangal, lime leaf, lemongrass and bay leaf. More surprising, all of the flavors come through rather than turning into a prepackaged, mottled mess.
Ve Wong Kung-Fu Noodle Soup
Country of origin: Taiwan.
Price: 69 cents at AZ International Marketplace.
Taste: I can’t tell you how many times I nearly grabbed this off the shelf over the years as I walked by. What’s cooler than Kung-Fu noodles? And just look at that plucky little chicken! Regrettably, this proved to be the sad trombone of my instant noodle haul. For all the power the name may convey, it tastes mostly of water with a hint of MSG. What a clucking disappointment.
Prima Taste Singapore Laksa La Mian
Country of Origin: Singapore. Price: $3.79 at AZ International Marketplace.
Taste: Do I have to light my dining critic’s card on fire if I admit I’m totally going back to buy more of this? The noodles are air-dried rather than fried, giving them a lighter, fresher texture. It turns out that powdered coconut milk reconstitutes pretty darn well. And imagine my shock when I open a wet seasoning packet to discover the contents actually smell and taste of turmeric, shrimp paste, lemongrass, galangal, shallots and herbs. No, it isn’t like a restaurant laksa, but I bet I could fool an awful lot of people into thinking it is. Tip of the cap to Singapore. Well done.
Samyang 2x Spicy Hot Chicken Flavor Ramen
Country of Origin: Korea. Price: $1.49 at Asiana Market. Taste: Are we sure this is legal under the Geneva protocol? Look, I’m no chicken when it comes to spice tolerance, and I can get through a bowl of these, but just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should. Samyang’s 2x is a full-blown internet sensation, though that’s mostly as a vehicle for a dare. The flavor is solid, but still, this feels less like dinner and more like a chemical warfare training exercise. When you take your first bite and think, “Hey, this isn’t so bad,” they have you right where they want you. Enjoy that peace of mind for about 90 seconds, because that’s when you’ll be wishing you’d bought the 1x. (Useful for eliciting confessions from spice-intolerant friends, though.)
Samyang Cheese Hot Chicken Flavor Ramen
Country of Origin: Korea.
Price: $1.49 at Asiana Market. Taste: Oh, Samyang, I can’t stay mad at you. I might be a little loopy from the capsaicin overdose, but I think I actually love this one. A level of chile fire more palatable to mere mortals is met with a powdered cheese base, making for a saucy pile of thick noodles that plays almost like a ramen version of spicy mac and cheese. I’d say I’ll happily devour these if you get me drunk enough, but that’s a bald-faced lie. Forget the booze. I’ll happily devour these while stonecold sober. Consider this a declaration of peace, instant noodle lovers. I remain resolute in my opinion that gorgeous, fresh, hand-pulled noodles are where it’s at. But at 3 in the morning, I will crush a bowl of these without a lick of shame.