Banquet in a bowl

For a long time, when I heard "ramen" I thought of a brick of instant noodles in a packet, that favoured back-from-school snack, and staple of starving college students. And then I had the real thing, and nothing was the same again.

There are different kinds of ramen from all over Japan, but they are basically noodles in a soup base with various garnishes. The one most readily available in Los Angeles is made from meaty and gelatinous bones that are simmered in water along with fat for hours — "nearly a full day" claims one restaurant — until you get a smooth, almost creamy stock with deep flavour.

This soup base is added to a tangled loop of noodles as well as slices of fatty meat, a boiled egg and a range of garnishes to make a complete meal. Ramen is originally from China, and indeed, there's a range of beautiful noodle soups from all over East Asia, whether the Tibetan or East Indian thukpa, the Malaysian laksa or Chinese beef noodle soup.

In Indo-Chinese cooking, soups are served in individual portions at the start of the meal, just like in the West. Done this way, noodle soups puzzled me — why would you want to throw a few desultory noodles in a bowl when you're just going to eat them with the meal later? And then I discovered noodle soups as understood by East Asia. They're either a meal in themselves, or ordered along with a meal by the whole table, each diner spooning themselves a serving.

My first "real" noodle soup was at Little Saigon in Garden Grove, California. I'd gone one afternoon on the advice of a friend, looking for pho (pronounced "fuh") — the Vietnamese noodle soup. I was the only non-Vietnamese person in the restaurant, actually on the whole block, when I sat down to my first bowl of this bright, satisfying dish.

I was instantly a fan. Pho has a clear stock, but still with that full flavour and silky texture that comes from long-simmered bones. Being Vietnamese, it features plenty of coriander leaves, bean sprouts and other greens, as well as the additions of meat, tendon and tripe.

And living in the San Gabriel Valley means I've had many happy meals of Chinese noodle soups, usually with a dark, soy-sauce-flavoured broth, and a variety of noodles to choose from.

It's interesting that the noodles in these dishes aren't just an afterthought or space filler. It's a bit like good pizza, where the base is more important than the toppings. Of course the stock is important, but I'm told that soup eaters can get truly obsessive about the noodles: their taste, texture and chew.

But enough deconstructing, let's eat. As soon as the bowl is set in front of you, you take up chopsticks in your dominant hand, soup spoon in the other, give it a good mix, and dive right in.

There are no rules about garnishing, just add as much or as little as you want. Slurping is actually encouraged — a sign that you are enjoying the food. Plus, many East Asian cultures believe that cutting noodles shortens your life. This means you mustn't eat noodle soup wearing your best shirt. There's a whole range of textures in there: chewy, crunchy, fatty, slippery and holding all this in place is that soup base that when done right seems to shimmer with flavour.

And now, when someone mentions ramen, my mind immediately goes to that banquet in a bowl about which there's nothing "instant" except maybe gratification and a sense of deep comfort.

Gautam Raja is a journalist based in the US.