I’ve met Japanese people who have NEVER had Jiro ramen in their life because it freaks them out.
The cultish, hushed tense atmosphere, the globs of pork fat dripping down mountains of bean sprouts, the sweaty bowls of greasy noodles that clock in at over a pound in weight.
Literally everyone in line wears all black and knows the code to order.
Basically, buy your ticket, and get ready to say how much garlic + vegetables + seasoning you want. And be prepared to respond on demand when asked - everyone around you will cast wide eyes if you mess it up.
The taste? Funky, salty, sour. It’s the bodyguard of the ramen world. This is the original shop in Mita, Tokyo. Be prepared for a line.
