Some people love the availability of innumerable options and possibility; Flea markets, Walmart, The Cheesecake Factory. And while there are some occasions where I enjoy the limitless options and “but what ifs” that tend to come along with sitting down to a proper meal at a new and exciting restaurant, generally I don’t have the endless patience and/or interest in laboring carefully and selectively about choices for hours at a time.

On such occasions– much to my disgust– I audibly announce my post decision unhappiness, making excuses for why, in the words of the last Knight of the Holy Grail, in the last (REAL) Indiana Jones movie, “I chose poorly.” (Note: Just to clear things up, the last movie Indiana Jones movie should have been is The Last Crusade. That piece of shit with Blanchett as an S&M Nazi looking for aliens doesn’t count. And PS: thanks Steven Spielberg for ruining my dream that Marion Ravenwood, aka Katy from Animal House, remained a timeless, witty beauty).

Sometimes I just want things to be quick, simple and easy (like a virgin on prom night… hey-– O, up top!)

And while I do want to have some choices, I don’t want to be inundated and overwhelmed by them when I eat. In some ways, Southern California cuisine sets the benchmark for this type of quality, consistency and satisfaction. Case and point: burritos, sushi, In-n-Out Burger. The later being a perfect illustration of this benchmark, a balanced median between that unnamed minimalist, commie-era boutique that is curated with four styles of shoes, not more, one pair in each size of each style (the “Sorry Edition”)  and a piece of art made of old newsprint stuck to a Nagel knockoff with a used condom (one “bozo bum cum” original for $5000? That’s all? …I’ll take it!) and the Swedish, everything you could possibly need store, Ikea.

Another example of this sort of meal is ramen.

I have been to the Downtown LA staple Orochon a bunch of times, but not in about eight months, so I was shocked when we arrived to a half-empty restaurant. Apparently, in my absence, the ramen house Daikokuya opened up down the street and seriously siphoned some of Orochon’s business.

Orochon is best known for it’s 10 level spice scale with Special #2 being the hottest thing you can imagine. If you finish an entire bowl of a Special #2 in 30 minutes you get: your Polaroid pinned to the cork board next to the register (just so that everyone remembers what you looked like right before you started breathing fire and burping up stomach lining. Man remember that time you shit your pants on the 405, that was mad crazy!).

As per usual, I was starving, and we ordered the dumplings and cucumber with miso and Japanese mayo appetizers.

The five delicious dumplings were super small and not too oily. I only wish they gave us more of them.

Next was the cold cucumber slices, served with miso and mayo.

The dish is a satisfying combination of salt and fat, without being too heavy or leaving a lingering taste in your mouth, almost like a palette cleanser.

Next came the ramen. The first piping hot bowl of anticipated goodness, was a salt-based broth, spice level Orochon Number One (third spiciest) with added egg, chashu and sprouts.

This was a bit underwhelming, and while I waited for the next bowl of noodles, I wondered if the people were all waiting down the street because Orochon wasn’t as good as it once was.

SIKE! The next bowl arrived, a miso-based broth, spice level Number Two (4th spiciest) with added chashu pork, bamboo sauté and a liberal pat of butter. I dipped in my spoon and sipped the boiling broth and immediately recognized the familiar awesomeness I’d been craving.

The salt broth doesn’t compare to the miso in flavor, but in the dish’s defense, few things stand a chance next to food drowned in butter.

I felt my pants getting tighter and tighter so I paid the bill, waddled to the car and finally, guiltlessly, unbuttoned the top button of my jeans.

It definitely wasn’t the low carb, macro biotic, local, organic, vegan friendly (no-animals-babies-or-baby-animals-were-harmed-while-making-this-product) kinda meal you might expect in LA, thus it was exactly what I wanted.

I’m sure that place down the street has an authentic and streamlined menu and is well worth the wait. But for now I think I’ll stick with Orochon Ramen. I like the familiarity of the place and it’s one of the few places I can claim to be familiar with in LA.

Orochon sandbags, holding down the tables.

*Photos by Thomas Young.