A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, a man embarked on a quest was to eat at every ramen shop in Los Angeles. Mr. Ramen was on the list from Day One, but the man never visited.

You see, Mr. Ramen has a certain reputation. To put it bluntly, the man has never seen a good review from a reputable source.

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Men Oh hails from Tokushima prefecture on Shikoku Island, the smallest and least populated of Japans’s four main islands. Until the completion of the first of several bridge systems in 1988 the island was only accessible by ferry or plane, and to this day the mostly rural island flies under the radar.

Their ramen is no different. While Japan’s other three islands are all famous for their regional specialties — Hokkaido for its winter-warming Sapporo-style miso ramen (often served with corn and a couple slabs of butter); Kyushu for its pork-perfect Hakata-style tonkotsu ramen (stewed pork bones distilled to a creamy goodness); and too many to count on the central, main island of Honshu, like the traditional Tokyo-style shoyu ramen.

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This post is so delayed, but better late than never for such an epic guide to tacos in California. After being open seven days a week during the holiday season, Yoko and I took a much needed 10-day break. Hooray! Yoko traveled to Tokyo, and I went to San Diego to visit my best friend who was having a baby. Johnny and I decided to spice it up by making it a road trip, and we even borrowed Hideko’s Prius (luxury!) for this seven-day journey.

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We finally made it into Tsujita for lunch during our trip down to LA over the summer. You know, when they actually serve ramen… Yoko and I had ignorantly gone there for dinner once, all excited to try their tsukemen (dipping ramen). But they don’t serve noodles at night! BAH! How silly, to call yourself an “Artisan Noodle” shop and not serve noodles all day!

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We drove a long way from Los Angeles proper to try the soba at Otafuku in Torrance. The shop donned no sign, except a neon “Open” sign that flashed in the window. The place was packed with hungry folks for lunch, lone salarymen sitting at the bar, and housewives chatting amongst one another at the tables in Japanese. Many of the customers were obviously regulars, so the waitresses were all a bit brusk, and I rather liked that.

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Ah, the joy of roommates. The Ramen Shaman lives with three other dudes in a house in Los Angeles, meaning our fridge is war zone of groceries for four people each cooking for one.

But to be honest there’s not a whole lot of cooking going on in this household. I actually enjoy making food, I really do, but a lack of time and inclination leaves me heating up lots of soups, leftovers and frozen foods (although I love throwing stuff from my garden onto an otherwise drab frozen pizza).

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If you know anything about ramen in Los Angeles you’ve heard of Daikokuya, the original LA noodle institution. There are throngs of people waiting outside its bright yellow awning at almost any hour of the day, despite several other shops within viewing distance.

It was my first-ever ramen love.

I’ve written before about how I got into ramen – from being totally unaware of its existence (just two years ago!), to finding awesome English-language ramen blogs that I read through faster than the Harry Potter series, starting my own blog, and visiting Japan (twice).

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It’s been just over a year since I started my ramen blog. At least six new ramen shops have opened in LA since then (a far cry from the one-a-day that are said to open in Tokyo, but still). I’ve learned more about soup than I could have ever imagined, I started learning Japanese, and I went to Japan. All these things happened because of ramen.

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In the spring of 2012 I suddenly felt the urge to not spend a depressing summer in Copenhagen.

Previous years had been a mixed pleasure of monsoon rain, heavy floods, grey skies and Antarctica beach temperatures. I seriously needed a shot of California.

Coincidentally the ever food-obsessed Umami Mart team decided to open a shop and hired me to design it.

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I spent my summer of 2012 in California, my favourite place in the world — after my couch (ok, maybe Japan comes in as a close second).

It was a pure blast, from the moment I landed, designed and help build out the Umami Mart shop, just to get on the plane again a month later. Everything is just bigger, wilder, more real and more over-the-top, off-the-hook crazy than anywhere else I have been.

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