"A tiny, highly coveted spot famed for its tsukemen—cold noodles plated separately with a concentrated dipping broth—where patrons routinely form a neat, snaking queue that spills onto the curb and across the street. The service counter is presided over by a wiry ramen master with a distinctive blond, boy-band coif who moves with a theatrical, percussive flair while boiling, draining and plating; the ritualized precision of the dish invites deliberate, slurped bites. The line is a mix of locals and tourists (and loud, overconfident reviewers), and waiting there feels like part of the cultural experience: disciplined, social, and occasionally hyped to the point of self-mythology. The food is undeniably good, but the hour-long wait prompts the persistent question of whether it merits that investment of time." - Helen Rosner