The first time I tried to visit Aoya Ramen was on a Monday. The pavement where the stall should be was empty, without any trace of noodles or noren. I learned quickly that they’re closed on Mondays. The second time, my joy in discovering that the cart was open for business was quickly dashed by the long queue of hungry diners already in line. The third time, learning from the previous crowd, I arrived later at 8:30pm, just to find out that they were out of stock for the day.

At that point, it was getting pretty obvious to me that the universe must be conspiring against me. Is this one of those character development episodes one often sees in television dramas, where the main character learns the hard way that “if you love something, set it free; if it comes back, it was meant to be”? This is utter hogwash, by the way. So, of course, I pushed on with a fourth attempt, because the meaning behind getting to sample this ramen, for me, has morphed from a casual visit to a new interesting eatery to defying the twist of fate to prove that I am in charge of my own destiny, determinism be damned.

Arriving before the opening time is the best way to ensure you'll have a seat right away.

On my fourth attempt, I made sure every piece of the puzzle was in place by arriving 15 minutes before opening time on a non-Monday evening. A light drizzle was humming above, peppering streets with rhythmic drops of late summer rain. In the blueish tint of dusk, the golden sheen of lighting and twirls of steam from Aoya Ramen appeared like a haven to lost travelers.

There's undeniable beauty in a little chaos.

On the pavement of Ngô Thời Nhiệm, the humble cart sat, surrounded by eight stools; inside, a young chef was busy prepping the toppings for another night of serving ramen to curious Saigoneers. On one side of the cart, a piece of scaffolding was covered in a tapestry of random, but surprisingly harmonious, stickers. Everything was enveloped in the warmth of a yellow fluorescent light and two lanterns. I have driven through this neighborhood outside of the eatery’s opening hour; the stretch of sidewalk where Aoya Ramen calls home is in front of a rickety parking lot. On the opposite side is the backside of the Hồ Xuân Hương Stadium, so save for the distance grunts of basketballers, this block of Ngô Thời Nhiệm is devoid of street vendors, local residents, or any other common characters that would give life to the Saigon street scene that we know and love.

Rain on your hat and back is a common feature here even though Aoya Ramen has canopies.

Now with the presence of this humble ramen cart, I can’t help but think of that precise moment in Spirited Away when the evening comes and the dark, abandoned theme park is suddenly teeming with colorful lights, a frenzy of activities, and throngs of frog-faced patrons heading to the bathhouse. I guess I am a frog-faced patron in this live-action, eager to bask in the cordial atmosphere of street eats, rub shoulders (literally) with my fellow food lovers, and shove my face into Aoya Ramen’s enticing bowl of shoyu ramen.

A team of young friends run the show here.

There’s only one item on the menu here — though even that is a rhetorical expression, because there isn’t an actual menu. The Aoya special is a bowl of ramen (VND100,000) with shoyu broth, garnished with a piece of chasu pork belly, a bundle of wakame seaweed, strips of bamboo shoots, half an ajitama ramen egg, a sprinkle of diced leek, and a slice of narutomaki fishcake. Everybody will eat the same portion across the board, though you can choose to wash it down with iced green tea or a beer-of-the-day.

A chicken broth serves as the base, and when orders are made, the chef adds the shoyu tare in each bowl and layers on the toppings.

I will go ahead and admit that even though Aoya’s ramen is not the best ramen in town, it certainly cracks the top 5 in my personal list. Still, for me, it is the platonic ideal of a bowl of ramen, from the olfactory, gustatory, and visual senses. Even from afar, your nostrils are already filled with the umami and fatty notes from the broth, a hearty concoction that promises savoriness with every slurp. Then, the actual bowl arrives on the table, and everybody lets out a chorus of oohs and aahs, mesmerized by the plump egg, glossy noodles, and that whimsical pink swirl of the fishcake in the center.

Itadakimasu!

You carefully lift a spoonful of broth to your lips. It’s rounded, rich, and salty. It seeps into every nook and cranny of the toppings, marrying every element together. The noodles, which could at times be a neglected feature at some restaurants, have a nice bite and balanced texture, not too eggy or doughy. It’s one of the rare instances when I like the ramen noodles even more than the toppings, even though the chasu is juicy and the ajitama has a perfect soy coating and jammy yolk. Ramen is not an easy puzzle to crack in Saigon financially, where nearly every other restaurant prices their creations at VND150,000 and above, so at VND100,000, Aoya’s shoyu ramen is a sterling attempt at providing a good quality meal at a reasonable price point.

Yatai like Aoya Ramen represents a slice of Japanese street culture.

Aoya Ramen identifies as a yatai (屋台), which can be translated simply as “food cart,” traditionally a type of mobile restaurant that serves simple, hot dishes on the street like ramen, yakitori (chicken skewers), okonomiyaki (savory pancakes), and oden (hotpot). Carts often go dormant during the day and open in the evening to cater to workers stopping by for a quick bite or drink after work. Each cart is small and able to serve no more than 10 patrons on tiny, squished-up seats, but it is this cozy arrangement that also makes up the appeal of yatai, as few things can be as conducive to friend-making as huddling together in the cold slurping hot soup.

Rubbing shoulders with your fellow diners is a great way to make friends.

Street food cart is a genre of eatery that Vietnamese might find all too familiar but is actually on the decline in Japan. Yatai as we know it today appeared in Japan as early as the 17^th century, and as the country entered industrialization, it became a symbol of upward mobility for working-class people seeking to make a living in big cities. In preparation for the 1964 Summer Olympics in Tokyo, municipal authorities cracked down on street food, cleansing local roads of yatai. Fukuoka, thankfully, is amongst the few cities in Japan today with an existing population of historic yatai, because of a yatai trade association established in 1950.

Until the next bowl.

If any nation knows how to open, find, and celebrate street vendors, it’s Vietnam, so it’s natural and frankly quite delightful that such a distinctively Japanese food feature can adapt and be accepted so willingly in Saigon. Every time I get to feast on a good meal, like the shoyu ramen at Aoya, my mind sometimes wanders to Chihiro’s parents. They couldn’t escape the lure of the cursed food at the theme park and were transformed into insatiable pigs who spend the entire movie at the banquet. This ramen, in my personal opinion, might be a meal worth being turned into a pig for.

Aoya Ramen is open from 6pm to whenever they run out of noodles, from Tuesday to Sunday.

To sum up:

Taste: 5/5
Price: 4/5
Atmosphere: 5/5
Friendliness: 5/5
Location: 4/5

Khôi loves noodles, is a raging millennial and will write for food.