Review: Ivan Ramen
Review: Ivan Ramen
By Sara Colohan
Ivan Ramen is tucked just off Farringdon Road, beside the ever-reliable Quality Chop House and Quality Wines, and it’s the sort of place you might walk past twice before realising this quietly confident room is one of the most talked-about ramen counters in the world.
The space is resolutely unassuming: 26 seats, no decorative flourishes, no soft-focus lighting, no design-led distractions. Tables are close, the room sparse, the atmosphere buzzy but functional. There’s no cutlery — ramen is eaten here just as it should be — and no stemmed glasses or extensive wine list. It feels deliberately pared back, almost monkish, and unmistakably Japanese in spirit. This is a restaurant that impresses by what’s in the bowl. No smoke and mirrors.
Doors open at five. By six, when we arrived, a queue had already begun to snake politely outside. By the time we left at 7.30, there were easily 20 people waiting on a Friday night, in a neighbourhood already dense with good food. Once you eat here, you clearly want to come back.
The man behind it all is Ivan Orkin, a New Yorker who did what almost no outsider has managed to do: win genuine respect as a ramen chef in Tokyo. After moving to Japan and immersing himself in the culture, Orkin opened his first ramen shop there in 2007. It became a cult hit — an extraordinary feat in a city where ramen borders on the sacred. His return to the West brought Ivan Ramen to New York, a cookbook, and global attention.
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We had to try the salt beef bao, a London-specific nod that works extremely well. The meat is tender, the bun cloud-soft and warm, with the sharpness of the pickles cutting neatly through the richness.
Next came the fried chicken karaage, and it was a standout. This is textbook karaage: deeply marinated, then fried to a brittle, golden crunch while remaining improbably soft inside. At just over £9, the portion is generous — proof that precision cooking doesn’t have to come with inflated prices.
But the dish that stole the evening was the deep-fried Japanese aubergine (nasu). Long, slender aubergines (not the blunt, bloated common variety) sliced and fried, then dressed in a rich miso-tahini sauce which was so, so good. Nutty, savoury, slightly sweet. I ordered a second portion because my plus one couldn’t help herself stealing most of mine.
The ramen itself is the reason most people are here. Ours arrived in a generous bowl, creamy, piping hot, and utterly suited to a damp London evening. Priced at £17, it looked every inch the comfort dish people queue for: silky broth, depth without heaviness, and that unmistakable sense that it’s been laboured over and refined.
The drinks offering is as minimal as the room: one red, one white, beer and non-alcoholic options. I had two glasses of the red which was a light, easy-drinking Grenache. Again, with the lack of a dazzling wine list, the message is clear: nothing here is meant to distract you from the food.
Service is warm, efficient and unpretentious. Staff know the food, move briskly, and keep the room flowing, which is essential in a space this small with a queue building outside. There’s no sense of being rushed, but equally no lingering indulgence over desserts and coffees — there’s just one offering, a cheesecake, which wasn’t available on the night I visited. You eat, you enjoy, you make room for the next wave. A brilliant solution, if you’re not ready to go home, is to book a seat in the womb-like warmth of Quality Wines right next door.
In a city awash with noodles where some are flashy, some overpriced, some forgettable, Ivan Ramen stands out.
In a crowded, noodle-loving city, this modest room in Farringdon is quietly one of the best bowls in town. The queue tells you that and the food confirms it!
